The day seemed warm, warmer than usual for this time of the year. Of course, Sargoth had only been back for a short while. He had not had the time to sit down and figure out exactly what time of year it was. At least, he thought, this place had a sun at all. He cringed inside as he remembered the haunting visions that plagued his recent memory. There, the only light came from the glowing eyes of the dark inhabitants. The same color as the pools of blood red liquid that were eternally burning, each bubble letting out the sound of a terrible scream.

It was not time for nightmares. He had been busy with a search for knowledge, one that brought him, ultimately, to the Academy of Magic. The countless magical tomes and non-magical records of Imythess' great history, all kept and maintained by tired mages. Likely, in his mind, the same mages that set up so many traps and bells around the structure. Just enough to make his entrance well known, and if he had been sneaky, much more trouble than it was worth. At least, that was the case given Sargoth's current mood. For a simple visit, he was hardly inclined to start deactivating defenses. The building might need all of the traps it could muster, soon.

He stood alone, without the usual presence of Angredon around his feet. The little dragon was off playing somewhere. The grass seemed healthy as he began a quiet journey to the academy walls. A light breeze made the day more comfortable as he progressed, the looming stone facade beginning to grow tall. It was then, after the wind had picked up momentarily, that he felt the need to adjust the thick brown hood that covered his head. With a half-dedicated push, he could see well again, and was surprised with a lovely sight.

It was a woman, alone, standing out like a star in the sky. It was not her beauty, nor her stature, no, no, not at first. It was her red dress. It was not embellished, nor was it a tailor’s pride and joy. It was a plain, if subdued in its elegance, dress with more than one small tear. So, of all of its qualities, or maybe lack thereof, the one that struck Sargoth first was that it was red. She moved in contrast to everything, and she stood out as something perhaps more special. More special than the birth of life that was occurring with each new blade of grass, more special than the achievement of man, that rock wall that towered behind her, and more special than the heavens, which painted the sky in the distance.

His search for knowledge could wait. She was between him and the Academy, and he hoped he would have a chance to meet this woman who stood out from the world without lifting a finger. There was something about her, something familiar.

It was such a beautiful day! The sun was so warm and the birds were all singing. Solara had been walking the halls of the Academy of Magic in the morning, but after leaning out to see the clear sky, she just had to make use of her good luck. She had found shelter in the stone structure, a temporary bed given to her out of sheer generosity. Supposedly it was for students of the Academy, but the bed mistress seemed to take pity on her. After all, she could hardly compare to the students at such a grand place. She felt like a burden, her and her silly spells. She took so much pride in the little fire that she could hold in her hand. Sometimes she wondered if she should feel outclassed by those around her, especially at this institute. Most of the time, she was overjoyed with herself. Her mother would be so proud to see the magic she could control. She had learned some of mother's secrets.

Solara's mind fluttered back and forth from her mother, to her good fortune at the Academy, to the wonderful day that had presented itself. They were all such happy thoughts. She passed the great fountain, its waters bubbling from some magical airstreams, and strolled merrily through the courtyard. Occasionally, she felt like skipping, and when she did, she would stop as an older mage or student would look up from their book in confusion. Not that their looks could stop her, but with such a good mood moving her forward, she did not want to lose it by being judged. Outside the walls it was, then.

The huge doors seemed to watch her pass as she followed the cobblestone path out into the open world. She entered a world without walls, an untouched sky, and the sound of birds in the air. She had grown accustomed to the wild. It was her home, at least more often than a bed and washbowl. Solara was surprised to know that she missed the outdoors so much. She had been spending more time than she realized in the Academy of Magic. She spent it practicing with her spells, researching, and learning how to read so that researching was not entirely pointless. But now, away from the books and the concentration, she danced.

Her tattered red dress spun, and her legs stepped to a beat that lived only inside of her head. She could not help but laugh and smile as she was carried away from the tall, stone walls.

There was a nice breeze out in the plains, and in her trance she took a moment to look where she was headed. To her surprise, there was a lone man walking slowly toward her. Or perhaps he was walking to the Academy of Magic. She was still smiling, it was a wonderful day. Although she was a performer at heart, she rarely tried to be outgoing to strangers on a personal basis. Not today, a day where she felt capable of spreading her good mood.

“Hello!” she called to the lone figure with a friendly wave. She continued to dance a bit as she started moving closer to the robed person.

