For moons, that event and the poison arrow haunted every section of Rhea's wakefulness.

For moons, about one moon crossing and three birth moons, Rhea had to revisits the death of her mother in the back of her silver eyes as if it happened recently.

For moons, she had to contemplate how her father ended his life to protect Rhea.

For moons, Rhea had to live with the guilt of a survivor that ran instead of fought.

For moons, she had dreamed of the times when her mother would raise her out of bed to go hunting with her. Or the times when her father insisted that she sit down to listen to another one of his senseless stories.

One more time, that is all she ever prayed to the Gods to give her. To give her one more time with these two lives that exited her life so soon.

If they ever survived, she would not get trapped in a slave encampment and brutalized get when she fought to get free. It would not be her to burn them down when they did, taking the victims with the rest of the damn filth. Perhaps, she would not have stayed in Tristanope, a richer port town in the country of Yventlin, and went on her day killing every slaver she could find. Killing both those who employed the slavers and any damn slave owner that she deemed unworthy.

The world of love was taken from her by complete force, leaving this coldness beneath the fire of her fury. That coldness was just the hate that she needed to push through with her assassinations. No form of fame quelled the fire of her hate, just as the killings never actually made her feel any better. What she genuinely wanted would never come back to her, no matter how many filthy souls returned to the Trail.

That port town soon pushed her, the hidden killer, out when it could. And her likeness was crudely drawn, then placed on exceptionally clean billboards. Though none could ever agree on what she truly looked like, the only thing the artist could agree on is a nickname and gender.

"Moon Stalker" the lady huntress that takes down the slavers and the rich alike. The enticer of the shadows, with eyes as bright as the moon and the death that follows right after.

Her notoriety was big, just like the twenty-moon-old missing poster of a boy that seemed to increase in reward money every time she had taken a second to gander it. The old painting of a noble boy that carried a vacant expression just exactly like those portraits of very well-renowned royalty. Like many of the royals, he had a lot of practice forming his face just like a vacant doll. However, in his copper eyes she did find a glimmer of strength and stubbornness. Even he, a young man obviously nobility from the look of his finely printed cowl, looked utterly miserable.

Just as miserable as she becam, she lost her parents. Maybe that boy was lucky and found his happiness. She is still waiting for any of her happiness to return ...

And it isn’t going to be in Tristanope. She had to move out fast before the Chimera knights find her. Their 'Protect and Serve' motto does not include people of her skin color and talents since the moment she experienced the Moarin law.

Rhea hiked along the forest edge, following the sea's horizon till roads litter with signs that points towards a new town. One she hadn't visited yet, and the outskirts feigned this idea of a safe and well put-together town.

The town's portside horizon glittered with Manuk's lovely rays. Manuk is extra gracious today, coloring every surface with this lovely orange hue. The fire within her hums in glee, warming the cold center within her. For a moment, as the gates and wooden walls came into view, she stood just before it to admire their ingenuity. She finds some wonder, a fleeting nativity she thought was lost in the cages. It didn't last long.

The Chimera knight prowled out their hiding hole, ready to investigate her. It was just one sole knight, a man taller than with glistening silver armor. His head helmet adopted the shape of a leonus head and mane. These knights always had a pistol loaded with about four rounds, ready to fire. When he saw her, his gauntlet hand hovered over the pistol, the other had a giant staff adorned with ceremonial-looking feathers. The staff had a bladed tip, glistening as clean as armor, suggesting one obvious thing. This knight hasn't seen a lot of action.

"Stop right there...Krax"

Krax, a type of native that lives in the Junxe Jungle. The very same group of people that her mother used to be a part of before she met Rhea’s father. The people out here view Krax as nothing more than slaves. An image that will always be stuck in her no matter where she goes, despite being an outcast of her own people. And it doesn't help when she doesn't dress the part of a normal traveler; a couple of skin patches of leather kelpi skin tied in a way to cover her rear and groin. It barely covered her wide set hips. It was just wide enough to protect herself from the elements, there is a loincloth covering between her legs. More leather skin wrapped around her shins, knees, forearms, and palms. Climbing required a lot of her legs and arms. Using leather in this way was more of a safety choice than fashion. Even her busty chest had the bindings of thick leather wrapping them into a bunched-up mound to protect herself from too scuffed up.

