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I don't belong here. I belong in the world of color, of light and warmth, in the world where I am the phoenix and my plumage
smolders.
I was the phoenix once, that I remember. I suppose I was the phoenix before, too, but I don't remember it. When I was mortal,
I was a Mage named Aidan Bradley, and I lived in San Francisco.
I suppose I still (sort of) live in San Francisco. There's the ... well, not the Golden Gate Bridge. The Dead Green and
Black Gate Bridge.
I remember my life in San Francisco. I remember Darcy and Julia. I also remember Peter the Troubador, the one-armed wraith
I met in life, who told me he'd see me again soon.
I should have known the phoenix couldn't last forever.
 And not only do I have to deal with cryptic quests on less-than-worthless informations, but I have other people to quest with,
to deal with.
Kaiden is with me again, and that's good. I was probably closest to her of all my cabal. There's a haughty sidhe, a Baroness
who looks down her nose at everything and everyone. There's also an honestly crazy little boy, Roy, covered in scars, interested
in occupying his afterdeath with giving other people scars. And there's also Castrina, a quiet woman who probably died of
lung cancer, judging by the amount of smoke issuing from her mouth whenever she does speak.
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