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It had only been a few days since the tribe was attacked. Blood mixed with a blur of screams, gunfire, and betrayal echo through her thoughts, yet Jezebel still feels the echo of it in her bones. The rift had torn open at the exact moment she needed it, a violent shimmer in the air triggered by the chaos unleashed by the people of Camp Wilson's attack. She didn’t know whether to call it luck or something far stranger. None of her friends had been part of the assault… or so she hoped. Faces flickered through her mind, including Amy, David, Synthia, Shep, Seth, Billy Bob, Aries, Jack, Beth, Irina, Hughe, Ret, Ryan, Susan, Corvus, Mazur, Reggie, even that asshole Jinaan.

Did they try to stop the attackers? Or had they simply looked away? The last she knew, they were all preparing to join the army; a detail that now felt ominous.

What haunted her most was the question of why. Sheriff Harper and his wife had marched in like executioners, guns already raised. Mayor Kersch, Deputy Ross, the army flyboys… even Jeremy Tofte, the town drunk, murdered them. None of them hesitated. None of them asked questions. They acted as though the massacre had been rehearsed.

The tribe never stood a chance. Accusations about the zombie attack spread like wildfire, and the townsfolk responded with bullets. The chief fell first, then the shamans, then the warriors. Women and children were slaughtered in the confusion. Jezebel ran, but not out of cowardice, but because she knew staying meant certain death. Somehow the attackers had acquired power armor and heavy artillery. Somehow they knew exactly where to strike. Nothing about it made sense.

And now… nothing about this place made sense either.

When she leapt through the rift, the world behind her had been blistering hot, dry, and familiar. But on the other side, she found herself in a frigid wasteland of drifting snow and razor‑cold winds. The terrain was rocky, sparsely vegetated, and eerily merciless. Water existed, but only in reluctant pockets. Even her ability to dowse was something she had always trusted, now seems unreliable here, as though the land itself refused to answer her. Yet she feels stronger. More centered. More herself.

After discovering an underground spring, she felt her strength return in a rush. She clung to memories of her friends. Like David, so long ago, convincing the Sheriff she was harmless, Amy helping her shop for supplies after the townsfolk shunned her. She remembered the festival, the laughter and fun, the heavy drinking, the way Aries and David tried to make her feel normal despite the racism that clung to her like a shadow. In the east, psi‑stalkers were feared and respected. Here, she was an abomination.

And then there was Mouse, her dog, murdered without reason. She had sworn vengeance, only to learn Jinaan had done it. Even that memory felt fractured now.

Her identity felt fractured too. Jezebel… Wendy… both names belonged to her, yet neither felt entirely true. She remembered taking on the name Wendy, but not why. And then she met the real Wendy, who's an actress who looks exactly like Jezzie when she wore a wig and dressed up. The resemblance was uncanny. Impossible. And Jezebel’s memory of the encounter was foggy, as though someone had tampered with it.

The undead outbreak at Lake Crenshaw only deepened the mystery. Zombies resurfaced despite being “eradicated,” spreading through four city blocks before the army bombed the area into oblivion. The townsfolk blamed Wendy... blamed her, specifically, for the outbreak. Seth died. Lucky, her new dog, also died. And still, she couldn’t remember why Carl Wilson’s name mattered so much, only that her friends spoke of him like a legend.

She fled Camp Wilson soon after, finding refuge with a tribe who taught her how to survive, how to fight, how to become more than a hunted outcast. She became a warrior. She became respected.

Months passed, then the attack came. And now, standing in a world of snow and silence, Jezebel can't shake the feeling that the rift hadn’t just moved her. It had changed something fundamental. Maybe even something inside her. It may have changed reality itself.

As she hikes up a large, rocky, steep hillside, dotted with pine trees, she spots a large cavern in the side of the hill. It looks warm and welcoming and it's cold out.

OOC: Welcome to the game Rusty!

As jezabel reaches the top of the hill she cast immune to cold and stretching out my senses to check for anything or anyone. She looks around taking in the surroundings taking a deep breath, after spotting the cave she checks her gear and supplies, then she heads out to the cave thinking " it's better then nothing and when/where the hell I am "

As Jezebel reaches the top of the hill, she concentrates, making herself immune to cold and tries to sense if anyone is close by, yet she senses nothing. She suddenly feels warm as she takes in her surroundings with a deep breath. Upon spotting the cave, she rifles through her gear and supplies, yet finds the most useful items... Bone knife and rope. She heads to the cave thinking, oO(It's better then nothing and when/where than hell I am)Oo

With her senses still active, she still senses nothing as she peers into the cave entrance. It's unnaturally warm with an almost welcoming feeling. Another sharp gust of wind uncomfortably whips against her face... feeling more irritating than painful since she is able to withstand the bitterness.

The cave itself is incredibly dark, especially during an overcast snowblown day. She swears she can see something lying on the ground towards the back, but it's too hard to see.

Jezabell cautiously approaches the entrance knife in 1 hand as she enters she uses night vision. Taking a moment to see what the cave holds then slowly and cautiously approach the back of the cave.

Jezebel tip‑toes into the cavern like someone trying not to wake a sleeping bear… or worse, a sleeping something-that-eats-bears. She’s white‑knuckling her bone knife, squinting hard enough to activate whatever discount night‑vision her brain can muster.