"Good day," he responded warmly, at least as warmly as he was able. Although he had come a long way from the animate statue, guardian of a great mage, his intonations were still a little off. His words always came slow and articulate, with a deep rumble that only a dwarf could truly appreciate. Sargoth appreciated the friendly start of the conversation. It had been so long since he had used his mouth for something other than delivering bad news that he had less difficulty lightening his mood. The sun seemed to shine brighter from the sky, as though a thin cloud had pushed past, although it was not visible.

She did move gracefully. She continued to dance as she moved closer, and although he did not dance in response, he did quicken his pace to match hers. With the sun so warm and some of the darker thoughts chased out of his head, he decided to push back his hood and let it drape on his back. His white hair seemed to shimmer with gold streaks as he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of light across his skin. It had been far too long.

He watched her for another moment, without any obstruction from his brown hood, before asking, “Do you often grace these fields with such a lovely dance on sunny days?”

He gave her a sincere smile, one that was very visible across his otherwise serious face. The distance between them had closed quickly, and Sargoth was within several paces of her. From this view, her dress was a little darker than he had thought. It was also more tattered. He was disappointed. It was not her fault, not even the dress. He was disappointed because he had a deep urge to see her in something ornate. It would have matched her features. Perhaps it was his time as the God of Light that made him fond of delicate clothing. It always caught the sun more dramatically. His brown, non-descript robe aside, of course. It was for travelling, and he found fewer thieves when he appeared to be poor.

There was still something strangely familiar about her.

She was compelled to laugh at the question, and she did. She had been feeling so uncomfortable at the academy, surrounded by so many powerful mages. She found it difficult to continue her uneventful studies with such an environment. Every morning, she uttered the same, familiar words, and she enjoyed the faint glow that covered her hand. After her one successful lesson, the only one that yielded results during the extent of her stay, she could now form a good portion of a rainbow across her skin. It was rarely a rainbow; she still loved the red color of fire the most. It reminded her of her mother in a way that made her smile for hours. It was a lasting smile that fought off her next disappointing tasks. Usually, a long day spent in the library, attempting to find books that she could read.

So, was she often found dancing outside of the academy? “No, this would be the first time, but thank you,” she responded at the end of her laugh.

She evaluated the man that stood before her, now that his hood had been removed. He was handsome, but in a strange way. His hair seemed to blow in the wind, but not with the same wind that tossed hers. He had been kind to her as she moved so carelessly through the fields, so she chose not to judge any more than she had already. Solara entertained ideas about what this man was doing at the academy walls, and why he was so heavily clothed on a sunny day.

“And you, good sir: do you chill easily that you wear such heavy garments in the heat?” she joked lightly.

She smiled and watched his face. Her happiness was still dancing in her eyes.

It was Sargoth’s turn to laugh. “No, I don’t chill easily dear girl. What made you think of that? Could I not have been a monk or priest of sorts that I must wear my holy robes?”

He had been mistaken for a monk many times in the last few weeks. Most of the villages that he had frequented had not even seen cloth that resembled what he wore. Moreover, they had not heard an orator as versed in language and society as Sargoth had displayed. They took him for a generous traveler, a monk from a faraway land, on a pilgrimage to encounter the world. Sargoth accepted the generalization, and he was glad to play the part. Many of the villages needed a taste of guidance, and he was a willing server.

So, too, he had grown used to the role. He found his path more sociable when acting as a voice of the gods. Little did his newfound friends understand that he was, in fact, the true voice of a god. Therein was the trouble, most of the time. He restrained from interfering as much as he could, lest he become known to the world again. Sargoth could not afford such a rumor. He had more enemies than allies that would be looking for his whereabouts, and no one around him would be safe when they came. Travelling the darker planes has its disadvantages.

He had remembered the Academy of Magic being a home to great hypocrites and sages, as well as the most blasphemous speakers against the gods. While Sargoth had never agreed with the gods, himself, he had known them as friends and disliked hearing the worst of them. He wondered if this young girl, with such playful eyes, was one of these dissenters.

“Oh, please, I meant no disrespected,” Solara stuttered, horrified, “I did not recognize your attire! Please, allow me to apologize, I intended no insult, my lord.”

Solara, in her red dress, managed to appear more red than ever as she blushed. She was astounded at herself. She did not recognize him as a monk. In fact, it had never occurred to her at all. She was just trying to make playful conversation, but now she felt belittled and overwhelmingly shabby. She had nothing but the deepest respect for speakers of the gods. It was a job she wished she could have been honored enough to have been chosen for.

“My lord,” she practically pleaded as she fell to her knees in humility, “please forgive my mistake. I was raised by monks for most of my childhood, and I have nothing but respect for you and your cause. I have not much to offer, but I can give what little I have to ease your journey. Please, allow me to aid you, at least as penance for my terrible action.”

