Hello, all! For those of you that don't know (which could be most of you for all I know), I'm Vesvius, and I run quests as a writing exercise. Previous readers of my quests have described them as 'not entirely terrible!' and 'mostly enjoyable except for all the stupid!' and 'why don't you ever finish anything you indecisive bastard!'. All of my previous work (including my critically lauded Pro Graps quest 10 Pounds of Gold) can be found in my signature.

Now that you know who I am, let me tell you what this is: this is a repost of a quest I started over on Spacebattles a few months back that I then let fall into disuse. 8 Updates were already posted there, and I will be porting all of them over intact. This will be a direct continuation of the events that happened there will the votes for the first eight updates already made. Everything after that? Brand new stuff. And that includes update 9, which I will post once everything else is in place.

Onto the quest itself. This is Improve Thyself, a quest set in the wonderful world of Will Wight's Cradle series. Don't know them? Don't worry! It's a pretty straight forward Xianxia setting with magical kung fu and monsters that spit lava and horrible quips and everything else you would expect from a cultivation quest. The setting itself will be explored as the quest goes on, so I hope you enjoy learning about it for the first time. And hey, if you like what I do, consider checking the series out! It's really a lot of fun.

If you're already familiar with it, great! Welcome aboard. A quick note for you: Improve Thyself takes place approximately 500 years before the start of Unsouled. So if you're expecting to pal around with all the characters from the books you're going to be disappointed for the most part.

After this post will be the first update, the character sheet, a space for the Dramatis Personae, an intro to my mechanics, a list of commonly used terms in Cradle that you may want to refer to, a bunch of reserved posts just in case, an the rest of the Updates. Please do not post until you get to Update 9 (In Which One Throws...).

My thanks to Cteatus for all his help with getting all this off the ground and his continued help betaing and serving as a sounding board (he would also like to remind everyone else that they can quote 'suck it'), and to Fabled Ranger for supplying some previous work of his own that forms the bones for a few things coming up.

I hope you all enjoy the ride that is Improve Thyself, however long it may be. Now let's get this thing going!

Information Requested: The Silent Summit.

Beginning report...

On the easternmost edge of the westernmost continent in the land known as Cradle lies a ring of mountains so perfectly formed around a crater that they could not have been formed naturally. And indeed they were not- they are all that remain from an ancient battle between two Sacred Artists at the peak of their power. But while those Sacred Artists have long left this place that doesn't mean that the area is deserted. No, lying deep within the tallest mountain sits a citadel carved by hand and maintained by power. And within that citadel dwells the Silent Summit. And they know the truth.

It is said that when one practices the Sacred Arts, there is no one correct path. Just as each small river leads to the mighty ocean, so does every Path lead towards the truth of the Sacred Arts. Some rivers may be more shallow, and thus take longer to traverse, and others may have rough waters that can capsize any but the strongest boats, but any Path you travel can guide you to your goal so long as you keep moving forward. That is ancient wisdom, passed down from the most noted sages to the newest pupils for eons.

The Silent Summit know the truth of this age old wisdom. They know it for the falsehood that it is, spread by the strong to further enfeeble the weak. And they know that their path, the Path of the Silent Summit, is the one true way.

They will hone their skills and master their Path. And they will show the world that their Path is the one true way, the way of the Sacred Arts that all others spring from and ape. And they will show non-believers that they walk upon the correct road. And if they are lucky, non-believers will gain the opportunity to learn the true path.

If they are not?

Then that opportunity shall pass by them as a ghost brushing by the husk that used to be it's body.

Suggested topic: the Survivor of the Silent Summit. Continue?

Topic accepted, continuing report…

Deep within the central training grounds of the SIlent Summit, a man works at honing his craft. He is…
[X] A young child, barely six summers old. He is a new walker on the Path but he shows great promise.
[] An older boy of fourteen summers. He is frustrated that he alone still stands at the Foundation Level, but he will not give up.
[] A young man of twenty two summers. He has despaired at ever advancing further along his path and is now simply training out of habit.

The man is a member of the Silent Summit, but he is much more than that. He is also…
[] A member of the Patriarch's large family. He comes from a long and storied bloodline within the sect, and more is given to and expected from him.
[] A child of newcomers. All are welcome to join the sect, though those who bear tainted cores will never gain the opportunity to walk the true path. His parents may never be accepted for their tainted cores but this man has a chance.
[X] ...no, it is all he is. This man has no family, no one waiting for him at home. He only has the Silent Summit.

As he trains, an item on a string around his wrist bounces wildly, hitting his palm and his arm in equal measure with every blow. This item is…
[] His favorite paint brush. He never sets it down. In his few free moments he enjoys nothing more than walking down to the closed market and painting the sights that he sees.
[] A key to his bird's cage. He has been training his newest pet for quite some time and is eager to get back to it. Perhaps today, he will have a breakthrough.
[X] His lucky game piece. He has never lost a game when he substitutes his lucky piece in for the standard one. He has a game scheduled for later today; assuming training permits it, of course.

But that is a small distraction. He has a far greater issue at hand that is hindering his training. It is…
[] His lack of a right leg. It was recently lost in an accident deep within the mountain and he has not yet become accustomed to his prosthetic.
[X] The whispers he hears in his ears. There is no one there, no one speaking to him at all as he trains, but still he hears words that are slightly too faint to make out clearly.
[] The way his madra channels refuse to work properly. Sometimes, he expels the proper amount for his technique. Sometimes his channels seem to bubble and ache, refusing to fulfill their purpose.
[] The hunger in his stomach. Thankfully, that's nothing that a trip home will not quench. (NOTE: This option confers no drawback. If this option is taken, the choice that grants no benefit must also be taken.)

He perseveres however. And while his training may be arduous, he is not without his own help. That help is there with him now. It is...
[] His partner, a Sacred Beast he signed a contract with long ago. Though the man is only at Foundation, his partner refuses to give up on him.
[X] His bonded weapon, given to him at birth and fed his madra since he could first bring it out. It is always within reach and sometimes, it's almost like it talks to him.
[] The Remnant inside his soul. Ordinarily beyond a lowly Foundation Artist, this Remnant may cause issues with his Madra, but it comes with it's own set of advantages. (NOTE: This option may only be taken in conjunction with the damaged madra channel drawback)
[] An elixir that he brewed himself. By taking it, it focuses and refines his spirit as he works. His refining skills still leave much to be desired but he has quite a knack for it.
[] His mentor, a Sacred Artist of great renown only traveling through the Silent Summit. The man has no idea why such a powerful Artist took an interest in him, but he follows his mentors commands like words from a god.
[] His own natural reflexes, honed from years of practice and hard training. (NOTE: This option confers no actual benefit.)

Finally the physical portion of his training has come to an end for the moment. It's time for him to stop and cycle. He sits cross legged in his training . But his breathing technique fits him like a poorly tailored glove; his breathing is raspy and his madra moves sluggishly in his channels. He needs to improve it. So he resolves to…
[] Visit the archives higher in the sect. There are no problems that exist that he cannot discover a solution for. Surely with enough research, he will find something better suited for him.
[] Find one of the elders of the Summit. They are far more practiced Sacred Artists, with some even reaching the heights of Lowgold. They will no doubt have a better idea of how to improve himself than he will.
[] Watch other sect members in practice. Though they may be resistant to sharing their techniques and ideas, they won't say anything about it if he just so 'happens' to see them put their techniques in to practice.
[X] Create a new one for himself. All of these cycling techniques have to come from somewhere, right? Why should the man not improvise one for himself? Does he not know his own body better than anyone else? He will make his own breathing pattern here and now.

Name: Meng Hakko
Gender: Male
Age: 6 Summers Old

• Path of the Silent Summit
  • Enforcer Techniques
    • Prelude to the Crown of the Peak: Advanced 750/1000
  • Striker Techniques
    • Prelude to the Crestborn Lance: Basic 250/500
  • Ruler Techniques
    • Prelude to the Monsoon's Blessing: Basic 250/500
  • Forger Techniques
    • Prelude to the Prison of a Thousand Tears: Basic 250/500
  • Madra Control
    • Above Average 800/1300
• Cycling Techniques
  • Silent Summit Foundation

Improve Thyself will be running on a narrative basis. Not only does this cater far more to my style than any amount of numbers could, but Cradle features a hell of a lot of bizarre and strange powers that are nearly impossible to quantify. Trying to put them to numbers is a losing task.

However, in order to make decisions on what you want <PROTAGONIST> to do, you'll need to know what he's capable of. As such, your character will be represented on his character sheet by the following things: Advancement, Skills, Techniques, and Perks (Covered below). Advancements are leveled up over the course of the story, but the others can be improved/added to by spending Experience. EXP can be acquired in one of two ways. First, it will be acquired by the PC passively as he focuses on different tasks in his life. If you want to steer how that EXP accumulates, I heavily recommend attempting to vote for things that would utilize the desired skills.

The other way to acquire EXP is by blatant bribery- er, by earning it yourself. EXP will be given out as rewards for omakes, fanart, or by doing anything else that makes me have more fun writing this quest. You gain anywhere from 1 to 200 EXP for omakes or fanart, and anything else will be rewarded based on quality and enjoyment.

One note on bribery EXP: it cannot be used to level up <PROTAGONIST>'s advancement. You can get him right up to that level, a point below, but that final experience point must come from in quest actions.

Advancement
In the world of Cradle, everyone is constantly walking the path of the Sacred Arts. With each punch, every kick, every single fireball spat out, they grow better, faster, stronger. And when they reach a new threshold, their powers increase. Their bodies can change, their cores can expand, their madra grows denser and more powerful.

These thresholds are called Advancements, and gaining them is the goal of any Sacred Artist.

Advancements are unique in Improve Thyself, as they are leveled up strictly on a narrative level. The in game actions you choose will have a great deal of say in what advancements you reach. There is no other way to improve your advancement besides having <PROTAGONIST> work towards it.

Advancement levels are as follows:

• Untrained: You are a novice at the Sacred Arts, or perhaps you don't practice them at all.
• Student: You're still a novice at the Sacred Arts, but you're a more skilled one. You can throw a punch and know how to fall. But anything more advanced is still to come.
• Foundation: You have taken your first true steps on your path. You can begin to cycle vital aura into madra and you may know one or two techniques. (YOU ARE HERE.)
  