The bindings served another purpose, and it was to keep her breast from getting in the way of her using her bow and arrow. No shoes but she didn't need such things when she felt no pain from the heat of the ground after it a kiss from Manuk. The leather- skinned hood drapes over her head, barely hiding the red-tinted brown curls she inherited proudly. The hood is just so it took a few more seconds for her enemies to recognize her, though it is hard to remain inconspicuous with silver eyes as prominent as hers. Even worse, her body has been through some changes since she was a meager, thin teenager. Her breast grew to an aggravating size, hips and rear filled in with more muscle assets that distract any one with the carnal desire for a woman.

That was the case for this knight. His putrid gaze wanders over her assets a little longer than she would like. Adding him to the list of scum upon Erathea, a rather long mental list.

"I-I need to see your slave documents" He shook whatever spell that dawned over him when he stared at her breast, thumping the staff to further play this authoritative front.

Right... Cannot be a free slave without documentation.

"Hm. Never was one so...no?" Her fingertips traces the string of her bow, her arrows strapped to her back. The bow is older, made up of the Junxe Jungle wood carefully crafted by her mother. The signatures and some quotes are carved into the wood till this very day. This bow never failed her in a fight.

"Then you must understand that I cannot allow you to walk freely in these premises. You will come with me now until we can situate an arrangement for you. "Although considerably polite, Rhea would not be fooled by the flowery words. It all means that she will be kept in captivity till they find a slaver or an owner of slaves to claim her. This world isn't free for people like her, just as accurately stated by her mother.

"Uh huh..." Rhea sidesteps towards the wooden wall, pulling her head back to inspect the height of it. It is as tall as a two-floored building, the wood beaten to the point that there are extra wood planks nailed in to keep the panels together and holes from the wood mites feasting on the material. It's sturdy but poorly managed, having just the right number of divots to climb it.

"Uh, miss? What are you doing?" The knight notices her loss of attention, motioning her to follow him, which she paid no heed to. She will take advantage of his cluelessness since it's not often that knights will give her that kind of opportunity. Others are always quick to shoot at her on sight. Her notoriety in Tristanope must not have reached this knight.

"My nature. Chathalic-rues" The female cracks a reckless grin while spouting the greeting of day in Krax, big enough from one ear to the next. Then she latches onto the wall to start her ascent, she ignores the knight's sad attempts to threaten her. By the time the knight fumbles for his pistol, Rhea is already at the top of this fence absorbing the visage before her. The buildings closest to the gate were more in shape than the ones that hugs the walls of this port town. There isn’t a lot of wealth spread around, the infrastructure here shares the same amount of effort as the town's walls with planks haphazardly stapling roof shingles and drapes used to cover broken windows. This place is poorer than Tristanope. No matter, Rhea is still dealing with unknown territory here. At least, Tristanope had an obvious gap between the rich and poor, but here it was like everyone was just as poor as the next person.

She didn't really have much time to scan her surroundings. Her ears picks up the sound of a bullet whizzing behind her. The knight is at his wits' end if he is shooting at her without pause. Rhea leaps from the wooden wall to the next roofed building, risking her safety. There was no clear sign that these roofs could handle her weight. When her bare feet touches the shingles and felt them give way, panic fuels her to keep moving.

All she could hear now was the cries of an agitated knight and the shingles she touches falling onto the dirty ground. It was the same on most buildings here, causing an unintentional racket just as she arrives. She might as well just waltz on in from the gate side screaming her name and lack of affiliations, it would not have made much of a difference.

After some time of running, she did find a reprieve at a lonely street juncture deep in the town. This part of town is very quiet, and worse off in conditions. The houses here didn't even have shingles, they were boxy and made of a strange stone material and the roof was just the same material with a hatch, presumably as a way for the tenants to get up there and clean off debris. Rhea picked the smallest one. This one had a hatch and strange furniture used for avian creatures to roost on. She had grown too weary of all the running with an empty stomach, not interested in investigating the strange roosting pen.

It had been day since she last tasted something delicious, it is detrimental for a burning mage like herself to starve. She kneels, hiding behind the border edge of the ceiling. Waiting to see if any knights or locals follows her all the way here, there was no noise to indicates so, but she had to be careful. A free Krax is not something any of the Moarin-kind, which these people call themselves, are willing to ignore.

Her hyper-focus is the fault for her latest failure, not making sure that no one is home to find her up there. The door hatch flew open, making this loud creek as the hinges are forced open. Rhea reaches for the knife strapped to her leg wrap, pulling it out and facing whoever pokes their head out of the hole in the ceiling. The dagger she had was completely man-made, just black stone sharpened to a point. It isn’t meant to kill, always used for skinning. But since she is caught in a corner, her first reaction is to point this dagger at the stranger and appear as threatening as possible with such a small frame.