Her playful eyes had a glint of teardrops in them as she grabbed the robed monk’s hands, using her actions to further her plea.

Sargoth had forgotten what it felt like to be stunned. What had been a pleasant conversation just moments ago had turned sour, and he now was assaulted by begging and pleading. Had she truly thought he was a monk, just as the others had? He could understand how his comment might have led her to that conclusion, but such a committed apology was unexpected. All he could do was attempt to quiet her with a low hush, and allow her to finish speaking. After what seemed to be a tidal wave of tear-choked cries, he heard silence once again, and he maintained it as he looked down into her wet eyes. With a mighty pull, he dragged her to her feet. He rarely could stand begging and kneeling.

“No, please, do not be upset dear girl. This is no time for crying; the day is too beautiful for crying. Besides, I am no monk. While I may speak for the gods, I am hardly worthy of a title befitting someone with much more dedication and love that I hold within me,” Sargoth explained, truthfully to some extent.

After all, he did not speak for the gods. He spoke for himself, and he had been shunned by the very elemental primes that created the gods. They were the same elemental primes that created him, and tried to kill him. He could no longer speak for the God of Light, either, having been needed elsewhere and sacrificing that position.

“I am sorry to have upset you,” he reiterated.

Solara sniffed quickly, now finding herself back on her feet. She was still upset at her foolishness, but now a little more after the robed man clarified what he had meant. She could not remember her thoughts that led her up to her outburst, but she could only assume that she was recalling something from her childhood. There were no apathetic days for her back then. They were all amazing or terrible, and sometimes a combination of one after the other. For now, she would have to put those thoughts aside. She hoped she could salvage some of her dignity during the rest of the conversation with this traveler.

“I apologize for my outburst, sir. You would be kind to forgive me. I have had a very difficult time as of late, and I appear to have lost some of my social graces as a consequence,” she justified, poorly.

Solara was now closer than she had been to the robed man. She was close enough to watch his eyes, and the storm that rumbled behind them. She did not notice the small crack forming between her lips as her jaw started to drop. She did catch herself before she stood there, gaping, like an idiot.

“My name is Solara, Solara Embersia. It would be a pleasure to know your name, speaker for the gods, and what business brings you to this place,” she mentioned with half curiosity and half distant awe.

Sargoth nodded knowingly as the woman, known as Solara Embersia, attempted to repair the conversation. He would have been more amused if it had been part of his personality, but that was still lacking. Telling a joke was hard for him, and reacting to something embarrasing had just never come up for the guardian. In the only manner he knew how, he responded.

"Solara Embersia, a lovely name. My name is Sargoth, and you may call me as such," he introduced.

He tilted his head in an informal bow, as he was accustomed to doing while meeting new people. The name was familiar to him, but he did not know how that was possible. He could not remember anyone of that name. He wondered if he had known this girl's relatives at one point or another. He was very much older than a human might expect, after all.

Sargoth continued, "As for my business, I am simply looking for a book. The Academy of Magic was the last place that I had seen it, so here I am, hoping to retrieve it again."

The guardian was momentarily distracted by a pair of birds chattering at one another just above his head. He noticed that there was a lot more life in the area than he had remembered. It was comforting to know that the dark tides had not rolled over these lands yet.

"Sargoth," she repeated, allowing the name to sink further into her memory. "You have a nice name yourself. I feel like I've heard it somewhere before, but I can't remember from where. It's almost like a childhood memory. That is something truly odd, is it not?" Solara commented.

She had a striking feeling that she knew the name before. Little did she understand that Sargoth was feeling the same tug on the strings of memories. Solara could almost hear the name slide off of her mother's tongue in stories of long past. She could imagine Sargoth as a proud creation of a powerful wizard. That was always her favorite part: the powerful wizard was her great, great, grandfather. She could almost remember the mage's name. It was Laneer.

Her thoughts shifted as Sargoth mentioned his search for a book. That was a direct line to her thoughts about her current desire to learn from the texts at the academy. While she may not have been able to read most of the words in the volumes, she had at least become accustomed enough to make out the titles. Then it dawned on her.

"Sargoth, I have spent a lot of time in the library recently. Maybe I can help you find your book? I'm afraid I have been rearranging a good portion of the shelves for my own reasons, so maybe I have seen it," she offered.

