New Sensations [Training/Yambhala]

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After her eye-opening bout of training at the Coliseum, Zubaidah had been invited by the gladiator mentors to their local haunt, complimenting her skills with drink. Showered with beer and wine, she found firm friendships in Poilliver and Korrina, and even Breaker, sharing stories of her time in the Dungeons. As she downed her fifth pint, however, a new face sauntered over, accompanied with five black-haired men in strange masks.

‘You’re the Mansur girl, eh?’ This broad-shouldered man, his black hair greying with advancing age, leered down at Zubaidah with a massive pint-glass in hand, ‘I prefer the name Sukhainah, but you do you, mister Yambhala.’

‘Heh, so you’ve heard of us?’ ‘Have I heard about the Yambhala gladiators and their drunkard of a leader?' As she smirked up at the grey-haired Yambhala, Zubaidah could feel his masked bodyguards bristle - but she could not care less. ‘Put that way, I have! What have you heard about me?’ ‘Nothing other than how the Hashashin's newest head-mentor slept her way to the top!’ ‘What can I say? Rashid is quite the looker!

Insulting one another without hesitation, like they were old friends, Zubaidah could feel herself and the Yambhala man ease into a more relaxed mood, ‘Heh, I like your spirit! Whaddya say, want to join us for a drink?’ Joining the Yambhala men in downing another pint, Zubaidah met their challenge of alcoholic endurance head-on, ‘Maybe you’re more of a gentleman than the rumours suggest!’

‘Now then, drink aside, why have you scouted me, mister Yambhala?’ ‘Come, come, call me Rinpoche!’ Slamming his pint-glass down with a satisfied aha, Rinpoche would introduce himself to Zubaidah with a firm handshake, ‘We scouted you after witnessing your training in the Coliseum, thinking you might have a strong compatibility with the Yambhala’s techniques.’ ‘Hmm, I had heard that you were searching for successors to the Yambhala legacy.’ ‘Seems like no rumours escape the Hashashin, eh?’ ‘Well, it is our job, after all.’ ‘Heh, very true!’

‘But, yes, I must say that I’m quite interested.’ ‘If you’re still interested, come to the lower Coliseum tomorrow morning!’ As she began to respond, however, Rinpoche thrust another drink into Zubidah’s hand, ‘But till then, let’s drink up and keep the party going!’

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Once morning came, the lower floor of the Coliseum was bustling with gladiators training, sweat and blood filling the air. Distanced from the other mentors like Polliver and Korrina were the Yambhala, masks covering every face except Rinpoche’s. ‘She’s late, huh?’ ‘Guess she can’t handle alcohol like you, master.’ ‘Not that anyone can.’ ‘Well, I did pour her half a dozen pints, didn’t I? Doubt anyone could shake that off easily…’


‘Whaaaa?!’ ‘Aha, what a surprise!’ ‘Damn, seems you’ve met your match, huh, Rin?’ ‘How the hell aren’t you hungover - ’

‘Just this here!’ As she sauntered into the Coliseum, Zubaidah retrieved a small pouch from her satchel, showing the Yambhala a selection of purple berries, ‘You ate some belladonna?!’ ‘You Hashashin really are crazy!’ ‘Crazy or not, I don’t have a hangover, do I?’

‘Now then, down to business. What can you teach me?’ Ushering her towards an isolated practice-room away from the other gladiators, Rinpoche would hand her a scroll in some archaic script, covered in diagrams showing the human body and how magoi circulated within. ‘You see, our techniques revolve around magoi manipulation. You’ve heard of that, right?’ ‘Well, I was taught the basics by the Hashashin.’ ‘Good, that’ll make this a whole lot easier to learn and understand then.’

Gesturing that they should sit down, Rinpoche pointed towards the diagrams showing how magoi flowed around the body in one continuous circuit, ‘You see, magoi circulates around the body in several distinct tracks. If someone doesn’t know how to control those tracks, they can never use it for techniques involving magoi manipulation. Even if someone can feel and connect those tracks, however, they can’t utilise magoi manipulation to the fullest. ’ ‘Oh, I hadn’t heard about that?’ ‘There’s a reason why the Yambhala’s techniques are considered secret, lassie.’ ‘So then how do these secret techniques work?’ ‘You just have to learn how to connect those tracks into one single circuit.’ ‘Ah, I understand! If you connect the tracks into one circuit, less effort is required in circulating magoi around the body, right? That makes magoi circulation even more efficient, allowing you to perform magoi manipulation several times more than otherwise!’ ‘You catch on quick!’