• Copper: You are now a serious practitioner of the Sacred Arts. Your eyes are open, allowing you to see madra in the world around you.
• Iron: Your body has been hardened and reforged, becoming an instrument of the Sacred Arts.
• Jade: Your soul is just as honed as your body, and you can sense the auras and cores of those around you.
• Lowgold: You have reached the true beginning of your path. Your madra is denser and more powerful, and you know how to use it. Others may look down on you but to those beneath you you may as well be a god. You can bind a remnant to yourself, learning from it's experience and harnessing it's power.
• Highgold: You are as far above a Lowgold as a Lowgold is above a Foundation. You've begun reaching into the upper echelons.
• Truegold: You have reached the highest place a man can go, at least as far as most are concerned. To some, this is the furthest their dreams can reach.
• Underlord: You have reached the end of a Path and began walking on another, more arduous one. Others look at you and weep that they have not been blessed as you have.
• Overlord: You are unto the divine to those below you, but to those above you you are simply a child.
• Archlord: To reach this level, you cannot be a simple practitioner of the Sacred Arts. You must train while you sleep, eat and breathe the sacred arts, never resting as you press on and force your body to greater and greater heights.
• Sage: You've reached a place that isn't believed to exist. No one thinks that this can be done, and any stories told about you are laughed out of any reputable tavern. Your tales are told in hushed whispers around campfires and your exploits are dismissed as children's stories- but they're very, very real.
• Herald: You have gone far beyond what anyone thought was possible. You've left the realm of men far behind, and are clawing at the ranks of the heavens.
• Monarch: You do not simply resemble a god… when you have reached this level, you are a god. At least you are in this world.
• ??? (???): ???

Skills
A skill is something that <PROTAGONIST> has put effort into learning. They are divided up into two categories: general, and path-specific. Though some basic skills have already been added to the sheet, further ones can be discovered over the course of the game.

• Untrained (0 XP): You might have heard of this skill, but you haven't practiced it at all.
• Simple (400 XP): You have picked up the basics of this skill, and can use it when you've prepared yourself.
• Above Average (800 XP): You are practiced with this skill and comfortable using it wherever you want.
• Superhuman (1300 XP): You know things about this skill that other practitioners don't, and using this skill is your go-to thought in any situation.
• Pinnacle (2000 XP): You have truly mastered this skill.

Techniques
A technique is a specific trick or ability that you can do. Each one falls under a parent skill, usually one of the greater technique classifications.
Techniques are graded as follows:

• Basic (250 XP): You are capable of the technique and can use it comfortably in controlled situations.
• Intermediate (500 XP): You are far more practiced with the technique, and are comfortable using it outside of the training ground and in live combat situations.
• Advanced (750 XP): You have honed this technique to a fine edge, and can use it whenever you'd like instinctively.
• Master (1000 XP): You are the unquestioned king of this technique, and can employ it in ways lesser users can't even comprehend.

Perks
Where skills, attributes, and techniques grow and can be trained, perks can not. Perks are <PROTAGONIST>'s character. They occur naturally over the course of the quest as choices are made and actions are performed. They can be earned through consistency (acting the same way reliably) or by deed (doing something majorly impressive).

Traits can evolve and change over time. The 'Baby' perk may turn into the 'Child' perk, and then the 'Preteen' perk, and then be lost forever as any benefits of childhood vanish with age.

New perks can be purchased with personal XP. The degree and severity of the perk dictate the cost. A simple perk that meshes with the rest of the protagonist's character may cost 50 XP, while something completely new that gives the character a previously unseen dimension may cost 500.

The following are a list commonplace concepts, titles, and other miscellaneous information from the world of Cradle. They will be used extensively in the quest proper. More will be added as they come up in quest.

Advancement: the holy grail of the Sacred Arts, advancement is what every Sacred Artist strives for. They hope to hone their skills and techniques until their very body changes, improving, strengthening, and becoming even more of a lethal weapon. Advancement follows many stages. They are detailed in the mechanics section.

Core: The source of the bodies madra. It exists deep in a Sacred Artist's body, and can be targeted by techniques, friendly or otherwise. A core undergoes many changes over the course of a Sacred Artist's life, mostly as a result of advancement. If a core is badly damaged, the Sacred Artist is crippled.

Cycling: How one takes in the vital aura and develops their core. Cycling draws in power and drains the aura of what is being cycled if the Sacred Artist so chooses, though a particularly determined one may Advance as usual without ever drawing in Aura. Cycling is primarily a technique to move madra through ones channels for various purposes. It is usually practiced with meditation and a breathing technique chosen by the Sacred Artist.

Madra: The fuel for sacred artists that power their techniques and everyday life.

Natural Treasures: Objects or locations soaked with Vital Aura that makes cycling easier.

Sacred Arts: What people call the Magical Kung Fu that makes up the core of Cradle.

• Techniques: The Sacred Arts are more than just simple punches and kicks. They also consist of advanced techniques that utilize Madra to create extraordinary effects. Those techniques are usually divided into four classes.
  • Enforcer: Techniques that strengthen or modify objects or the body physically.
  • Striker: Techniques that can be used at a distance.
  • Ruler: Techniques that manipulate aura on a larger scale and cause reactions with Madra.
  • Forger: Techniques that concentrate the user's Madara and make it solid and/or animate them in some form or another.

Sacred Artist: The term for a magical kung fu sorcerer.

Sacred Beasts: Animals that have an abundance of vital aura. While some Sacred Beasts are indeed nothing more than animals, as they grow stronger they can gain intelligence, learn to speak, and even begin practicing the Sacred Arts themselves.

Paths: Sacred Artists don't just flail around wildly- not unless they're very stupid or have no better options at least. Instead, most follow a Path. Paths are training regimens, technique guides, and complete lifestyles all rolled into one.

Remnants: the ghost of a Sacred Artist or some other kind of living being (be it plant or Sacred Beast) that had channeled madra before their passing. That madra takes the form of a Remnant, with all of the being's power and none of it's mind.

Vital Aura: The life force that emanates from all living things. Can be cycled by sacred artists to produce madra of the same type. The most common varieties are Fire, Earth, Wind, Water, Force, Blood, and Life, but each of those can mix and or blend with others, creating hundreds of unique types of madra. More unique aspects of vital aura exist but are difficult to sense or control.

Main Cast
Meng Hakko: You. The Protagonist.

The Silent Summit
Deng Faban: A Copper level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, he is currently ranked ninth among the Coppers.
The Highest: A Truegold level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, he is the trailblazer and leader of the Silent Summit.
Huo Rugong: A Foundation level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, he is tall and bony, and dislikes that he is not higher ranked.
Quan Sigdag: A Foundation level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, he is big and boisterous, and used to coming in second place.
Song Luoyang: A Foundation level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, he tells jokes as easily as he breathes.
Sun Heni: A child on the Path of the Silent Summit, she has recently reached her fourth summer.
Tan Jaci: A Foundation level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, she is small and lithe, with her hair tied in a heavy braid. She prefers to keep her words short and sweet, and let her fists do the talking.
Tang Bai: A Jade level sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, she is highly regarded and may one day enter the ranks of Gold.
Xuan Erling: A Jade level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, he is aged, with a heavy beard shot through with silver. He's one of Hakko's 'Uncles'.
Xuan Rifka: A Jade level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, she is wise beyond her years and willing to mother absolutely anyone. She is one of Hakko's 'Aunts'.
Zhang Mira: A Jade level Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, she is an older, matronly woman who is in charge of the Summit's hospice. She is one of Hakko's 'Aunts'.

Deep within the central training grounds of the Silent Summit, a small boy works at honing his craft. He is young, barely six summers old, and he is a new walker on the Path of the Silent Summit. But despite his youthfulness he shows much promise and dedication. The dedication is no surprise to any who know him; he has never known his parents, or any family at all. The Silent Summit is his family and he will not disappoint them.

As he trains his forms, thrusting blow after blow onto hardwood, a small token bound to his wrist by a string bounces wildly and nearly comes off. He pays it no mind except to rip it off and tuck it into his pocket; he will retrieve it later, and use it in a game of Garden of Beasts before he retires for the evening. He has newly learned the complex game but he is eager to play more. In fact, he has a game scheduled right before bed.

It will not be a well played game by the young boy. Then again, that is not his goal. He will train and play until his eyes droop and he can barely keep his thoughts in order. Only then will he sleep. The whispers he hears every moment of every day gnaw at his eardrums and do not allow him to rest until his body and mind are both exhausted beyond rationality. The whispers toy with him even now.

But he has long learned to persevere however and gives his all to his training. With a fluid move he drops to a knee, reaching out and grasping a shining shield of steel and emerald. It is as much a weapon as a defense and it has been with him since before he can remember. With the shield in his hand he lashes out, striking the wooden target with the edge before ducking down and guarding himself from an imaginary riposte.

Finally the physical portion of his training comes to an end- at least for the moment. It is time to stop and cycle. He drops where he stands, sitting cross legged in front of the wooden target and begins to cycle his madra. But his breathing technique is a flawed one, and it fits him like a poorly tailored glove. His breathing is raspy and the madra moves sluggishly in his channels. He needs to replace it.

And so he does. Without hesitating for a moment he stops breathing as trained and changes his pattern. Instead of cycling his madra to his core as he inhales, he begins to move it in patterns as he takes short, choppy breaths.. He sends the pure blue energy that sits near his heart out and around, spiraling here and there as it seeks the most beneficial course.

With it, comes the pain.

The boy blacks out.

Suggested topic: the medical practices of the Silent Summit. Continue?

Denied, report complete.
***
Once, when you were really little, Uncle Erling had taken you out of the Summit on what he called an 'expedition'. You hadn't been expecting anything special; you had been outside a whole six times before that so another trip to get sun on your face was nothing new. But instead of just letting you practice your forms in a clearing right outside like usual, Uncle Erling had picked you up and ran as fast as he could to reach what he called a forest.
wouldn't it be better if you lived in a forest too the forest is kind and cooling and will never leave you
The forest was strange. It had all these plants growing and the trees were way bigger than anything you had ever seen that wasn't the mountain itself. And instead of having you train you you expected, Uncle Erling had decided to show you things like what berries were safe to eat here and where moss grows and what a squirrel is- though that last one took some doing, as he kept finding young Sacred Beasts when he was looking for a normal rodent. It was during one of his hunts that you had first seen a wild bird.

It hadn't been flying through the air like you had hoped; you hadn't earned aviary privileges then, so you still had not seen a bird actually fly. It was doing something almost as interesting however; it was perched on a tree and pecking at the trunk of the tree. Just pecking away, attacking the bark like it had insulted the bird's ancestors. You had stared at the bird for several long breaths before Erling had found those squirrels and it never stopped pecking.

Right now, it feels like that bird is doing its work inside you.
feel the pain that you've earned feel it you know you deserve it why don't you do more
You're not sure how long you were unconscious, but it's been long enough that the lantern that was lighting your training has guttered out, the wick fighting to light the last tiny droplet of oil. Shadows are long and complete around you; a small blessing from heavens surely. For if the light was all consuming the ache behind your eyes would be near crippling. As it is, it's a dull throb that seems to shake your bones and goes quite nicely with the birds attacking your madra channels.

