The sky that day was a beautifully rich gold color in the light of the setting
sun. Clouds streaked the scene with faint shades of amethyst and magenta, and a
cool autumn breeze stirred the leaves gently in the Woods of Ackleberry. The
leaves on the surrounding trees were a magnificent variety of colors, ranging
from dusty gold to a more solemn reddish hue.
The natural beauty, however, was lost on the two fighters in a nearby
clearing, locked in mortal combat. Their fighting styles were very similar, but
also infinitely different, to the trained eye. Both of them fought hand-to-hand,
and to the casual observer, they were simply swinging viciously at each other
without reservation.
But the one who was watching them was no casual observer. One of the fighters
was a fellow Ninjakari monk; he had recognized the fighting style immediately.
He had come across this brawl purely by chance, however, and intended to watch
it to its end without interruption. It was an interesting chance to see the
differences in disciplines of Kata.
One of the fighters was clad in a mildly luxurious silken black robe, trimmed
with red at the sleeves and imprinted with an ouroboros serpent on the back in
rich violet. Clearly, a Magnagoran design, and also one of Morgfyre, the
Legion. Hair, also black as coal, was pulled taut behind him in a ponytail that
was a bit too long to be practical. At first glance he appeared to be human, but
the human watching him knew better than that; he was an illithoid, veteran of a
recent reincarnation. His punches, the focus of his offense, were fast, quick,
and augmented by a pair of metal-knuckled gloves.
Conversely, his opponent was a female, with beautiful light-brown hair that
was allowed to fly free. Her race was instantly betrayed by her grace; she was
an elfen. Clad in a short-but-simple green tunic that was bound by a tan belt
and accented by matching boots, she based her fighting on stopping and
countering her foe's attacks, which she did so with skill and precision,
blocking a punch here, lashing out with a quick kick there.
But her opponent's ferocity also seemed to be overwhelming her. This was how
monks were meant to fight, thought the watcher. Hand-to-hand, foot-to-foot,
eye-to-eye. Whoever lasted the longest would win, with whatever spoils a
victory between two novices had to offer. As they exchanged blows, the two
shouted to each other. With his knowledge of stealth, the silent observer was
able to eavesdrop on them and hear all that was said from his unseen position
in the nearby foliage.

"Come back!" A female voice.
"Leave me alone!"
Then, a cry of pain, also female, as a sudden snap-kick, too swift for her to
counter, knocked her legs out from under her.
"Listen, Sahra," said the illithoid, standing over her fallen form. She was
not badly hurt, but certainly surprised. A classic illithoid move, thought the
observer. Allow the foe to grow accustomed to countering punches, then shoot
out a kick when it is least expected. A strategy that tied very closely to the
skill of Stealth itself.
"I have found happiness." Ah, the young illithoid spake. The unknown intruder
concentrated less on Kata techniques and more on eavesdropping. "I have found
death, and I have conquered it. I have found the power to meet my foes in
battle and crush them."
Either by a sudden burst of emotion or by design, she suddenly lifted her legs
and smashed both of her feet into her enemy's stomach. Caught completely
off-guard, he careened through the air and ground painfully to a halt on his
back, the grass doing little to soften his impact on the ground. Now she stood
over him, but with none of the menace that he had used in a similar position.
"I love you," she said slowly, almost desperately. And, apparently, this was
news to the young illithoid. "Mavaki, if that's even your name anymore, I
worked so hard to find you after you left Serenwilde, and now you're...this.
But you're still you, Mavaki. Still the same soul. And I've loved you for as
long as I can remember. Please come back with me."
He shook his head, and the observer sighed. Love was never meant to be used as
a weapon this way. Whether she was knowingly using it as a weapon against her
foe, he knew not. But it was certainly having the usual effect. From his
position on the ground, he was completely in shock, and also very much off
guard.
"Sahra," he said, the edge gone from his voice, "I've admired you ever since
we met in the Glade for kata classes. But I have my reasons for leaving, and I
have my reasons for not returning."