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Taking centre-stage, Zubaidah raised her spear towards a practice dummy and inhaled slowly. As she steadied her breathing, she would visualise the flow of magoi reaching from her nose and mouth downwards into her chest. Exhaling outwards, she would then pull the magoi from her chest into her arms and through her spear, forming a gold-coloured layer around the blade. As she continued to exhale, she would draw the spear backwards…


…before the dummy collapsed into two equal pieces. ‘That’s a pretty clean cut there.’ As she opened her eyes and took a shallow breath, Zubaidah found Rinpoche watching her blade with an inquisitive eye. ‘Now let’s see you get in three cuts on the next one.’ Repeating the same process, steadying her breathing and visualising the flow of magoi, Zubaidah would slice the next dummy into three pieces. ‘Keep going!’ And the next one into four pieces. ‘You can do better!’ And the one after into five pieces…

…until the last practice dummy collapsed into ten pieces. ‘Now was that good enough or what?’ Sweat dripped from Zubaidah’s brow, feeling the burden of magoi exhaustion coming on, but Rinpoche remained still as he watched her blade. ‘It was certainly impressive.’ ‘And yet you sound uncertain?’

‘It would have been more impressive if I hadn’t known what you’re actually capable of. It was underwhelming considering what I do know.’ ‘How was it underwhelming? I cut that last one into ten pieces from a single strike!’ ‘And how much magoi did you expend? You look like you could drop dead if you tried one more time! This technique is meant to make the magoi cost more efficient, but there’s clearly something wrong.’

‘Maybe I just need to practice it over a few days!’ ‘Sadly I think there is something wrong at a more fundamental level than practice alone could help with…’ ‘How fundamental?’

‘When you output the initial layer of magoi, it takes far longer than anyone knowledgeable in magoi manipulation should. It isn’t a problem with being able to control your internal flow of magoi. It’s like there’s something hindering that flow from moving out of your body and into your weapon.’ ‘Is there a way to solve this problem?’ ‘I think we need to examine your flow and see what is causing the problem before considering a solution.’

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After placing a finger to Zubaidah’s wrist, feeling her heart pulsate below, Rinpoche synchronised his circulation of magoi with her heartbeat. Waiting for a minute or so, subtly monitoring her magoi flow, he would look back with concern at his fellow Yambhala, ‘I don’t understand...’ ‘What’s the problem?’ ‘Well, it seems like there’s another circuit over yours.’

His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, Rinpoche muttered more to himself than Zubaidah or the Yambhala, ‘Almost like you’ve got two sets of magoi...’ But she returned his gaze with a contemplative expression, ‘You don’t seem surprised?’ ‘I have to admit that it sometimes feels like there’s someone else in here, not just myself…’ ‘If you were anyone else, I’d chalk that up to crazy talk, but I’ve got to agree.’ Stroking his beard, he would take up an inkbrush and the Yambhala diagrams, ‘When did those feelings start?’ ‘At the same time I received this metal vessel.’ ‘I’d assumed that was the case…’

‘Is it possible that the metal vessel is interfering with your magoi flow?’ ‘Can that happen?' ‘Well, you say that you feel someone else there, right?’


‘Given the circumstances of how I received Marax, I think that could be entirely possible. But if that's the case, how can I then solve this problem?’ ‘You’ll have to find a way to connect yourself to the second circuit.’ ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ ‘Yeah, it’s very dangerous. Well, in ordinary circumstances. But if you don’t deal with the problem? It could be even more dangerous:’

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That was how Zubaidah began her week of magoi training. In the morning, she was trained by Rinpoche in meditation, learning how to synchronise the flow of magoi with her heartbeat. In the afternoon, she was tested by the Yambhala warriors on how to apply magoi manipulation during combat. In the evening, she would drink with Polliver and Korrina at the local tavern before retiring to a room rented near the Coliseum. It was a trying week, if she was honest, but Zubaidah had learnt more than she had lost.

‘You’re looking tired, Sukh!’ Sparks flew as sword met spear in the Yambhala sparring-hall, ‘Speak for yourself, Dia!’ Falling onto the floor besides her partner Diagene, sweat covered the wooden boards beneath Zubaidah, ‘Still haven’t gotten any further on the meditation I take?’ ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, hmm?’ ‘Well, it is my job to know.’ ‘Alright, alright, I’ve not improved much at all.’ ‘Don’t worry about it! It’ll just take some time.’ ‘I know, I know, it’s just frustrating. I can feel the problem now, and it’s getting worse. I think the worst part is that I still can’t seem to solve it - even though I know how I can.’