The stone beneath you feels cool and calming and you want nothing more than to sink into it to let the earth wash the pain away. But that will never happen. It won't- well, perhaps with a proper technique. Maybe you will be able to prevail upon one of the-

Your racing chain of thought is cut off by the ache once more. Alright, it's not time for that. It's time to make the pain go away. And it's not going to do that if you just lay here. You need to get up and you need to do it quickly.

You reach out and brace yourself. One hand comes down on the stone, the other on warm and comforting metal. Absently you grab your shield and throw it's strap around your shoulder, resting it in it's familiar place on your back. You're not sure why you bother though. The thing will just follow you around no matter what you do; no need to actually make an effort to carry it. And it is not like it will be taken. The other pupils know better than to-
you should show them you know you can show them all
Pain.

Right. Getting up.

You reach down and push, leveraging yourself back to your feet. It's a near thing, and the pain behind your eyes almost pushes you back to the comforting embrace of the stone. But you spread your feet wide and brace yourself. You can do this! You're a Sacred Artist on the Path of the Silent Summit, you know all thirteen introductory forms, and you're currently ranked third of the Foundation pupils! You can stand!

Walking, however, proves more challenging. Each step you take feels like you are striding through a sand pit. You push on though, stopping only to prop yourself up against a wall as you near the exit to the training ground. Things don't get easier from there. You stagger your way through the halls as fast as you can, feeling like you're going to crash face first onto the ground at any moment.

It's only sheer grit and forward momentum that keep you moving. However your momentum only lasts until you reach the Column.

The Silent Summit is massive. You have lived in it your entire life, and there are places that you are allowed to go to that you still haven't seen. There just are not enough hours in a day to see everything there is to see in the citadel. But all of those places, and many more besides, are connected together by an enormous vertical tunnel that reaches from the bottom of the mountain all the way to the top. That's the Column.

The Column is the only way to get from level to level inside the Summit. Any competent Sacred Artist can use their momentum to spring from side to side, hopping through an exit when they get to the floor they seek. Getting down is even easier; one just has to jump and catch on to their level on the way down.

For those who aren't confident in their footwork- which would be anyone at Copper or Foundation- there are hand holds set in the side that one can use to climb the Column like they were on the outside of a mountain. There is no easier way to get from place to place; as the first Highest said when he created the Silent Summit with one mighty kick, everything should be training. An easier way of traveling would be a waste.
you could just take the servants way the way of the failures and the cowards and the pathetic you should take it right now why don't you take it why aren't you taking it
Ordinarily, you would have no problem scaling the handholds. But now…

You're interrupted from you contemplation of the height you would fall from by footsteps coming behind you.. A glance over your shoulder shows two of your fellows coming; both Sacred Artists of the Foundation level, both clad in worn robes and covered in the small wounds that come from full contact sparring.

The three of you know each other well, and their faces both brighten when they spy you. "Meng!" the larger one calls. "How goes it?"

You nod as they approach. "Tan, Quan," you greet them, fighting not to let your struggle against the pull of the earth show on your face. "A good sparring session?"

Quan Sigdag, the larger of the two, grins at the sight of you. "It was pretty good!" he bellows out loud enough that your ears ring. "Tan almost got me once or twice but I think we both know who got the better of things!"
he is pathetic you're all pathetic they are all pathetic
At his side, the diminutive Tan Jaci lets out a huff and throws her braid out of her face angrily. "We do, and it's me. As always. Or do I have to remind you who the best is again, number seven?"
pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic
Quan sighs, again at a volume that nearly sends you reeling. "You can protest all you want but at this year's ranking day, we both know who's going to come out on top."

This is a long standing argument between the two of them, and Tan isn't having any of it today. Instead she turns her attention to you. "How about you, Meng?" she asks. "You look like one who put a great deal into their training today as well."

"It... " you reply haltingly. "It could have gone better."
you're showing weakness they'll mock you they'll hurt you they'll leave you
The two of them trade an irritatingly familiar look and as one turn back to you. "So," Quan begins. "What did you do to yourself this time." It is not a question, and the fact that he says it with such a lack of doubt sends a spark of anger shooting down your spine.

"I-"

"Last time it was the time you had a better way to wield your shield than Master taught us. Then it was the way you tried to cycle Vital Aura before you could even see it," Tan continues. "This time you actually seem like you're in discomfort, so it must be bad."

You sigh. There's no point arguing now. Not while your head is like this. You'll get them back later.

Besides, they won't get it even when you do explain it to them. It's not their fault; they're just content by doing things the way they've been taught. They don't know all the things you know! They don't know how many other ways there are to do things! There are different ways, better ways, you know it!

You just have to find them.
show them all show them all show them all show them all show them all show
But you've had that argument before and it won't change a thing to explain it again. It would just irritate them and make them chide you more. Right now, you need their help.

"Something like that," you admit, the words cutting at your soul. "I believe I need to visit the hospice and I don't like my chances on the Column. Could one of you assist me perhaps?"

The admission robs them of their momentum, and the request takes them by surprise. Not for long though. Quan throughs a meaty arm over your shoulders and lets out a belly laugh. "Of course! It is the duty of any responsible Sacred Artist to care for the weak and injured!"

...he will pay dearly for this.
hurt him bleed him paint the walls with him
But he will pay later. Right now, he's busy helping you. Quan turns to Tan. "Hey," he orders. "Grab Meng's hand. I will take the other. Is that alright, little Meng? Do you have an issue holding our hands?"
show him who the little one is remove his knee tear at his cartilage
...he may pay now for this.

Tan, to her credit, slaps her older friend in the shoulder. "You're being rude right now!" she protests loudly. "He's hurt and you're making him angry!"

Quan shrugs. "Do you know how rare this opportunity is for me?" he replies, tone still jovial. "I never get to do this! Whatever happens later will be worth it. I may ask for someone to help me with banners. I can see them now! Large silk tapestry commemorating the day that I, the humble Quan Sigdag, was able to render some assistance to the great and noble Meng Hakko. They may hang them in the Central Chamber for future generations to see!"
you know you want to you already know this why is he still talking you're weak you're weak you're weak
...the gods themselves are not going to be able to stop you from wreaking a well deserved vengeance for this slight upon your honor.

As you stew, Quan is moving. He claps on of your hands in a grip like iron, Tan taking the other side. Then as one, the two approach the Column and grab hold. In one fluid motion they leap, pulling you up as they scale the hand holds in sudden, leaping motions. A glow of light blue madra forms around their arms as they Enforce themselves together, letting their inner light fuel their strength and let them carry you as easily as a mother carries a babe.

With them using their techniques to strengthen their motions the journey to the third level takes only moments. You're deposited on the ground like a sack of flour; at least Tan seems sorry. She waves with her newly freed hand. "See you later, Meng! I hope you feel better!"

"And if you ever need assistance again, please, look no further than I!" Quan joins in.

Without giving you a chance to respond he moves, continuing his way up to the fifth level, where his families apartments are. Tan sighs, shrugs in the universal way that says 'what're you going to do', and drops, heading back for the second level and her own home. You stare after them for a moment before continuing your fight against the comfortable stone.
they will suffer they will all suffer
You push yourself up and continue your staggering down the hall. Thankfully, the hospice is not far. You're able to make it there without seeing anyone else, and also without falling again. You make it to the door and push it open, revealing the room inside.

The hospice is not the largest room in the Summit. It may actually be one of the smallest; after all, true Sacred Artists need nothing to aid their recovery but a source of vital aura to cycle and a glass of water and crust of bread for sustenance. They would rarely visit here. But it's still a comfortable, almost homey room, with cots lined up in a neat row and cabinets stocked with spirit fruits and rare elixirs.

The woman sitting on a stool going over a scroll looks like she may have been built to go with the room. She's an older woman of large size with wrinkled crows feet at the corner of her eyes and streaks of silver threaded through her once dark hair. She's the picture of a friendly matron, ready to assist you with all of life's troubles. The impression lasts until she looks up and spies you leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes narrow as she peers at you, staring through you. Then the friendly matron is gone, replaced by the hostile interrogator you know all too well.

"Meng Hakko," she breathes out, anger low in her voice. "What have you done to yourself?"

You shift guiltily under her gaze. "Nothing, Aunt Mira," you reply instinctively. When the gaze doesn't change you shift again. "Honestly I just came to visit."
danger she's danger she could remove your lungs and no one would think anything of it because you're weak and pathetic
Her eyes stay on you, locking you in place like nails going through the wings of a moth. "Honestly," you protest weakly. "I don't hurt at all!"

There's an itching forming on your back now, a sense of imminent danger. "Though," you allow slowly. "If you had any elixirs to soothe irritation in this one's Madra channels, I would not precisely find them unwelcome."

Aunt Mira sighs and the sense of impending doom falters. "Again?" she says, reaching for a vial. "What did you do this time? Did you try to enforce yourself before you were ready to one up little Sigdag? I keep telling you Hakko, don't attempt techniques before you're ready! Some are just more gifted in certain areas then others. It isn't anything to be ashamed of."

Now that she's decided what you did, you almost want to let her continue. You'll be a in a lot less trouble if she thinks you just tried a technique. But honesty compels you to speak. "I was not attempting to enforce myself again," you say, breaking in during a pause. "I was attempting to improve my cycling technique."
runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun
She freezes, vial in hand. Without turning around she speaks. You shiver as her back straightens and her shoulders square. "Hakko. Are you telling me that you were attempting to rework an existing cycling technique?"

This is not going to end well for you. "Yes, Honored Aunt. Could I have the-"

"Without any practice at doing anything of the sort?"

"Yes, Auntie. I-"

"Without consulting myself, or your Uncle Erling, or any of the other half dozen of us who would have been happy to assist you?"

"I-"

"And with no supervision whatsoever?"

You don't bother saying anything. There is no point.

She turns on you, anger large on her face. "Meng Hakko, that is perhaps the single most irresponsible foolish thing I have ever heard any single pupil attempt! Do you know what damage to your channels can do? Do you want that? Do you want your path to be finished before you've barely begun to do more than walk upon it?"

"You could have ruptured your core with an improper technique! Do you… are you that eager to leave the life you live and walk the road of the enfeebled? Did you think about what that would do to the rest of us, how we would blame ourselves for you doing something so reckless, so ill advised?!"

"No. Of course you didn't. And I understand how it is for you, Hakko. Truly, I do! You feel like you're the smartest person in the world! But know this, my precious nephew, you may be perhaps the most intelligent child I have ever met, but you're still only a child! You do not even know the consequences of the things you so recklessly attempt and you still attempt them without a care in the world!"
who does she think she is why does she think that because you've given her power over you
The lecture is not as potent as you were expecting for two reasons. First, you've heard the 'you're not as smart as you think you are' lecture so many times that the words are starting to lose all meaning. Second, it's getting very hard to focus with the pain in your channels.

"Please," you say, and later you will be gobsmacked at your daring in cutting off Aunt Mira. "I will be more than pleased to hear your wisdom, but may I at least have the elixir first?"

