Editor's Note:

This story was told to me by my mentor, Markus, himself. I may have
colored in the details slightly, but the story itself is true to form. More
of the tale remains to be told, for he was exhausted after the recounting of
this one. In time, perhaps, more of his tale will be recorded in a new
volume.

Recorded and scribed by Serra the Paradigm of Water, Doyenne of Religion

"NO!" Markus heard a desperate scream pierce through the haze of pain.
His weak fingers covered the gash in his side, feeling spurts of his
lifeblood sluggishly, stickily seeping through them as he tried to hold
himself together. His eyes were closed against the pain and the inevitable
end. He felt regret, deep regret: for not being able to do enough to turn
the tide; for leaving behind those he loved; for bringing innocents to this
hopeless battle, like lambs to the slaughter. What had it all been for? He
despaired, and waited for the final blow. A fitting ending for a failed
life.

As his consciousness slipped away, he felt the world around him shifting. A
huge palm cradled him gently and set him down upon worn cobblestones. In
the distance, a familiar voice... "What time is it??" ... Impossible ...
Was that Viggs?

Was he ... Home?

A bright ray of sunlight filtered through the high windows in the chapel,
illuminating the cadre of clerics gathered in the front pews. Small dust
motes drifted lazily in the column, swirling occasionally as a white
butterfly flitted among them, searching for the exit. A fresh breeze
drifted in from the open doors below, stirring the column gently. The elder
chaplain stood at the altar podium, singing the main line of the prayer and
pausing for the younger priests to respond with the chorus. At the back of
the group, a slender youth with a drawn, somewhat pinched face lent his
voice to the harmony. But his hazel eyes remained intently on the golden
beam above, and the darting, confused insect.

The last notes of the chorus lingered in the chapel eaves as the hymn drew
to a close. The boy observed the butterfly leave the sunbeam and flutter
off into the shadows. Was it chasing the sound? He could no longer see it
in the darkness but felt curiously drawn to it, wondered whether it would
ever find its way home to the green meadows and flowers outside. Another
life, hopelessly trapped in the chapel, without intention or choice. He
secretly attempted to summon it.

"Markus." A stern voice snapped him to attention. He looked around and
realized he was the last student left standing in the pews. The chaplain
was glowering over his spectacles at him. "It is time for you to join the
others and pledge your eternal service to Lord Soluminus."

Markus hastily slammed the hymnal shut, sending a painful reverberation
around the otherwise silent chapel and making himself jump. "I-I'm sorry
sir!" He stammered as he stumbled over his robes on the way out.

--

The Order of Light was renowned throughout Serin for its vigilance and
zealous pursuit of the eradication of darkness. The original Order was led
by Soluminus himself, before his ascension to the heavens. During their
early formation, Queen Victoria deployed them from Valour to distant lands
where rumors of corruption and evil existed. By the time Markus joined
their ranks, however, the Queen had long been buried, and Soluminus was no
more than an ideal in the minds of men. Unlike his comrades, who had
eagerly enlisted and favored the martial pursuits, Markus had been forcibly
enrolled by his noble parents and preferred reading and historical research.
This became a problem when he began spouting blasphemy during their theology
lessons, questioning the ways of their paragon Immortal.

"But why do we not offer them the chance to take the Oath?"

His instructor glared at him. "There is nothing Good left in one with an
evil heart. We are not Knights. We do not suffer coexistence. We simply
eradicate the sources of corruption."

"But surely there are some who do not mean to be that way, and who might
change their minds--Ow!" He recoiled as a ruler rapped his knuckles,
sending his quill flying. He rubbed his hand, scowling, and bent to
retrieve it.

"You will repeat the mantra of Soluminus on the board, five hundred times."


Shadow is annihilated by the rising of the sun, but will return again as
soon as it sets. Shadow is annihilated by the rising of the sun, but will
return again as soon as it sets. Shadow is annihilated by the rising of the
sun...

The training continued. With time, the rebellion within Markus was buried deep, worn
smooth by rote repetition and incessant instruction. In between classes, he trained
for hours on his prayers and devotion, eventually becoming one of the most skilled
healers of his cohort. The day after he passed the final examination, Markus's
battalion was deployed to Dankbark Forest. Beyond the usual bandits and outlaws,
they had heard of dark druids and werewolves in the depths of it who needed to be
destroyed.