‘Just give it another chance, okay?’ Seeing the sundial hit noontime, Diagene sprung to her feet and readied herself for a bout in the Coliseum, ‘Of course…’ Gathering her own belongings, Zubaidah would head to the main Yambhala training area where Rinpoche was meditating, ‘You two seem to be getting on pretty well, eh?’ ‘Well, Dia’s got good chat, unlike you.’ ‘You hurt me, lassie!’ Seeing that Zubaidah had not returned the joke further, Rinpoche tossed her a wineskin and gestured that she join him, ‘You’re not here to just chat though, are you?’ ‘I remember that you said you had a technique to help my meditations.’ ‘Not my technique actually.’

‘I knew a Hashashin who used your uhh 'goods' to enhance their meditations. It allowed them to disassociate from their body and just focus on the flow of magoi.’ ‘I suppose that could work…’ ‘No harm in trying, eh?’ ‘I guess not...’ ‘I’ll leave you to it then!’

As he left Zubaidah alone, returning above-ground to Diagene's match, Rinpoche would wink with a wine-soaked grin. Returning his wink with a knowing smile, Zubaidah would take out her pouch of 'herbal medicine' and varying poisons. Arranging them around herself as Kut had taught her, she would prepare a rare Hashashin ritual. It was one thing to achieve an out-of-body experience through a drug-induced high - and then there was purposefully separating mind from body with increasingly intense levels of poisons. Put simply, this was a dangerous ritual.

But Zubaidah knew this danger well from her trials at Amakh. In her opinion, it was better that she gambled her life on odds she knew than those she did not. If she refused to take this risk, well, let's just say that the danger she faced from not mastering her magoi flow was much worse than simply passing out. And so, she began this Hashashin ritual with the flicker of a match,

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With the stage set, Zubaidah would light the multi-coloured candles arranged around herself. Watching them flicker with translucent smoke, she would take a deep inhale before ingesting an unusual mixture of Hashashin herbs. She felt her vision flicker, strands of light bending into unusual shapes. As she stared at her newly-acquired vessel, her vision was swallowed into the bands of silver, a tunnel of twisting geometry. Shifting her focus to the Mansur seal-stone, the nature of the geometry changed and the colour transformed into amber and gold tones. The algorithmic nature changed into amorphous and asymmetrical constructions which, as they got more intense with focus, slowly mirrored themselves across textures, creating webs of geometry. At this point, she swore she could see golden birds flicker across her vision and hear the whispers from Ipos’ curse cease their constant buzzing. As she swallowed the last dose of the Hashashin mixture, however, her surroundings faded into silence and agonising blackness…


…and then the blackness opened into a vortex of six white-irised eyes. You took the long way round to find me, heh! Unable to move her body away from the ever-repeating circle of black-and-white, Zubaidah felt her chest rise and fall with increasing tightness, trying to escape from this overwhelming presence, Don’t worry, my pretty little liar, you’re safe here. As the voice reverberated around her body, echoing within every part of her body, she watched the eyes floating in this dark void multiply until she could make out an entire figure emerge from their mass, I am Marax, and you, misses, are my candidate. With every word, the inky blackness was tinted with a purple shimmer, allowing Zubaidah to see her body for the first time in what felt like ages, You’ve come seeking me for the truth behind your little problem, haven’t you? Well, while I’m not the cause, I can help you find the solution. You just need to trust me, okay? Heh, if you can find it in you to do that…

I can! The words hung in the violet-tinted void like an oil painting, And I must… Then a clawed hand tore them from midair, leaving purple marks against the inky black, Good, good, that’s the spirit! All I want from you is a little trust. I might love a trick or two, but I’d never deceive you, my pretty liar! An ominous chuckle came from the distant gloom...


What should I do now? If you're not the cause, then who is - Look deeper. Where - Look into your soul. Find the second heart who resides there. How -

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With a hearty laugh, Marax sent Zubaidah tumbling into the psychedelic void once more, his black-and-white eyes closing until purple was the only colour left in her vision. Where do I go now… As she floated within this impossible space, trapped within her own mind, Zubaidah could feel a sense of dread clutch at her heart,



Gold began illuminating her vision, pushing away the violet-coloured void until five figures swirled into view, You’ve achieved much more than this before! She knew that voice… You even managed to defeat me. She knew that face… No mean feat at all, you know! She recognised them for the first time, their smiles warming her like the afternoon sun.