At the mention of love, however, the observer's consciousness had begun to
fade into vague thoughts of pain and loneliness and revenge, and he had been
unable to recall any of what had happened. When he awoke, the two had vanished,
and, as was often the case, he had a fresh set of bumps, bruises, and scrapes.
He sighed, and closed his eyes, visualizing the aether strands around him,
feeling them and reaching for their destinations in his mind. When the Megalith
of Doom flashed across his consciousness, he pulled on the strand his hand was
closed around. Within seconds, he was in the familiarity of the Necropolis. His
wife, Amatsemaru, was waiting for him, and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.
He allowed her to do so, but somewhere in the back of his mind was a lingering
sense of jealousy. Thus, he dismissed her and instead became very still, trying
to sense where his Sohei, Revan, was. He then crept towards him as
unobtrusively as a ghost, but his skill in stealth could never match that of
the Guildmaster. "What is it, Shurimaru?" Revan asked, not even turning as
Shurimaru entered the location.
"What do you know of Mavaki, Sohei?" he asked.
The Sohei thoughtfully stroked his labret with a thumb and a forefinger. "The
Mukyu? Not much...only that he came from Serenwilde, and must meet the Guild's
penance requirements." He closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment. "He has
yet to do so," he added.
Shurimaru nodded, and closed his eyes, willing his third eye to manifest
itself. Before long, he saw each and every adventurer in whatever location they
were at the time.
There was an aged merian, having an affair with a novice from his Guild, while
his wife...was breaking her back cleaning the two-timer's house. There was an
igasho, fretfully glancing at the bottom of his foot. But why? ...Ah, there was
a faeling, about to pray for his salvation, having been crushed by the clumsy
giant's errant boot. There was a hideous human, standing totally stock-still,
focusing on...no, that was himself. Hideously ugly? Hardly.
After sifting through the various adventurers and their locations, Shurimaru
finally found Mavaki. He was in the Ackleberry Forest again...but Shurimaru
concentrated on Sahra this time, and found her to be deep within the
Serenwilde, perched on a branch, wounded in multiple places. Hardly his
concern.

"I will return," he promised, and then gave Mavaki's aether strand a hearty
wrench. He traveled along it until he was in the forest with his young
Guildmate. "So, what's with her?" he asked.
"Stay away!" cried Mavaki, dropping into a stance known well by Shurimaru.
Shurimaru raised an eyebrow. "What's this?" he asked. "I'm not going to hurt
you. I just want to know why a Nin-"
Mavaki, however, threw a punch, connecting with Shurimaru's torso. It didn't
hurt, much, but it was surprising. Shurimaru sighed. He hurled his chain around
the pupil, binding him well enough to stave off any other surprise attacks.
"I'll ask again," he said in a polite tone. "What's up with her?"
Mavaki glared at him. He was an illithoid, after all, so the glare was
impressive. Illithoids, reflected Shurimaru, were probably some of the best
intimidators in the Basin. "You don't know, but still you attacked her. Very
unprofessionally, I might add."
That stung; Shurimaru knew every single thing there was to know about
Magnagoran martial arts, either Kata-style fighting or Ninjakari-style
chain-swinging. But he could not recall attacking the elfen, so he simply
shrugged and said, "Ridiculous. Now, I know you love this 'Sahra.' I want to
know why."
Mavaki blanched, and Shurimaru was pleased. The young Mukyu did not know that
he had been eavesdropped on. Shurimaru pressed him further. "Why do you dally
with such filth?"
Mavaki's eyes burned with anger; he was absolutely livid, but remained silent.

"She isn't worth the smallest grain of sand from Celest's ridiculous beaches,"
Shurimaru continued.
"Shut up!" cried Mavaki, beginning to writhe from the grip of the jakari.
The chance Shurimaru had been waiting for. He wrenched his barbed chain from
the pupil's flesh, allowing him to topple to the ground, bleeding from a wound
that traced the twisted pattern the chain had gouged in his flesh. Shurimaru
knelt next to the illithoid. "Lord Fain does not appreciate such associations,"
he whispered lethally in the youth's ear.
He then rose and tossed the illithoid a healing vial. "That will suffice to
heal those wounds," he muttered, concentrating on the aether strands around
him, returning to the Megalith of Doom and to Amatsemaru.

Mavaki did not heal himself immediately. He lay on the ground, watching
himself bleed. Watching the dark-red fluid stain the vibrant grass around him.
It drew his mind to what he had been taught about the Taint, in Serenwilde. How
it, like his blood, had stemmed from an alien source, and made its way to the
Prime Material Plane, seeping into its very existence, twisting and corrupting.
Was he some alien source? Would his essence darken the wildlife that he had
loved for so long? Would he leave Sahra in her mire of despair, when he himself
loved her as she did him? "Charune forbid it!" he cried to the silent forest,
rising shakily to his knees. He glared at Shurimaru's healing salve, given to
him more out of spite than compassion. With an iron-strong grip, he smashed the
container with a single bare hand, watching as it, too, fell to the grass in a
myriad of crystal shards, watched as the plants seemed to grow even before his
eyes under the fluid's influence. Watched as the salve eliminated any trace of
blood that had been there before...where it made contact, at least.
It was a perfect metaphor, Mavaki reflected. He, too, had been stained by the
Taint. But he was not entirely beyond redemption. He would be cleansed, and he
would reincarnate, and present himself before the Moonhart Circle, though Nil
bar the way.
He held his open hand before him, watching the last vestiges of the healing
salve drip from it, and he clenched it before his face. Desperation and pain
and lust for strength had brought him to his current situation. What, then,
would redeem him?
He did not know, but he would be certain to find out.