Sending a small band ahead for reconnaissance, the battalion took up residence in a
small village on the outskirts of Darkhaven. It was the first time Markus had walked
among non-Valourians in his life. The village inhabitants regarded them all with
suspicion and mistrust, taking full advantage of them with excessive prices on food,
drink and tavern rooms. When Markus protested, the battalion leader silenced him with
a warning glare. They were merely stopping over; they must focus their energies on
the target, not embroil themselves in useless squabbles with the locals. He muttered
at the injustice of it all and stalked to the edge of the village, knuckles white as
he clenched his fist around the few gold pieces left in his pocket.
There was a soft touch on his shoulder and he spun angrily. His words died in his
throat. Before him was the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Her sparkling
emerald eyes contrasted starkly with her dark violet skin; snow-white hair pulled
back into a silken tail that cascaded around her shoulders and glowed radiantly in
the sun. Her soft lips curved gently in amusement as he stuttered and stumbled back.
"Hello, stranger. You look like you could use a drink, and I could use the company."

Her name was Filena. She was a remarkable, free-spirited lover of music, philosophy,
and poetry. He had never met a bard before, or a drow. In fact, Markus had no
experience of Serin beyond his sheltered childhood as a nobleman's son in Valour
and the monastery in Storm Hill where the Order of Light trained. Being in Filena's
presence, hearing her velvet, lilting laugh, smelling the scent of jasmine that
drifted in her wake - every instant in her presence was enchanting, intoxicating.
In the few short days that his battalion stationed in the village, Markus fell
hopelessly, pathetically in love with her.

Of course, Markus knew Filena was a drow, and the danger that they were in if his
comrades found out. She too seemed to recognize the danger and disappeared during the
daytime when the battalion would go for their drills in the farmers' fields. He would
watch her forest-green cloak disappear around corners as he strode the streets in
formation, or imagine catching a whiff of jasmine in the trees. In the evenings, he
would change into plain clothes and travel to the Urchin Inn in Darkhaven, where she
would be found singing in her sultry voice to patrons in the smoky bar. In a lawless
city like Darkhaven, they could lose themselves in the crowd. Just two more
travellers, meeting fleetingly like ships in the night.

Their first night together, as they lay entwined in bed, he traced the tattoo of a
magpie on her shoulder with a finger. "What does this one represent?"

She nuzzled her face into his chest and he felt her smile. "Lady Vevier, who guides
me."

"Tell me more."

And so Markus learned of the tenets of Vevier, and the freedom he had never known.

The day came when the battalion marched onward to Grimwood Forest. The
night before, Markus had visited the Urchin Inn, but Filena was nowhere to
be found. No hint of her anywhere - and no message left for him. It was as
if she had vanished into thin air. Even stranger, none of the villagers nor
the patrons of the Urchin seemed to have heard of a drow bard named Filena.
Markus sent messengers wherever he could think of, and left a letter for her
with the Urchin Inn's barkeep, but had to continue on. As he left the
Urchin for the last time, he thought he saw a sneer on the barkeep's face.

"The waiting dark sings to the soul
Where troubled light had been.
Let soreness go and wounds subside,
Let life renew within."

The trees closed in on them as they ventured ever deeper into Dankbark and
finally entered the boundaries of Grimwood Forest. Huge mushrooms obscured
their view into the understory while vines and densely laden branches
entwined overhead. The air was chokingly thick with spores, forcing each of
the Order held their torches and lights in front of them as they went.
Markus reached for the Order of Light amulet which he kept tucked under his
chainmail shirt... But it was not there.

A brief moment of panic set in. Had he left it in their room, evidence of
their clandestine affair? But he never removed the amulet, even in bed
together. He remembered how she had traced it with curiosity. His mind was
drifting away when suddenly a pack of snarling beasts lunged from the
shadows and attacked. Werewolves! He raised a barrier of sanctuary around
himself just before he heard a gutteral incantation and a blast of slicing
leaves filled his vision, blinding him. The rumors were true!

Markus lashed out defensively with his mace, connecting solidly with a hairy
body and hearing a satisfying howl of pain. He struck again, and again,
until the flurry of leaves subsided and he could see again. A number of
werewolf corpses lay crumpled around his group, who had formed a phalanx
ahead. He had fallen out of formation and hurried back to take his place.
Blasts of faerie fire pelted them from all directions and were answered by
flashes of heavenly wrath. He raised his shield before him and focused on
curing injuries. Then, he was horrified to hear a familiar voice singing a
dark, hauntingly familiar melody.

Her name tore from his lips before he could catch himself. "Filena!"

The paladins next to him turned and stared. He saw her over the edge of his
shield, edged in a white aura, flanked by a fire drake and a hydra on either
side and two heavily injured shadow druids close behind. Her eyes looked
straight at him - straight through him. The coldness he saw there chilled
him to his bones. "Fi..." He swallowed heavily. The paladins raised their
spears and charged.

"For Soluminus and the Order of Light!"

Blades flashed around him. Markus felt himself carried forward by the force
of the charge, saw the deathly resignation in her eyes, saw the ground
closing between them. He suddenly broke free of the group, closed his eyes
and prayed furiously with all his might.