We’re the ones he considered his friends. The name Ayero came into mind, reminding Zubaidah of her near-fatal battle at the Coliseum. Well, I would call him a rival more than friend. Eh, he was way stronger than us, you know? She realised that these two were Caelus and Zadi, memories unfamiliar to her flashing through her eyes. He was stronger than all of us - but he was stronger because of us as well. She knew this person more than anyone else, a smile painting Zubaidah’s face as her experiences with Noir came to the forefront, before she recognised the last person as Soushui from their encounter in Magnostadt, So go now, child, and teach him what you’ve learnt.


As they spoke, the five figures began to dissolve into laughs and golden birds, gathering around Zubaidah and lifting her out of Marax's void. She could hear their voices whisper words of encouragement as Yakuroro's memories flashed past her eyes; sparring against Ayero and Caelus in the Coliseum; delving into Marax with Zadi and gaining the first Djinn; meeting with a younger Noir and advising her on how to conquer her own Dungeon; spending time with Soushui at her estate in Kou and raising the chimaera Akutestsu. She experienced every single memory all at once, her head bursting and vision spinning, projecting them into this psychedelic space like a film at the cinema…

…until she found herself in a strange place. Unlike the Hashashin delusion, it felt as though she had a form but was all at once formless, with no physicality to her presence at all. But she recognised this place, having been here when she received Marax all those months ago. She knew that this was the space inside her own heart and soul. This was where her truest self lay, not just every secret and trauma but also every love and passion; everything that made Zubaidah who she was.


Where to next! She saw him as a blue-haired boy around fifteen years old, looking at a blank signpost pointing to nowhere; this being the only feature within the white space stretching from horizon to horizon. Reim and Magnostadt were fun. Heliohapt as well! Maybe Balbadd could be good - or Kou?


What are you saying! Don’t you want to know more? I can tell you so much! I cannot keep meeting people and going places just to find out more about what you know. As she spoke, the white space distorted around Zubaidah, the black skybox twisting so that Yakuroro seemed to stand upside down in midair, staring back with absent eyes, I have my own life to lead - and your knowledge can't be enough for me to continue veering off-track. I realise now that I have my own people and places which I value much more than knowledge alone…

I don’t think there’s anything more that I need to know… With every word, Yakuroro grew taller and taller until he had aged into his adult twenty year-old self, staff in hand and Marax's vessel hanging by his side, …or rather I don’t think I want to know.

I can’t just keep chasing you. But I - I can’t give your every regret the satisfaction which you might want. I can’t - It’s time that I let you move on.


Yakuroro is dead… Zubaidah embraced him, tears in her eyes, as Yakuroro's memories swirled about her mind, But you can live on as Zubaidah.


When he turned back, Zubaidah smiled like the brightest star in the night sky. I understand. Yakuroro looked downwards towards his body, dissolving into golden birds. It’s my time, eh? A chuckle joined a sigh of relief, his rukh flying to join with Zubaidah, What can I say but…

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‘Sukhainah.’ As the golden glow of Yakuroro’s rukh faded from Zubaidah’s eyes, it was soon replaced by the hazy vision of her Yambhala mentors, ‘Sukhainah!’ With sound soon returning into her ears, Zubaidah found herself confused at the repeat of her own name echoing frantically around the Coliseum,


When her senses were fully returned, however, Zubaidah would quickly realise why her Yambhala and Coliseum colleagues were so concerned. Spinning around herself were black-and-white eyes, their irises decorated with six-pointed stars, whilst violet-coloured spears and shields and sashes shimmered in and out of existence like mirages in a desert storm. As soon as she registered them, however, Zubaidah could feel her internal magoi twist and turn like a rushing river, layering itself around her entire body, and five words came to mind:


With these five words, all the armaments materialised around herself began circulating around her body with the same direction as her magoi flow, attracted with an almost gravitational pull. As she continued strengthening her internal magoi, the armaments outside began to mirror the patterns of her magoi circulation with perfect precision until…

She realised what Marax wanted from her. She knew about the famed Djinn equip. She had seen it from Noir, from Jahangir, from Ayero. She had seen the form taken by Yakuroro in his memories. Now it was time that Zubaidah showed them how it was really done.