Aunt Mira studies you closely and moves the elixir towards you. But as you move to grasp it, she pulls it back. "No."

"No?!"

"No," she confirms. "You will not have this elixir. It will do nothing besides remove the reminder of your own shortcomings that is currently spiraling through your madra. I think I shall hold onto it."

Aunt Mira sniffs and looks up at the roof. "Perhaps I will give it to another young pupil. One who realizes when he has made a mistake and is willing to admit it."

Aunt Mira wants you to admit that this was a poor decision on your part and possibly promise to never do it again. What do you do?
[] She's right. You've done something foolish, and you're currently suffering the consequences. You should apologize and promise to never do it again.
[X] She's right. In fact, she's right that you don't deserve the elixir. You'll apologize and leave, heading to your own small apartments. This pain is temporary after all.
[] Refuse. You didn't make a mistake. You had an accident while pushing your own boundaries! That's nothing to be ashamed of!
[] Tell her what she wants to hear. It will make the pain go away. You'll be more careful next time, so you'll have learned your lesson, even if it's not the one she intends for you to learn.

Under Aunt Mira's stern gaze you can feel your shoulders slumping and your head drooping. You don't want to admit it, but she's right. Manipulating your madra like you tried to do would be risky in any situation, but to do it like you did? With no one there to call for help? Right after a grueling training session? Off instinct, without putting any thought or planning into it beforehand?
you're so foolish why do you think everyone barely tolerates you
You stand by the idea behind your experiment. Your cycling technique is weak and doesn't fit you at all. But there are dozens of ways you could have gone about it. The way you chose was possibly the most foolish one possible.
pain is all you deserve
Your already low head dips even further as you bow to Aunt Mira. "I offer my apologies, Auntie Mira. You are right. It was a foolish decision on my part."

With that said, you turn to leave. If you were in any real danger then Aunt Mira would have already started patching you up; she wouldn't have wasted this time making sure you had learned your lesson. That means you're just in pain and pain is temporary. You can get by without any assistance. It will serve as a reminder not to make the same mistakes again after all.

You get a step before you hear a loud sigh coming from your Aunt. "Stop being prideful and come take the elixir, Hakko."
she thinks you're nothing but a bug beneath her shoe and she's right she'll turn on you she'll end you she'll wear your skin
Your spine stiffens once again. You're not being prideful! You're taking your earned injuries and bearing them as what you deserve! You spin to say as such-

Only to find the uncorked bottle in your mouth already. "Now drink," Aunt Mira says, finger pressed against the bottom of the bottle. "And do not even think about spitting it out. Then you'll have done more than simply be prideful, you'll have wasted resources." Her eyes light up with a fiendishness that makes your spine crawl. "And then things get complicated."
drink drink or you'll drown drink or you'll choke drink or you'll end
You glare at her over the bottle, eyes crossing as you fight to glower past the tempered glass. Still, you swallow obediently. Aunt Mira is right about the punishment for wasting sect resources. It's something you don't want to ever go through.

The elixir barely touches your throat before you can feel it working. A chill begins to flow through your sore and irritated madra channels like a cool breeze flooding an airless hallway. With only half the elixir taken, the pain is already ebbing.. By the time the final drops are trickling down into your gullet it's nothing more than a distant memory.

Once she's satisfied that you've drained the elixir to it's last drop Aunt Mira pulls the bottle away from your lips with a light popping sound. You glare up at her as she tucks the now empty vessel away in one of her many pockets and pats it, making sure the glass is secure. Once she's content the thing isn't going to shatter against her she looks up, and meets your glare.

Much to your annoyance she doesn't seem the least bit scared, intimidated, or even annoyed by you. Instead her mouth curls into a fond grin and she reaches out to ruffle your hair. You bat her away angrily to no avail; your Aunt Mira wants to ruffle your hair and she's three stages above you. So your hair is going to be ruffled no matter what you want.
danger pain horror danger murder death teeth murder
"Don't be like that, little one," she coos, ruffling your hair further. "I know what you meant to do, truly I did. But there's a time and place for bravely carrying injuries. This is neither that time nor that place."

…well. Your injuries are healed. You've been chastised and your stomach is filled with guilt. Your pride is in tatters. You had probably best leave before an even more horrible fate befalls you.

It takes some doing but you finally manage to extricate yourself from your Aunt's loving clutches and, after a few rounds of low bows and being asked to 'thank Auntie Mira for her wisdom', make your way out of the room. Cool air brushes against your face once more as you leave the well lit confines of the hospice. You stop for a moment and lean against the wall; your pain may be gone, but you're still exhausted. You've worked hard today.

Footsteps coming from down the hall push you off the wall faster than any attack could. It's one thing to be tired, it's another thing entirely to show that weariness to the world. You regain your balance just in time to bow deeply to one of the Elders as he walks past. He pays you no mind; nor should he. That's how you know you're doing something right.
you will die here
As the Elder rounds the corner you have to fight to keep yourself from leaning against the wall again. That was too close a call; had the Elder seen you slacking off you would have earned quite a severe punishment. You can't risk that, not now and not ever. If you want to rest, you'll have to make it back to your apartments. There, at least, you won't be seen as weak if you lay down.

Now the only problem is getting there. Thankfully, you live on this level, so you don't need to challenge the Column again. But you still have to walk a good quarter league out to make it to the little nook that you call your own. Best get started.

And so you walk out from the Column, heading in the opposite direction from the center of the Summit. You follow the tunnels many twists and turns on instinct, trying your best not to let yourself dwell on the bone deep exhaustion creeping in to your mind. Only once do you get turned around, when you accidently take a left facing tunnel instead of going straight. It's only when you hit the golden glow of the Refiner's Garden that you realize your mistake and turn around.

The journey stretches on and on and soon you're wishing you could just stop and rest. You can't though; you're starting to get to the broader tunnels. Where before your trip was in cramped confines, where two people travelling opposite directions could barely squeeze past each other, now you're walking through tunnels so large you can't even think about touching both sides. The light is no longer the erratic flicker of torchlight but a low, almost friendly glow emanating from scripts painstakingly carved into the ceiling. Cross-shafts cut near the ceiling let a pleasant breeze flow through the tunnel, blowing away the stagnant air and letting a fresh scent wash over the hall.

And with the nicer tunnel comes more people. Door after door are cut into the side of the tunnel, each with an apartment behind it. Some of the doors are left open to let the air blow through, and still others have their inhabitants sitting half in and half out of their home. Words flow like wine from person to person as a thousand conversations are yelled from doorway to doorway. Conversations that you're quickly included in.

Everytime you walk by an occupied doorway you stop and say a few words to the person sitting it in. You trade friendly greetings with Faban, the ninth ranked Copper in the Summit and receive a few cycling tips here. You pat little Hene, barely into her fourth summer, who's just earned the right to braid her hair like a warrior, on the head there. You turn down a challenge for a game of Garden of Beasts from Uncle Erling and then just as politely turn down an invitation for tea from Aunt Rifka.
who will ever let down their hair for you who will ever acknowledge you who will ever treasure you no one
It feels like every single person you walk by has an urgent need to talk to you. Every single one of your many aunts and uncles, every little cousin you have, all of them seem to swarm up to you as you stagger for your own apartment. Finally, finally, you make it to a non-descript door half hidden by a red tapestry, and push it open. The still air flows out like a long held breath and you're able to walk into your home.

You're only walking as long as it takes for you to get across the sole room and collapse onto your spartan cot, your shield falling from your back onto its stand with a practiced shrug. Your thin mattress and moss-stuffed pillows are nearly shackles to your weary body, and they tie you down as easily as any steel or rope. You just lie there for a long moment, feeling your aches and pains throb all throughout your channels and body.

Once you're able to roll over you do, resting the back of your head against your pillow. You blink quickly, letting your eyes adjust to the room. Your apartment is one of the few on this floor without scripts in the ceiling for light- you simply can't afford them at the moment- so you're in near darkness until you light your lantern.
you forgot them you forgot them your forgot them no wonder they left you you forgot them
The only light in the room comes from the mantle. It emanates from a small shrine in the mantle in your kitchen area. You nearly begin cursing yourself when you realize what you've done. You just fell into bed without stopping to pay your respects!

It pains you, but you lever yourself off of your bed and move over to the shrine before dropping to your knees in front of it. "Hello, Mother," you greet it. "Hello, Father. Please forgive my rudeness."

The jade shrine doesn't answer you; it never does. You assume your parents are far too busy in the heavens to just be waiting by the shrine when you talk. But you're fairly certain they hear you, which gives you comfort. And so you begin speaking, telling them all about your day.
no ones there no ones listening no one cares
You like to imagine your mother was a tough, no nonsense woman, like Aunt Mira if she was a fraction less cloying. She would have had to have been; out of your two parents, it was your Mother that earned the jade shrine. Had your Father been the one of higher advancement, the shrine would be of dull yet serviceable Iron instead. As for your Father, you like to imagine him as some sort of father. A man with withered hands and a rugged beard who worked hard every day. That's how Uncle Erling always described him as after all.

You talk and talk, letting your parents know all about what you've gotten up to in the last day since you spoke with them last. But eventually, you run out of words, and your knees are screaming a protest that can no longer be ignored. You bow again and rise, blinking quickly again as you turn away from the glow of the shrine to get your night vision back.

As your eyes clear, they land on the only other notable object in the room.
power you can't touch power you'll never touch power that's not for you
One of the precepts of the Silent Summit, passed down from the days of the first Highest, is that it's Sacred Artists must always be training. They must practice the Sacred Arts with their every breath, they must be ready for combat when they eat, when they sleep. Every moment they breathe, they must further their practice in the Sacred Arts in some way. That includes the little time they get to rest.

As such, every apartment features a keystone of the path: an item that- you're told- exudes the vital aura necessary to harvest Silent Summit madra. Yours is no exception. Your cycling aide is sitting on a small table near the door.

What item is in your apartment to aid your cycling? (NOTE: This determines the madra used for the Path of the Silent Summit)
[X] A small, ivory statue of an umbrella that collects a mixture of wind and water aura in it's bows. The smell of it always makes you think that rain is coming.
[] A specially forged gauntlet that attracts lightning aura and mixes it with steel. Being near it makes the hairs on your arm stand up on end.
[] An orb of rare metal pulled deep from the earth that gathers powerful earth and force aura. Touching it makes you feel like you're being covered earth.
[] A small incense burner in which you would create smoke from herbs strong in shadow and dream aura. The smoke carries a heady taste that's indescribable.
[] A small satchel of chalky powder that comes from grinding mushrooms strong in life and poison. You haven't used any yet, but you're told that using it as intended makes you feel like you've the vitality of a dozen men.
[] A small patch of soil from the great graveyard on the first level that's teeming with aura of blood and death. Being near it for a long time makes your blood feel cold in it's veins.