Sargoth smiled at the kind offer of help. This woman was definately special. She was a rare specimen, at the very least. While his smile remained fresh on his face, time melted and stopped. The air halted mid-breeze, with birds aloft and grass turned in the wind. Solara's mind opened and Sargoth stepped inside. His powers were rusted and weak, but he was still capable of such dives into altered reality. It was in this changed state that he watched Solara in the libraries, amongst the growing piles of books. He watched her frustration and her pain. He watched her smile as small flames washed over her hand and arm.

He saw the book. He saw Laneer.

With the memory of the book still fresh at the top of her thoughts, Sargoth felt the breeze against his hair once again. It was such a lovely day.

"I would be honored if you would help me, Solara," Sargoth bowed deeply. She was the ancestor of his creator. "In turn, should you need my services, you need only ask."

Sargoth was struck with the weight of his discovery. It had been so many years, and now, at this dark hour, he managed to walk into someone he had been searching for since his first breath. He was no longer bound to his old oathes. It had been too long, and his loyalties had been turned to greater powers since those old days. Still, he felt an old sense of commitment to this woman. She could not possibly realize who he was, nor their ancient connection, but Sargoth was urged to do his best to help this girl before their paths diverged again.

"In your time at the library, did you happen across a thick, white tome with a gold phoenix etched on the cover?" he asked, hoping to stir the memory that he had left for her to find.

"Yes, I have seen that book," Solara proclaimed happily.

For the last few moments, she had a vivid image of that exact book hovering behind her eyes. She could not explain how it got there, but the memory was so distinct that she could almost feel the weight of the text in her hands. It was strikingly beautiful, which was actually a rarity in that library. Most everything on those shelves looked as though they were only being held together by magical intervention. Solara rarely took the time to realize how true that observation was because she was often driven to the works that looked more well-kept. She was afraid of damaging the more worn pages.

She continued to speak, almost not realizing that Sargoth had offered his own services. She was so occupied with the thought of that book that she almost forgot he was standing in front of her. She wished that other memories had come so distinctly at the right time. Once she admitted that she knew where the book was, the memory lost most of its potency, enough for her to mentally shrug it off and regain her surroundings.

"And thank you for your kind offer of aid. I do not think I have any need for assistance right now, but you are sweet for offering. Shall we head inside so I can show you where I put that book?" Solara questioned after humbly denying help.

It was true, she could not think of anything that he could help. Of course she had many troubles that could use a helping hand, but she did not want to trouble this stranger with her worries.

Sargoth gave Solara a solemn nod as he agreed with the whole of her response. He would not help her now, but perhaps in due time. Until then, he would not object to being shown the location of the tome. It would be less suspicious to tour the building with someone who was at least recognized by the staff. It was a tour in a place where he knew the minute details and secret passages better than some of the original designers, but it was a tour nonetheless. He had little intention of staying much longer than it took him to seek his answers. Solara might be a cause for him to lengthen his visit; he desired to know more about the girl. After all, she was his ward by the blood of creation. He who gave that blood was repaid with a debt that outlived by the lifetime of the creation. Sargoth had paid that debt to the elemental primes until he was abandoned. He was free of them now because he had died and was born again. His last remaining debt was to Laneer, and by circumstance, Solara would be the one to collect.

His eyes flickered with a dim bolt of lightning, difficult to see in the sunlight amidst the rest of the storm. Sargoth watched the magical auras of the world and blinked to focus on Solara. She was special after all. Deep hues of red cocooned her in wide, powerful strands of magical energy. They kept her warm. They were in harmony. They slowly shifted through a spectrum of color; she was not bound to the element of fire. Something was different. Sargoth focused his sight on a tiny, glowing ball. It was around her heart. The misty aura was caged and trapped, pulsing behind its bars. Sargoth wondered why such a restraint would be placed on a fledgling magess.

"It is a wonderous day, but I believe it is time to head inside, as you say," Sargoth admitted as he held out his arm, offering to escort her if she chose.

Solara looked up and smiled as she saw the sun sitting upon a blue sky. It was one of the nicer days that month. She felt the breeze against her skin anew; she had been distracted by the conversation to keep track of the wind blowing against her. A butterfly passed her eyes, fluttering gracefully and waging a battle against the air currents. It reminded her of a time she and her mother had gone exploring through a forest glade. She had been remembering her mother more and more as of late.

She gladly took Sargoth's arm and nodded to him in agreement. She was refreshed from her quick outing and was ready to return to the confines of of the Academy of Magic. They were gloomy walls, hardly a comparison to the greatness of the outdoors, but they housed her immediate fate. She would answer that call. She waved cheerfully to the sun and smiled at Sargoth. She started to trace her steps back to the book that he wanted to find.

(OOC: Hurray! Time to continue elsewhere! Thanks for the RP!)