At the back wall sits a giant book propped up as if it’s posing for a dramatic portrait. A necklace (or pendant… or possibly a very fancy cave booger) dangles from the top of it. The cavern curves left, ominous and mysterious, the architectural equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

Then she hears a sigh. A big sigh. The kind of sigh that says, “I’ve had a long day, and also I might be forty feet tall.”

The wind shifts, swirling around her like it’s trying to gossip. Suddenly Jezebel smells something supernatural. Not “burnt toast” supernatural, but more “ancient magic with a hint of citrus.” Seconds later, a massive lizard head peeks around the corner like someone checking whether the pizza delivery has arrived.

“Welcome!” it booms, voice deep enough to rattle her bones. “You must be cold. Come in! I can gather wood for a fire, but build it near the entrance. My last attempt… well… let’s just say heating stone is a bad idea. Whole house collapsed. Very embarrassing.” The hatchling stomps out fully, proudly, like a toddler showing off new shoes, “My name is Magdalen, but most call me Maggie. And you are…?”

Jezebel, still clutching her knife, realizes she’s just been warmly greeted by a giant magical lizard who is worried about proper fire safety. This is… not what she expected today.

Jezabell stands there staring at the lizard thinking o0 "what the he'll, what happen to reality, is this some kind of twisted joke, is this real, can I tame/befriend it and ride it "0o after a few seconds she composes herself and introduces herself while keeping her guard up but relaxed. She then asks about her location and date, what's around of interest, and what's magdalen's story while using animal empathy to gage its intentions towards me.

Jezebel freezes mid‑stare, locked in a silent showdown with the lizard. Her brain immediately sprints into a full‑blown crisis, oO(What the hell? Reality just packed its bags and left. Is this a prank? A hallucination? A Tuesday? And… can I tame it? Befriend it? Ride it into glorious battle?)Oo

After a few seconds of internal screaming, she manages to pull herself together enough to speak, remaining calm, alert, and only slightly questioning her sanity, “I’m Jezebel. Where am I? When am I? What’s interesting around here? And what’s your story?” She tries to read the creature’s emotions… and gets absolutely nothing. Like trying to read a rock. A smug rock.

Maggie, being far too intelligent for normal emotional vibes, pauses. He lifts a clawed hand, scratches his chin thoughtfully, then suddenly blurts, “Oh! Pardon me!” and ducks behind the corner, There’s scraping gravel. A deep bellowing voice morphs into the pitch of a human child, “Sorry about that. One moment, please,” chirps the kid‑voice, accompanied by frantic zipping and buttoning.

Eventually, a skinny boy, maybe seven or eight, with long dark hair, bare feet, sweater and sweatpants, steps around the corner like this is all perfectly normal, “There! That’s better!” He keeps scratching his chin like he’s still adjusting to having one. “You’re in the western wilds, where the army can’t reach us. It’s… afternoon-ish? Hard to tell with the constant snowstorms.”

He grabs a pendant from the massive book beside him, slips it over his head, and beams proudly. “There’s a lake nearby. I break the ice and try to fish. I’m terrible at it. But fried fish? Amazing. Have you had it?” He hoists the enormous book over his shoulder, disappears briefly, and the sound of it slapping stone echoes like someone dropped a refrigerator. He returns, dusting off his clothes. “Ooo! Hair…” He scratches his head aggressively. “Still not used to it. How do humans tolerate this itchy mess?”

He leans against the wall, studying Jezebel. “I’m hiding from the army. You’re a stalker, but not one of them. You’d have armor… or at least a weapon better than that.” He points at her bone knife like it personally offended him, “As for me, I’m just… me!” He flashes a cheesy grin bright enough to qualify as a signal flare. “What about you?”

Jezabell sits down on the hard ground chuckling at running from the army. She sits in a way she can jump to action if needed still guarded she snears a little about the weapon, stating "it's got me through some rough times" . Jezabell takes a deep breath and seighs then telling him my life story while she try to size him up and figure out his intentions.

Jezebel sits on the hard cave floor like she’s claiming territory, chuckling under her breath at Maggie’s casual mention of “running from the army.” She keeps her posture loose but ready; almost coiled, alert, knife balanced on a single finger like she’s auditioning for Most Intimidating Circus Performer, “It’s gotten me through some rough times,” she sneers, letting the blade teeter dangerously before catching it with a sigh.

She launches into her story about Camp Wilson, the sheriff, David, the festival, the undead, the accusations, the chaos, the Crenshaw disaster, and finally ending up here in a cave with a shape‑shifting lizard‑boy who apparently has opinions about the army.

Magdalen listens, nodding slowly, his expression shifting from thoughtful to deeply offended on her behalf, “I hate when people fear before knowing, you know?” he says, frowning like someone just insulted his favorite snack. “Most people judge me when they see my true form. But when I look like a young boy? Suddenly everyone wants to be my friend.” He brightens, flashing a grin that’s equal parts sweet and unsettling, “You didn’t judge. You were cautious, which is very smart. I’m glad you didn’t run away. It’s nice to have company.”

He leans in, eyes gleaming with curiosity, “So… where are you headed?”

Jezabel seighs and responds " I don't know, it's a new world for me and just trying to survive " . Jezabel sits for a min then asks if mag. wants to team up to survive plus I need better gear. Jezabels face turns somber and ask if he knows where I could get a new companion.