Sitting on a small table near your door, surrounded by a few odds and ends you don't remember putting there, is your cycling focus: a small, ivory statue of an umbrella. It may be small in size, but you've been assured many times that it isn't small in power. This little thing is carved from the horn of a centuries-old Sacred Beast and was shaped by master artisans many years ago. Everything about it, from the shape it's been carved in to the tiny runic scripts etched beneath it's bows to even it's placement in your apartments is designed to collect and capture the unique combination of Cloud and Rain aura that unites to for Monsoon aura, which can be distilled down into the power that's only known as Silent Summit Madra.

You like to imagine that you can feel the aura seething through the room. It's like a dark rain cloud just waiting to unleash it's potential in a storm of potential. You would like nothing more than to sit and take that aura into you, let it run through your core, refine it into usable Madra. But imagining the aura is all you can do right now. Until you advance to Copper, you can't even see the vital aura radiating off your statue, let alone touch it. All you can do is cycle your own madra and refine your power in your core.
that's all you'll ever get that's all you deserve
Speaking of… while you want nothing more than to sleep, you never were able to finish your cycling after training. You have a few fragments of power bouncing around your system right now that have to be added to your own. That's not going to get done if you just go to sleep.

Instead of returning to your mattress you drop where you stand, sitting down cross-legged in the middle of your apartments. Eyes closed, you turn your focus inward, to that little space behind your navel, where your center of gravity lies and your core lies. Once you're able to gather Silent Summit madra, your core will be gray and cloudy. But until then, the only madra that lies within you is the untainted blue-white light of the pure variety.

Under your focus the light glows softly within you, ebbing and flowing as you breathe. Your breathing technique, the foundation of your Sacred Arts, may be ill-fitting, but it still gets the task done. With every breath you take, madra spreads from your core, racing down your channels to your extremities and back.

You focus on that madra as you cycle, and you focus on the few bits of unrefined power that dwell within you. No Foundation Artist has a strong enough body to withstand a powerful elixir or a strengthening pill of any real quality, but that doesn't stop your masters from aiding you as best they can. You're given small pills weekly to aid your cycling, and with every morning meal you're given a small fruit, harvested from the flatlands outside the mountain. The fruit carries with it a fraction of power. With each fruit you devour, that little spark of energy is added to your body.
little sparks that's you a little spark that's all you can aspire for
But not your core. Not until you cycle it. Your madra scoops up the small fragments of untainted, pure madra that the fruits gave you, and brings them back to your core on their return trip. Every time a spark enters your core, it grows bigger, brighter, more powerful. The placid stillness of the pure madra is disturbed by the new water entering it's pond. By the time the meager sparks the fruit gifted you have all joined your core it feels like it's sloshing back and forth; like a bowl of soup carried in unsure hands. By the time you wake tomorrow it should be stable once more, ready for you to add to it.

Hopefully it won't be too much longer. You hunger for advancement. Even taking a step as small as Foundation to Copper is still one step more than you've ever taken before. Once you've reached Copper, it feels like the world will open up to you. Vital Aura will be yours to harvest. You'll be able to truly master the techniques you have been taught. You will truly become a Silent Summit Artist once you reach Copper.

The eagerness you feel wars with the exhaustion still deep in your bones. Finally, the later wins, and you pull yourself to your cot and let sleep blessedly take you.
***
When you awake the next day your pains are nothing more than a distant memory and the ground has lost its ability to seem comfortable. You've no problem springing from your mattress and, after a brief stop at a scripted basin to refresh yourself and a change of robes, head out of your apartments with a spring in your step. The long walk home that you suffered through yesterday doesn't feel like anything even remotely challenging anymore and you make it back to the Column in practically no time at all.

You throw yourself down the shaft in the center of the Summit with new fervor. As you catch a hand hold and pull, sending yourself back up the Column, shame floods through you. Yesterday, you had to be carried up a pathetic two stories. You should be better than that. No matter how damaged your channels were you should've been able to navigate the Column of all things. You've been climbing this thing since you were a little kid! You should be able to navigate the Column in your sleep.
you have weakness in your flesh weakness in your mind weakness in your soul cut it out
As punishment for your weakness, you don't enforce yourself like you normally would. You let the strength of your arms and legs along carry you up the shaft until you reach the seventh level. You're sweating far more than you ordinarily would and a new ache is forming in your elbows, but it's a good kind of ache. The kind that says you've worked hard today. It's the kind of ache that lets you put your shame out of your mind. You aren't over it yet and likely won't be for a while, but you don't feel the overwhelming urge to prove yourself worthy anymore.
you must not be weak but you will be you cannot help it
Once you're back on solid ground you move quickly, joining the flood of Artists that are making their way to the same destination: the central dining chamber. Some of the sect prefer to eat in the privacy of their own apartments but the practice is heavily frowned upon, even more so if you're Foundation. As Aunt Rifka always says, "We all must strive together if any of us hope to reach the Summit. Best make friends while you still can, hm?"
she lies she lies she lies she lies you will be alone you are always alone
Not that it's just Foundation Artists in the chamber. The vast majority of the sect's Coppers are in attendance as well, and most of the Irons as well. Even some Jades have made it, though they are far more scarce. And none of the Golds, the Elders, are in attendance today; no surprise there. When one breaks through the gateway to Gold, one has far more important things to do than eat with a crowd of children.

Still, there's no sense being rude. When you arrive at the Chamber you take an empty place between Tan, who gives you a quick smile and nod, and Huo Rugong, the fifth ranked Foundation who chooses to ignore you, and stand there in silence. As more people trickle in they join the silence as they take their own positions. No one speaks, no one moves as they wait.
you will stand and starve and you will do it with a smile on your face you deserve nothing less
A long moment of silence passes as near three quarters of the Silent Summit, over forty score Sacred Artists, wait to see if anyone will join you. Your eyes remained glued to a table in the center of the room. It isn't set with simple steel utensils like yours are; the plates are fine crystal and the implements the same ivory as your aura focus. Even the chairs are more ornate. They are wood like your are, but each is etched with an elaborate design.

All save one. One chair in the exact center of the room is empty of ornamentation. It is the simplest seat in the entire mountain, made of pure white wood that seems to glow under the scripted ceiling.

You've never seen that seat filled. Then again, you suspect almost no one has. After all, if the Golds are too busy to join the communal morning meal, you can only dream of how much the Highest has to do. He leads the sect after all, and he does it by blazing the Path you all follow. No one is as far along the Path of the Silent Summit as the Highest is and considering that he hones his Arts with every breath, it's likely that no one ever will.
not you you will not you will fail and die and be left your value is as parts
After an unknown length of time, finally Tang Bai, a high ranking Jade, raises her hand and brings it down. As one you all fall to your knees on mats in front of your chairs and a rotation of Foundation Artists begins making their way through the crowds. Each carries with them a pot or a dish of some sort, the contents of which end up on the plates before you.

Once the serving is done, you're allowed to dig in, which you do with gusto. Around you, small conversations begin to sprout up as the Artists are freed from the silence. Your fellows are no exceptions.

Three seats down, Quan lets out a hearty laugh. "Hey, Song!" he calls. "You won't believe what Meng did yesterday!"

His friend, a far bonier boy, grows an enormous grin. "Oh? You've got to tell me!"

Beside you Tan sighes. "Please forgive him," she offers in a low voice. "He has no chance to add to his honor on the training field and so seeks to make himself larger through the misfortunes of others. He means no malice."
he speaks of strength while reeking of weakness his bones must be removed and decorate your lair
"You say he means none," you reply through grit teeth, "But his own words say otherwise. But fear not; I will not cause an incident right now. I can wait." The next time you run into Quan, you'll see who the better Sacred Artist is.

Tan reads your intentions easily and accepts them with a nod and a grimace. She seems like she wants to dissuade you, but at the same time, knows it to be an impossible task. You respect her more for admitting that.
quiet is dangerous silence is dangerous the quiet silent one is dangerous and you are not
You say no more on the subject for now, instead focusing on your food and exchanging a few words with Tan and Huo as you wolf down your meal. Your conversation isn't anything as banal as Quan's boasting; instead you focus on your plans for the day, and the training you mean to do.

"I saw Uncle Erling had returned last night," you say as you chew on a spirit fruit. "If anyone can help me refine my cycling technique, it will be him."

Huo lets out a low rumble of disagreement. "I don't see the point," he replies. "You're months from advancement as it is, and you'll gain access to new texts when you reach Copper. They will have a new technique for you if anyone doesn't bother teaching you one, which they most likely will."
books tablets wastes of space of life of knowledge all wastes upon your feeble mind
This time it's Tan who makes the sound of disagreement. "Not all knowledge can be found on tablets," is her response. "Do you know how many skills leave this world with the Artist who created them because no one bothered to right them down? Mother says they number in the thousands at least. You should talk to your Uncle when you get a chance. But I was hoping we could exchange pointers before that if you have any time to spare."
she will rend you remove you destroy you until there is nothing left
You nod agreeably at that. Tan is always a sharp combatant and she never comes at you with the same trick twice. You'll learn much from sparring with her.

Any plans you were making dissolve into so much thin air as you hear footsteps behind you. Your little group of Foundation Artists trail off as someone new comes to join you. You glance over your shoulder- and look up. And up.

The man standing above you is dressed in a gray, shade silk robe with a dazzling amount of runes stitched into the hem. He has dark hair pulled into a top-knot and thick, sharply peaked eyebrows. But most eye-catchingly, the wrists of his ropes are in flux, billowing as a stream of air circles his wrists. As you watch, a small trickle of water blows out, spitting on the table in front of you.
it is too late to run
Bracelets of wind and rain. The Goldsign of one who has taken a remnant of the Silent Sumit into their core and bound it to their spirit. The true mark of a Gold of your sect. You've never laid eyes on this Artist before, but you don't need to have to know that he stands worlds above you.
it is too late to hide
You're off your mat and kneeling, forehead to stone, in a fraction of a second. The rest of your group is moments behind you. You don't say a word; if this Gold wants something of you, you need not offer it. He will tell you what he demands.
cower like the worm you are
After taking a moment to absorb your reverence, the Gold speaks. His voice is deep and comforting, the voice of a father to their child. "Foundations of our Path," he says. "It does my heart good to see you so eager to walk further. Our future is in good hands once you advance." Pride swells within you. Receiving words from a Gold is prize enough on it's own, but words of praise? You're not sure how you've pleased the heavens but you'll give praise to them tonight!

"But," he continues, and your feeling of joy dies as quickly as it was born. "You must remember something, children. The Silent Summit is more than a place for Sacred Artists to grow. It is a family where each and every member works hard to support each other. And as you were discussing how to enrich yourselves, I heard not one word that speaks of how you would help your fellows."
any help you will provide is nothing compared to the damage you do by existing
Your cheeks flush with shame as you hear his gentle admonishment, and you don't have to look up from the floor to know you're not the only one.