"Sahra, come down!"
Sahra was still in the branches of the tree that Shurimaru had seen her in
much earlier. She refused to come down. She wanted to be alone with her
thoughts. She was still numb with the raw emotion of what had transpired
earlier that day. She had fought Mavaki while simultaneously telling him of her
love for him. And, to make things worse, that human...no...that humanoid had
ambushed her, and she had barely escaped with her life. If her assailant had
been trying, she was certain that she would be dead now. She did not want to
die just yet. She had far too much to live for.
She had heard rumors that those who went through the Portal of Fate were then
granted the ability to return to life, if only by the calm reasoning of Clotho
and Lachesis, but she was wont to believe such speculations. Death...that
brought another thought. Mavaki...was he undead now? He had alluded to it. She
buried her face in her hands and tried desperately to weep, but she could not.
She had simply cried too much that day, and was out of tears.
Her heart hurt, her head hurt, and her body certainly hurt. She wanted to keep
hoping for Mavaki, but also knew that he was perfectly happy in his new
life...and she should be happy in hers, and simply forget about him. He wasn't
even an elfen anymore...
"Sahra, please come down?"
She smiled despite the gnawing angst inside of her. Creit, her friend among
the Serenguard, cared for her, and she wasn't doing him any good by being
unresponsive. Judging by the sun, he'd been trying to coax her down from the
trees for at least an hour.
Creit was waiting for her when she reached the ground. Seeing her wounds, he
gasped with shock. "What in the name of Glinshari happened to you?" he asked.
Sahra held up a hand to silence him, showing a weak smile. "I may not be able
to heal quite as well as a loboshigaru such as you," she said, "but I'm sure
I’ll survive."
Creit was flattered by the compliment to his race from such a pretty creature.
He gave a short, proud bark before speaking. "Should we go and see a healer, or
an alchemist?"
Sahra thought about it, and then shook her head. "The forest will heal my
wounds," she said simply. But what about the wounds inside, she wondered. Would
they be healed as readily?
Creit continued speaking, peering over her various scrapes, bruises, bumps and
scratches, assessing, discerning. "So what happened?" he inquired. "Looks like
you were attacked by a cheuped...but it'd have to be a pretty vicious one. Have
you moved up to fighting those carnivorous plants?"
"Mavaki," she said quietly. Creit quickly shut up and stared at her in
bewilderment.
"Mavaki?" he repeated, numbly. He then bristled, literally; his hair stood on
end and his entire body seemed to grow slightly as the loboshigaru's hackles
rose. "That damned Mavaki went traitor? On you?!"
Sahra winced, for Creit did not know that Mavaki was probably indeed damned,
now. She nodded quickly, hoping that Creit hadn't noticed the gesture. "Well,
rest assured," he said bravely. "I'll find him and bring him back...but I might
have to beat some sense into him first."
Sahra shook her head vigorously in adamant disagreement, causing Creit to
raise an eyebrow. "Come now," he said. "I know that you two have been friends
ever since you met at the Glade. In fact, he told me that...well, forget that."
Sahra could guess what Creit had been about to say, and didn't want to think
about it.
"Creit," she said softly, carefully, "Don't go after him."
"And why not?" demanded the warrior. "I know I'm still just a brave, and
perhaps not the best one at that...but for this, I'm sure I can get permission
from the Guild."
"No, it's not that," she said. "I'm going to go after him...again."
She turned away from him, not wanting the tears forming in her eyes to be
seen. A hairy paw thumped onto her shoulder from behind. "I go with you,"
Creit's voice said solemnly.
And then, Sahra's heart forgot the grief inside it, if only for a moment.