A peaceful aura flooded forth, blanketing the forest. The phalanx stopped
still in its tracks. The hydra and fire drake paused, droplets of acid and
fire dribbling from their open maws. The druids paused mid-chant. Markus
opened his eyes and saw Filena staring at him with an inscrutable
expression. Then, she slowly pulled his Order of Light amulet from a purse
on her belt, dropped it to the ground, and spit on it. Next to him, he saw
the zealous holy warriors begin to stir from their shock.

"What in the Lord's name are you DOING, Markus?!"

"Turn around, turn around, everywhere you hear the sound..." Howling winds
began to gather around Filena's form. The druids conjured the leaves around
her into a vortex, obscuring their party from view.

The paladins rushed towards Filena and her companions again in a desperate
last attempt but their weapons pierced only empty air. Their foes were
gone. Only Markus remained, shaken, drained, and hollow.

In unison, they turned to him, faces full of rage.

Outcast from the Order of Light, the Healer's Guild, Valour; Markus found
himself exiled from all he had known. It was not simply his one act of
rebellion that had caused it. He had stubbornly insisted on confessing his
love for the drow, and furthermore had petulantly renounced Soluminus -
something he had been longing to do for years.

For a brief moment after the words left his mouth he felt a fierce pride and
a rush of freedom fill his heart with fire. And then a sudden horror dawned
on him as he saw the expressions of the Order's elders harden. He felt the
blessings of Soluminus fall away, and his spells ceased to work. He had
broken his vows and betrayed his God. For what? He was sure he would never
see Filena again. Even if he did, she clearly hated him and all he stood
for. For celestials afterwards he found himself stumbling across Serin from
one alehouse to another, seeking answers to his troubles in the arms of
strange women in dimly lit booths and at the bottoms of sticky tankards.
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not forget Filena's touch, or her
scent, or the sound of her voice.

"The waiting dark sings to the soul..."

One night, hopelessly inebriated and hungry, he stumbled into a shop at the
end of an alley in Timaran. The doorbell jingled as he entered. A tired
looking half-elf was collecting stale muffins from the display counter and
putting them into a sack. "H-hang on ol' chap, I'll take thosh off your
handsh," Markus slurred. The shopkeeper looked up at him with a frown.

"We're closed. Come back in the morning."

"Why was.. Ss... Sstt shome perfeckly... Perrrfecky... Muffins?" He
staggered over to the sack but the man snatched it out of his reach.

"If you want muffins now, you can make your own. Right over there." The
half-elf hefted the sack over his shoulder and nodded at a floury kitchen
counter. "I'm taking these to the city jail. They won't be wasted."

"M... Make muffins? Buh-" But the man had already disappeared out the
door, the bell jingling in his wake.

Markus stepped up to the counter hesitantly. Was the shopkeeper serious?
Surely he he wouldn't leave a drunken stranger alone in his shop. Much less
ask him to *bake*. He hiccuped and peered around, looking for an audience,
but saw none. A bowl of freshly made batter sat on the counter, though,
next to a set of muffin tins. His stomach growled at the sight. He winced,
sighed and started messily pouring the batter into the tins.

"You'd better wipe those edges clean, dearie. Otherwise the little bits
will scorch when you bake them." The wry voice startled him. Markus
whipped around, tripped over his feet and fell over in a clumsy pile. As he
clambered back up, he saw a cloaked figure in the corner. That person had
certainly not been there before. Had they?

"Who... Who're you?"

"You may call me Mama Vevier." Markus flung himself back to the floor and
prostrated himself. The cloaked figure laughed softly. "No need for that,
dearie. Just finish that batch of muffins. I can hear your stomach
grumbling from here."

Markus flinched as his hunger pangs struck again. "I... Uh... I don't
know how..."

"Don't worry, dearie. I'll teach you."

Thus began Markus's road to redemption. Not a path back to Soluminus's
grace, or to the Order, or even to his father's house in Valour. It was a
road to regaining his self- confidence. Vevier taught him to extricate
himself from the tentacles of alcoholism and despair. He was taught to
develop and strengthen the independent streak within him rather than
suppress it, to trust his judgment and hone his critical thinking. He was
also taught ways of deception - hiding what needed to be hidden in order to
complete the work needed to be done. He knelt before her one day and
pledged his eternal loyalty to her.

"No more shall I be a Cleric of the Order of Light. Henceforth, I will
travel Serin, representing the Order of Air."

She patted his bowed head fondly and disappeared into the shadows.

"Lady Vevier?"

Silence.

He tentatively closed his eyes. A warm feeling filled his body, and he
smelled delicious baked goods. In his mind, her voice echoed: "I am with
you, dearie."

He was a healer, and healed, once more.