"Before you begin your training for the day," the Gold continues, "Each of you is to pick one task that is beyond your usual carefree existence, and you will see it to completion. And then you will go on, knowing that you have done your part to allow each of us to reach the Summit."

And then he's gone, as quickly as he appeared, without even waiting to see if you were going to follow his commands.

...not that you would ever dream of doing otherwise.
run worm. run trash. do the bidding of those stronger least you become a smear upon the wall.
A heartbeat passes. Two. And then every Foundation Artists leaps to their feet with their meals forgotten. You've been given a task. You need to complete it.

You move quickly, and as such, are able to grab your choice of tasks first. What do you choose to do to support the Summit?
[] Even a mountain of austere Sacred Artists generates some waste. That needs to be disposed of somehow. It's a filthy job but it needs to be done.
[] Your food has to come from somewhere, and that place is the farms a league outside the Summit proper. Go aid in the harvesting as best you can.
[X] There is nothing more important that a pure source of water, and the Summit's comes from scripts laid in the stones outside the Summit. But they are delicate things, prone to erosion and damage. Thankfully it's as easy to fix as it is to damage; you'll go make sure they are in order.
[] The Summit goes through robes like so much trash, and the seamstresses of the mountain are always hard at work. But even they need dye to stain your robes the appropriate color, and their herb supply is getting low. You'll go harvest more for them.
[] Material gains are not something any in the Summit dwell on, but some level of funding is still necessary. The primary method for the sect is by selling art, beautiful stones carved into a variety of statues. The artisans can never have enough raw materials to work with; you'll go gather more.

There is something soothing about scripting.

You cannot put your finger on any one thing about it that relaxes you. It could be that it's a very simple process that shows immediate results. Or perhaps it's the rhythmic noise of your chisel on stone, almost hypnotising in it's regularity once you fall into a rhythm. Maybe though it's just the feeling of satisfaction you get from working with your body; you get almost the same feeling after a long and satisfying training session after all. More likely, the reason is all of the above and more.

Whatever it is though, it all boils down to the simple fact that doing basic scripting is calming, soothing work.

At least, it usually is.

But then again, you usually do any scripting you have to do indoors. Not in the horrifying place that is known as outside the summit. And from your perch on a ledge on the side of the mountain, wind blowing past you, comforting clouds gone and the horrible sun beating down on you with what seems like malevolent intent, you're anything but soothed.
pathetic cannot even focus when something some minor is changed pathetic
Your tongue sticks out from between your teeth as you focus while trying to ignore the stupid heat. You position the chisel just right, right where a line of the script is faded, and move to tap-

But the chisel slides from sweat-slicked fingers, your normally sure grip nothing but a memory.
nothing is sure nothing is stable nothing is secure
You bite your cheek hard as you fight to keep a scream of frustration in. There are others around; it won't reflect well on you or Aunt Rifka, who taught you the basics of scripting, if you're caught throwing a tantrum like some child. But it would sure feel good.

You need to focus. You would stop to cycle- that always centers you nicely- but you can't do it here. It's too bright and the wind is everywhere and there are all these smells that you've never smelled before and there are a hundred other reasons that all sound just as foolish as those first ones. A true Sacred Artist should be able to cycle anywhere. You'll have to add that to a training regimen later- learn to cycle everywhere, not just in places of pure stillness.
you aren't a real artist you have no real power you are a waste
But that doesn't change that you can't do it right now and that you need to focus. So instead of dropping into a seat, you stare at your project.

It's a basin set into a ledge on the side of the mountain. In the bottom of the basin is a hole connected to a passage barely the size of two fingers extended. And all around the basin is the script- a series of runes and symbols carved into the stone. These symbols, when charged by madra, can produce millions of different effects- provided they were carved correctly.

The troublesome part of scripting is that initial calculation. Figuring out what lines to carve where, what shape to carve everything into, what runes to use, when to make your own up… just thinking about it is a mind boggling task. Aunt Rifka didn't try to teach you that; she didn't even teach you how they worked at all. She had just put a chisel in your hands and made you repeat a few basic scripts over and over again until you knew them by rote.

"Perhaps later," she had said when you had asked for her to teach you how to actually script on your own. "I shall teach you the basics. But that is not something you can learn in an afternoon. It requires years of dedication to the craft to compose even the simplest of scripts. And even after all that, there is no substitute for an experienced hand. Ask again when you have advanced, Little Hakko." You had protested her decision at the time. After all, it's not like you're some little kid! You could have done it easy!
she was right you are worthless
But if you're having this much trouble with a repair, maybe she had a point.

Because that's all you're doing here; repairing the script. The script on this basin is designed to collect and condense water in the air down into a drinkable liquid. From the basin, in flows down into the little channel and merges it with the streams from all the other channels from this level. All the water is collected in pools inside the Summit. From there, whoever needs it can get it at their leisure.

With the water constantly flowing over the runes carved into the basins it tends to rub at the little markings. When one is rubbed away, the whole basin ceases to work. That's why you're here with your chisel and an etching of what the script is supposed to look like- without someone to replace the runes, the Summit will go without water.

It's an important job. It's a vital job. It's one that absolutely has to be done perfectly. It's something you could do with your eyes closed- as long as you were inside. But you're not. You're under the glare of the terrible sun without even the small protection a cloud would grant you. And- no. You're focusing on your task in order to do it better, not to feel sorry for yourself.
you should pity yourself and pity your parents they died rather than have a son as worthless as you
Absently, you reach out and pluck your shield from where it lies on the ledge next to you and drop it back in it's sheathe. You were wondering when it was going to show up next; you hadn't even bothered picking it up this morning. Odd that it's here though- ordinarily, your shield only shows up on it's own when you need it for something. If you had forgotten it for weapons training day or if you were told to go all out with no restrictions. It just showing up now is…

Handy.

An idea begins to take form in your mind. You pluck the shield out again and, instead of tightening it's straps around an arm like you usually do, you put it over your shoulders like a knapsack. It takes some contorting and you wind up hunched over in perhaps the most uncomfortable position you have ever been in but it's worth it. By the time you're done moving everything around, your shield is over your head like a makeshift sunshade.
treat a prized weapon as a sunshade waste pathetic scum
The only real drawback besides the horror your neck is going to experience soon is that having the straps this way makes it a little harder to move your arms. But you can move them, and with your head and arms protected from the sun, you slowly stop sweating. So you can actually do things with your tools once you have them! All in all, a worthy trade.

Barely holding in a laugh at your own ingenuity you grab the chisel again, double check the etching, and begin to tap the lines into the stone. It's slow going, even without the sweat, but it's miles faster than you were going before. Once you're done replacing the line you stop, stretch your shoulders out, and reach down to the newly finished runes.

You close your eyes and focus. You picture your madra once again, all brilliant blue power coursing through your veins with the aid your breath. An effort of will later and a pulse of madra seeps from your outstretched fingers. The madra in your channels dims slightly as the script drinks it like a man in the desert drinks water, all thirst and need, and your breathing technique suddenly takes miles more effort to maintain.

But it's worth it. The script in front of you shimmers and glows as its effect is activated. Before your eyes, small beads of water begin to form on the lip of the basin. They trickle down, the streams growing stronger and stronger as the aura in the air is collected and concentrated. You smile and reupholster your shield again. One down, around a dozen more to go.

Now that you know what you're doing the rest of the basins are far easier to repair; the most time consuming part of the chore is climbing from spot to spot. The basins are set far apart with small handholds carved into the side to let you get between them. It takes some real effort to get from place to place without dropping your chisel, but you manage. From the first basins set near the top of the peak to the ones down near the base, you make it to them all and fix the small imperfections in each and every script.
you should jump
You finish carving the runes in the last basin and stop, tucking your chisel away into a safe pocket. Physical work done you step back and breath slowly. Not in any kind of recognizable pattern; just something to get the wind back into your lungs. As you do your focus turns inward again. Your madra is still due to your lack of a proper technique at the moment, but you can still 'see' it. It's a ghost of what it normally is normally is. The deep blue is wispy and pale, and when you start breathing properly again, it moves with half the strength it normally does.

A sigh of disappointment escapes your lungs. You're not surprised; you just powered near a dozen scripts after all and your madra isn't endless. But powering this last one is going to be a struggle if you don't stop to cycle, and you can forget about sparring with Tan. You're going to have barely enough power left to get through your technique practice this evening let alone take on something else.

What a shame. Perhaps tomorrow you'll be able to-

You're not alone anymore.
run
There's a newcomer standing across from you, on the other side of the basin. It's a tall figure, shrouded in a deep brown travelling cloak so heavily that you can't make anything out about them. Their posture doesn't help. From the way they are standing they could be curious about the basin in front of them to getting ready to go on a murderous rampage to needing a cup of tea.

But that's not important. What is important is that they just… appeared. They were not there a moment ago! You don't care how deep in thought you were, you've detected irons when they're trying to sneak up on you from the sounds they make or the difference in the air. Someone just showing up near you simply doesn't happen.
run run run
Belatedly, your tired muscles snap into action and you find yourself in the first form of defense. Your shield is on your arm and you're slightly contorted to hide as much of your body as you can behind it, other arm back and ready to strike out.

The newcomer doesn't seem to notice. Instead they squat down near the basin and run a finger along it. "Cunning work," they muse to themselves in a low voice. "Very nicely done. Is this your scripting?"

You don't say a word. Instead you watch them over the rim of your shield, waiting for them to make some kind of move, any kind of move.

The hood of the cloak turns towards you, and the chest of the newcomer shakes slightly. A chuckle? "Of course not," they correct themselves. "The design speaks of generations of improvement. You could not have done this by yourself without being some form of youthful gold. And…" they trail off as they consider something. "Certainly not. No, you are no gold."

Did the newcomer just scan you? That's an advanced technique! That puts their advancement at at least Jade, if not higher. And from the way they're casually talking about golds…
run now run now run away
You find your voice. "You stand upon land guarded by the Silent Summit!" you say, distantly proud that your voice doesn't squeak. "Declare yourself!"

The newcomer's chest shakes once more. They're definitely laughing. "Well, aren't you the most diligent little guardian!" they say. Your ears perk up at the tone. You recognize that intonation; it's the same one Aunt Mira uses whenever she sees a little animal that comes into the mountain from the outside. It's her 'this new creature is so cute' voice.

Indignation washes away your weariness and your trepidation both. How dare this newcomer think that you, Meng Hakko, Foundation Artist and future of the Silent Summit, are cute?! You're not cute! You're dangerous! A warrior born! "Declare yourself!" you demand again.
run hide stay still freeze run
"Oh, my apologies," the newcomer says, voice too normal to be doing anything besides hiding amusement. "I am a great enemy come from far away to conquer your… mountain? Mountain. I am a great enemy come from far away to conquer your mountain but thanks to your vigilance, I am frightened and humbled. Please show me mercy, oh great and wise guardian!"