Far to the south, past the fields of Estelbar and Acknor, in the city of
Magnagora, Mavaki was working towards his goal of redemption. But to purify
himself, it seemed, he would have to consult the Celestines. Normally, that
wouldn't have been a problem, but his tainted status prevented him from simply
inquiring of Celestia's priests personally.
He frowned briefly at the repetition in the names. The Celestines of New
Celest protected Celestia. If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was
that the founders of Magnagora had greater creativity in what they called
themselves.
"But I digress," he muttered to his contact, a faeling from Glomdoring. "You
can find a willing priestess?"
The faeling, a young thing of indeterminate gender, buzzed like a hummingbird
to and fro about Mavaki's head, annoyingly. "Yes, yes," he heard as the tiny
creature whizzed past his ear, much like a small insect suddenly rendered
audible by such proximity. Mavaki could scarcely believe that an intelligent
creature could be so very minute. "I want something in return," it hissed as it
shot past him. And it outlined its terms.
The Celestines were, despite outward appearances of compassion and generosity,
not really interested in working for free. In return for their cleansing
services, they wanted a high-profile assassination carried out. As long as a
member of the Iron Council was, to put it politely, removed from his position,
they would fulfill their end of the bargain without rancor.
Mavaki, however, was wary. The members of the Iron Council were not softened
bureaucrats with fat purses and dull wits. Each seat upon the Council was won
by blood, conquest, and strength, as well as guile and silver-tongued politics.
Only the elite of the elite in Magnagora were even considered for the position.
He hesitated, but then agreed, believing that his redemption from the Taint
was by the will of the Divine, and that They would facilitate him somehow. The
faeling, in its annoying fashion, demanded that Mavaki have his agreement in
writing, and it was so. The young ninja handed a small scroll to the faeling,
and watched as it zigged and zagged out of sight into the blackness that was
Magnagora by night.
He exhaled a long breath as the enormity of what he had agreed to do began to
set in. If he was caught, he would be charged, rightly so, with the highest
degree of treason known by Magnagoran law...and punished with the harshest
tortures Lady Nifilhema cared to dream. Because of his undead status, he would
not die until a willing Nihilist tore his soul forth from his body, or said
fleshy vessel simply became unusable and his spirit discarded it.
But then he thought of Sahra, and little else seemed to matter. It was
foolish, he knew, and potentially a suicidal course. But he would traverse the
ends of the Basin, and whatever planes existed beyond, for her.
It was almost strange, he reflected, that the more he thought of Sahra, the
more he knew that there was nothing that he wouldn't sacrifice, nothing he
wouldn't withhold, if it meant he could see her again, as pure as he once was,
and tell her how he felt for her. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, he
thought weakly.
Well, he would have no allies here in Magnagora. He had an assassination to
plan. If nothing else, his knowledge in Stealth had trained him for that.

Meanwhile, in Serenwilde, or rather on its outskirts, Sahra and Creit were
preparing to set off on their journey to rescue Mavaki. Each had gotten special
permission from their Guilds, but with one stipulation: They had to keep the
commune aware of their location by sending a letter every night. If no letter
was found, search-and-rescue teams from their Guilds would immediately begin to
chase after them and, if they were still alive upon the arrival of said squad,
they would be brought back into the forest, where their safety was more
assured. It was rather cumbersome, but neither Guild wanted to lose its youth.
They had three weeks to find Mavaki. If they failed to do so, they were to
return to the forest expeditiously, at which point they would be allowed to
rest, restock, and try again as quickly as possible, as many times as they
cared. The Serenguard and Shofangi agreed that their young novices would
greatly benefit from a quest such as this.
Thus charged, Sahra and Creit said their farewells and struck out on their
own. Aside form her recent sabbatical to Ackleberry (she had been charged by
her Guild to study the properties of the forest there), this was Sahra's first
time outside of the forest. She felt mild apprehension, but her rough friend
had promised that he would do his duty as a Serenguard to protect that which
was dear to him.
She smiled at the loboshigaru, who had been given a new set of armor for the
occasion. Granted, it was only leather, but it made Creit seem a bit bigger, a
bit bolder, a bit stronger...and it did wonders for his ego.
He pounded his chest. "Nothing'll get through this!" he said elatedly. He then
realized that Sahra was less brazen than he about the proceedings, and his jaw
set with grim determination. He turned to his companion. "We'll get him," he
said, considerably more gentle. "You'll see. Everything will return to the way
it was. I bet he'll be so happy about you coming to his rescue that he'll want
to marry you. How about that?"
Sahra flushed deeply, and mumbled, "We really should get going. I doubt that
Mavaki's coming any closer to returning to our forest."

Author's note: Any resemblance to any of my readers is almost definitely
unintended.