...you're starting to doubt that this person is taking you seriously.

They straighten up and reach under their hood for a moment, seemingly to rub at their cheeks. After a moment they speak again. "My apologies," they say. "Truly, I am sorry. I tend to allow my mouth to run away with me at times. Please, introduce yourself and I will do likewise."

Introduce yourself?! You asked first! "This land," you say carefully. Perhaps this newcomer is hard of hearing. "Is under the protection of the Silent Summit. Declare. Yourself."

The newcomer makes no move to do so. They just stand there, and you get the sense that they want to start tapping their foot.
run run run run run run run run run run
It looks like the newcomer isn't going to say anything until you introduce yourself. What do you do?
[X] It is a simple request, and while they seem to be condescending, they have not yet proven hostile. Introduce yourself.
[] You have a duty to identify threats to your sect. You have given them a simple request which they have not yet fulfilled. Ask again, and keep asking.
[] It appears you have reached an impasse. They aren't saying anything, so neither will you. You'll wait and see if they crack first.
[] You have not forgotten how this person just appeared from nowhere. This newcomer is a threat. You need to retreat and inform the sect right away.

This newcomer is condescending. They are infuriating, refusing to answer a simple request. They are beginning to truly annoy you which is quite a feat in and of itself; you pride yourself on your good temperament and restraint. But…
surrender now offer your stomach it will be quicker
But you suppose their demand is just as simple and, while they've proven annoying, they have not yet shown themselves to be your enemy. Besides- they are an outsider. That makes them a guest. And if there's there one thing you've been taught by your Aunts and Uncles is that one should always be courteous to a guest.

That doesn't make you stupid though. So you don't relax your posture or lower your shield at all as you give in. "I," you say, "am Meng Hakko, Foundation Artist upon the Path of the Silent Summit. Now can you please declare yourself?"

You're not proud of the pleading note that entered your voice without your permission at the end there, but there's nothing you can do about it now. But the newcomer seems to be amused by it; their chest shakes with silent laughter once more. And finally, blessedly, they reach up with heavily wrapped hands and pull down their dark travelling hood.

The newcomer proves to be a woman who doesn't look like she's two days passed Iron, with tan skin and sharp eyebrows, her hair long, brown, and braided into an elaborate knot set in the nape of her neck. Her eyes are a dark blue that edges on violet. Her lips, slightly too wide for her mouth and curled into a friendly looking smile. "Was that so hard?" she asks. "Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if we'd be here until the sun set!"

A headache is beginning to form behind your eyes. "De-"
runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun
"Declare myself, yes, yes, I know," she sighs. "I understand."

The newcomer breaks off and straightens up, posture becoming far less casual and more like a way you would imagine a formal courtier delivering news would stand. Your own body unconsciously moves to match it, shield dropping slightly. "I," she says in a clear voice, "am Lyra of the Dancing Lights. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Meng Hakko of the Silent Summit." With that she nods politely, places fist to palm, and bows slightly.

Manners compel you to do the same. You have to fight that little part of you that's still screaming to keep your shield up but you do, fist to palm and just as low as she did- something that makes her grin widely, as if you're just too precious. And that's all she does. Your blood doesn't boil in your veins, you aren't attacked now that your guard is lowered. She doesn't even hint at any form of hostility, which is more than you can say for some of your fellow sect members who would find feinting a non-existent attack the height of comedy. Is that because she's just too polite? Or maybe… she can't?

It did not escape your notice that her declaration was very light on specific information. She did not name a clan or family name; not entirely surprising, as not everyone has one. She did not hint at her Path, not unless she walks the Path of Dancing Lights, whatever that would even be. But most importantly, she did not name her advancement.
one keeps secrets one keeps lies one is foolish you are the last
One's advancement is everything. It shows the world how close you are to uniting heaven and earth within your own body, how close you are to the truth of all creation. It is your power, your abilities, your techniques, your training, all boiled down to their purest essence. Your advancement dictates who you bow to, and who bows to you. And this Lyra did not name hers.

Which could mean any number of things. Perhaps she's traveling quietly and wants to avoid notice? Maybe she is embarrassed by her level; she could feel she has lagged behind her peers and wants to avoid a reminder of the wound to her pride. Or maybe, just maybe, she has no advancement to speak of.

It's rare, but in some lesser places in the world, children can be born with less madra than normal and no way to raise it. Here in the Silent Summit a problem like that can be cured with a few petals from a Sunsweet Flower, but not everyone is born with the advantage that you have. Such people are either cloistered away or exiled, sent to meet their death or find salvation on their own. If Lyra is one of those then she likely has far less madra than you do. You could-

You are torn from your thoughts by Lyra taking a step towards the script in the basin. She cocks her head slightly to one side like an inquisitive bird. "I see," she murmurs to herself. "The Delphine is the key to it all. All it needs is…"

She places her foot at the edge of the basin so that it's just barely touching the script. The limb rests on the stonework for a bare fraction of a second before it erupts in a brilliant, blinding light that has you seeing stars even when you look away. When you're able to look back at the basin it's already so full of water that some is sloshing over the sides, trickling down the rock and feeding the parched earth around it.

Lyra steps back and nods at the basin. "Cunning, yet simple! Excellent work!"

...alright. Whatever reason she has for not introducing herself properly, it isn't because of lack of madra.
you are still here you are not running you are a fool
"Excuse me, Lyra?" you ask, the foreign sounding name heavy on your tongue. "What-"

She rounds on you in a flash. "I hope I did not overstep," she interjects, eyebrow quirked. "I certainly hope that doesn't go against custom. Do these scripts need to be powered by your sect's madra? If so, I would be happy to discharge it."

You stop short. Wait, do some scripts function like that? You don't remember anything even close to that in Aunt Rifka's lessons. "No, that won't be necessary. But if I may-"

"Excellent. Now, a question for you, Hakko. You said you hail from the 'Silent Summit'? Does that mean your sect is under a vow of silence? If so, then how are you speaking?"

Where is she getting these ideas?! "Not really," you answer. "None of us are under such a vow. At least, none that I have met. But-"

"Then why are you called the Silent Summit? I assume you live in this mountain, so the Summit part is simple to surmise. But where does the Silent come from?"

...you have no idea. But you can't let her know that; her first impression of the Silent Summit shouldn't come from a Foundation Artist stumbling over his words and failing to explain the origin of his sect. "It is a name passed down for many generations that-"

"You do not know, do you."

It is not a question. Your shoulders slump. "Not particularly, no."

Lyra shakes her head, disappointment writ large on her face. "Then you should have simply said so instead of attempting to disguise your ignorance," she says. Her hand curls up to leave just two fingers extended and you get the sense that if you were closer, you'd be being swatted right now. "There is never anything wrong with simply not knowing something. Not knowing something is your natural state of being; you were born not knowing anything, and over the course of your life you fill that void with knowledge. But if you never admit that you have a gap in your knowledge, then you will only fill it with ignorance. Do you understand?"
look at how you're embarrassed look at how you're humiliated look how easy yo accept your digrace
Shame the likes of which you've only felt a few times before- most notably when you broke Uncle Erling's hand glass- courses through you. You look down at the stone beneath your feet and manage a nod.

"Excellent," Lyra says with a nod. The matter, for her, is clearly considered settled. "Now, help me fill in a few gaps in my knowledge. Tell me. What exactly is the Silent Summit that you speak so proudly of?"

At once your feeling of shame is a ghost of a memory, replaced by deep shock. Wait. Lyra… doesn't know about the Silent Summit? How can she not know about the Silent Summit? How can anyone not know about the work the Highest does here? A high pitched whine fill the air and it takes you a moment to realize that you are the source of it as a nose of pure astonishment is coming from the back of your throat.

You master yourself quickly and shake your head to clear it. Well, she's an outsider. Maybe she's been on a centuries long wilderness sabbatical. Or her family lives under a rock- a small rock, not the large mountain you live under. Or maybe- it doesn't matter how she doesn't know. The important thing is that she is asking, and she wants to 'fill in a gap in her knowledge'. It is your duty to help her with it.

"The Silent Summit," you begin, "is not simply a path through the Sacred Arts. It is the Path. It is centuries of knowledge all distilled down into their purest forms and taught to eager disciples. Other paths may lead to power in the short term, but only those who walk the Silent Summit will ever know true power."

"...well," Lyra replies after a long pause. "I see."
she thinks you mad offer her your knife you that you may repay your insolence with your life
There's something in her voice that says that she doesn't really see. You press on. "The Path of the Silent Summit has survived for generations under different names, for it is the power of the rain and storm. But it is only in recent years that it's true potential has become unlocked."

"Others may flail around, following old knowledge that has remained stagnant, but not us. The Highest blazes our trail and discovers new wisdom every day, and the Elders take that knowledge and teach it to us when we are ready."
do they really
Lyra waits for a moment to make certain you're finished speaking. "Oh," she finally answers. "That certainly does sound impressive. And can only devoted followers of the… Highest gain true power?"

You nod. "Only those raised from birth in the tradition of the Silent Summit can hope to grasp at it. Outsiders are welcome and honored; my own father was from the outside. But those on false paths simply have polluted their core with madra that cannot harness the proper power. They aid the sect in other ways but will not be able to grasp at the higher mysteries."

The newcomer nods slowly. "I see. And what exactly are these higher mysteries?"
hahahahahahahahahaha
You move to speak- but stop short. Truth be told, you have not yet reached the state where you can even grasp at the lesser mysteries, let alone the higher. And while you would love to say something vague and impressive sounding, Lyra just told you not to disguise ignorance.

"I do not know," you admit through gritted teeth. "They are a… mystery, after all. The higher mysteries are forbidden from any whose spirit is not as pure as gold."

"Very well," Lyra answers. "And you say outsiders are welcome?" You nod, and she straightens up from where she'd been slightly crouched over the script. "Then please, if you would be so kind as to show me to one of those with a pure spirit. I am eager to learn of this… truth."
one will learn truth guess which one guess
Excellent! There's no joy like introducing someone new to the greatness of the sect; at least, that's what you've been told. You've never experienced the pleasure yourself before now. But still, there's a skip in your step as you almost run back towards the handholds that will take you back to the ground. "Of course! Come, come! I will show you around!"

You hit the handholds with a fury, weariness a memory, and your mind is racing as you head towards the ground. Where should you show her first? Well, second- first, you have to introduce her to one of the Elders. They need to be informed of an outsider before the outsider just starts wandering around after all. But when you're done that, where will you show her that will impress her the most? The Refiner's Garden possibly? She seemed really interested in the scripts, and the scriptors do most of their more impressive work there. Or perhaps the training ground? You haven't met a Sacred Artist yet that wasn't interested in training in some form.

You're so consumed by your thoughts that you barely notice that there's someone waiting for you in the small tunnel back into the Summit. You move to brush passed them without registering who it is. "Please excuse me," you murmur, squeezing between them and the stone. You get two steps passed them before a sense of pressure makes you look up at the face of the person in the middle of the hall.
the other would spill your blood because of it's weakness this one will do it because it knows you
Dark top-knot. Elaborate robes. Peaked eyebrows. Bangles of wind around his wrists.

You're on your hands and knees before you take another breath. "A thousand apologies, honored Elder!" you gasp out. "Please forgive this humble student!"

But the Gold doesn't look at you. Instead his eyes are locked on Lyra, who has stopped in the mouth of the tunnel and is watching the two of you with crossed arms. Though his eyes don't leave her, his words are for you. "Meng Hakko. Who have you brought to our doorstep?"
a burden who will die soon and also a newcomer
His words are calm, his tone level, but he himself is still, like a great beast lying in wait. The hair on the back of your neck rises as his presence trickles out over you. Your breath catches in your throat even as you try to comply with his order.

You may not be able to speak but Lyra doesn't seem to have any problem. She joins her fist and palm once more and bows slightly to the Elder. "Please forgive young Hakko for any indiscretion he may have committed in showing me the entrance to your home. Perhaps I overwhelmed him with my excitement to learn about the truth that I have heard lives within these walls. I am Lyra of the Dancing Lights. It is my pleasure and my privilege to make your acquaintance, honored elder."

The Elder pauses for a long moment as he weighs her words. But you know he's accepted them when the sense of his presence that even you can feel vanishes. "Of course," he answers. "Spreading our message is one of the most sacred duties of the Silent Summit, and young Hakko is a diligent pupil in all things."

He does not bow, as he should not. After all, you're within the Silent Summit itself, where if a heavenly messenger arrived that the elders did not want to see, it would wait patiently until one was prepared for them. He doesn't even have to say another word to Lyra if he doesn't want to.

He seems to want to though. He clears his throat. "And I am Elder Iraneus of the Fourth Circle. Be welcome within our home Lyra of the Dancing Lights."

You chance a glance up from the floor to look at Lyra. She seems completely unaware of the honor she's just received from the Elder using her name! You'll have to explain that to her later; no doubt she'll be suitably impressed then.

Elder Iraneus turns from Lyra and, ignoring you completely, walks back up the tunnel. "Come," he calls to Lyra. "The responsibility of showing a neophyte the wonders of the Summit does not fall on Foundation shoulders."
become one with the ground and you may survive this
Lyra pauses for a moment. She glances at you and, after another infinitesimal pause, follows the Elder. The outsider at least nods to you as she walks away, leaving you kneeling, forehead against the stone in the entrance tunnel.

You stay in that position for a long time, long enough that you can be sure you're being left alone. The Elder never really addressed your rudeness earlier after all; you need to make sure you've paid a sufficient penance so that he isn't compelled to punish you later when he remembers it. Once you're certain they're gone though, you push yourself back your feet, rubbing your forehead to make sure all traces of the cavern floor are removed. As you lower your hand you turn and stare after the two who just left.
you are a rat that runs and hides but you have lived
Well. Your pride deflates like a poorly filled cloud mattress. Elder Iraneus was right; showing an outsider around the Summit is the duty of someone far higher than you. Only someone with more experience can shoulder the burden of knowing what to show and when to show it, and thus shoulder the honor that goes with that task. You know that. But still. You were looking forward to it.

Your mind grasps for any possible good side to having the opportunity to heighten your honor ripped away like that. At least… at least your afternoon is free? Perhaps you could even have that spar you were thinking of having earlier?
you will fail
It's a paltry bright side, but it's better than nothing. You take off down the tunnel, racing through the patchy light with the surety that comes from traversing a trail hundreds of times before. You make it to the Column within moments and are down at the training ground after a few more.

Unlike the last time you set foot upon these grounds you aren't alone. A small scattering of Coppers are in their designated area, hard at work honing their techniques, and a sole Iron is practicing forms in the center of the cavern. But most people in the grounds are Foundation like you, and they've congregated together in a little clump in their own corner. They're sitting cross legged, eyes closed, breath even as they cycle their own madra.

You rush to join them. Your own power is still thin and wispy after powering the scripts outside; you could use the time to recover. You drop into your own position between Song and Huo and focus on your ill-fitting technique. The world slips away as your focus turns entirely to your core and channels. The madra coursing through you steadily sparks and thickens as you put more and more focus into it, channeling the small sparks of power you got from your morning meal into your natural power.

All too soon the world around you comes back as everyone around you starts to stir. You aren't nearly finished cycling your morning spirit fruits, and your core is half full at best. But to remain seated when everyone else rises would be to show weakness- and that is not permitted. Your rise, acting as refreshed as everyone around you is.

Your acting might fool some, but not Tan. The diminutive girl looks you up and down. "Should we postpone our exchange of pointers?" She asks innocently. "It is not great hardship to me to wait until you are fully recovered from this morning's exertions."
she mocks you
She's baiting you. You both know it, and still you're going to fall for it. "That will not be necessary," you reply. "I am more than prepared."
she taunts you
"Are you certain? I could perhaps spar with Quan? He does provide a unique challenge that-"
you must educate her you must win you must decorate the walls with life giving blood
"I said," you grit. "That that will not be necessary. Shall we begin?"

Tan's satisfaction doesn't show on her face, but you can see it in her body language. Of course she's satisfied; through the will on the heavens, she now has a chance to push the third ranking disciple down before you can even begin to climb to second, let alone her own lofty perch at the top of the mountain. On a good day, you're a match for Tan, with your 'friendly spars' lasting minutes longer than any other pair. You doubt today is going to be a good day.
you are weak and losing to one weaker
You're quickly proven right.

It barely takes five breaths for Tan to put you down for the first time. You don't even see the blow coming; she distracts you with clever footwork before burying her palm- aided by her foundation Enforcer technique- in your gut. You're on the ground gasping for air in record time.
SHE MOCKS YOU
Tan steps back and her face is pinched in what looks like genuine concern. "Meng?" she asks. "Are you certain that you're well? I can call your Aunt-"

"No," you grunt out, forcing yourself back to your feet. "That shall not be necessary. Please; this one has not yet learned enough from the senior disciple."

She watches you for a brief moment and shrugs minutely. "As you wish," she says.

Three breaths. You're on the ground after a combination end in a palm strike directly to your chin.
SHE DEFEATS YOU
The next time you leverage yourself back up, Tan at least doesn't insult you by asking if you're sure again. She rushes in, arm cocked back and ready for another heavy shot. It's so obvious that even though you've just regained your base you're able to block and pivot, overextending her and letting you connect with a blow of your own. She reels from the strike but spins herself, rolling with the strike.

You take the initiative she's offered and rush in, hammering her midsection with heavy, hammer-like blows. One fist connects, the second connects, you rear back for a shot to her exposed face-

And are on the ground again. You blink rapidly as you stare up at the ground.
SHE IS FASTER
When you're able to form words again you say, "Was that the low angle throw Master Masaru taught us last week?" Though she appears upside-down from your perspective, you're fairly certain she nods. "Impressive. I hadn't thought you had integrated that so quickly."

"When one is pursued by hungry wolves, one must be equally hungry for a new advantage," Tan quotes.
SHE IS SMARTER
You nod, acknowledging the point, and push yourself back to your feet. Once Tan is sure you're ready to go once more she moves, lashing out with a kick. You block- and her follow up sends you back down.

You push yourself back up again. And again. And again. Over and over, Tan puts you down. Your body aches from the impact of her tiny fists and feet and from repeated collision with the floor. But still you push yourself back up.
SHE IS WEAKER
You aren't going to win this. The Master overseeing you all today has already recorded the results of today's exercises. You will likely be dropped to fourth, or perhaps even fifth, and it will be some time before you can claw back to your third rank, let alone aim for Tan's first. If you were thinking clearly you would stay down, saving yourself from the dishonor of one who refuses to acknowledge their own failings.

But you can't. You can't for three reasons.

The first is that Tan is starting to look bored. She's taking her victory against you for granted now. She's secure in her own dominance and is now just waiting for you to give in to it. You want above all to rub that look off her face, make her taste the dust of the stone floor.

The second is that Elder Iraneus has just led Lyra into the room. Your eyes lock onto them like a falcon sighting it's prey. The newcomer gives no sign of noticing you, but you can feel her attention likewise hone in on your spar. She knows you're here, and she's interested in what you're doing.
NONORUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN
A pulse of need rushes through you. Since you've met her, you've shown this newcomer nothing but shame. You were shamed by not finishing your task on the outside. You were shamed by your earlier ignorance. You were shamed by being rude to the Elder and further shamed by being left in his dust.

You will not be shamed again. And as for the third reason...

Tan rushes at you again- and her Enforcement flickers. She's still dangerous, still more than capable of pushing you back to the ground. But she's slower. She's weaker.

The third reason is that you still have not yet unleashed your own techniques.
RUN OR DIE RUN OR DIE RUN OR DIE RUN OR DIE OR KILL
You turn your focus inward.

Every Foundation Artist in the Sacred Summit is trained in the four basic techniques that let them up to later master the keystones of the sect's style. And while every Artist learns every technique, each excels with one in particular. You are no exception.

What is your favored technique?
[] The Ruler technique, which will later grow into the Monsoon's Blessing. Later you will be able to create a squall at will, but for now you'll settle for slowing down everyone around you.
[] The Striker technique, which soon will become the Crestborn Lance. The Lance lashes out from a distance with the raw power of the gale, but right now you'll be striking with considerably less force.
[] The Forger technique, which serves as the basis for the Prison of a Thousand Tears. You will later be able to immobilize your opponent with manacles and bars of water, but for now you will throw up obstacles of forged Madra.
[X] The Enforcer technique, which evolves into the Crown of the Peak. This technique will one day allow you to see the battlefield as if it's moving in slow motion and absorb blows that would fell a lesser man. It doesn't give you those abilities yet, but it still makes you stronger and faster.

As Tan dives in, fist cocked back and ready to put you down for good, you spare a second of thought for your madra channels. You picture them pulsing through your body, blue and vibrant, raging with untapped power. With a breath, you channel that power and give it form outside of your channels. Around you, the air seems to hum as blue light explodes around your joints and forms a halo near your temples.

You meet her Enforcers technique with your own. Your fists move as quickly as hers. Your footing becomes as steady as hers. Coils of power ripple from your madra channels and into your muscles, lending each blow extra force and power. For a brief second the two of you are like titans striving against each other.

Only for a brief second though. As your technique fully takes form, hers flickers and dies. She has just an instant to be shocked before your palm smashes into her jaw, heel first. Tan crumples for the first time this fight.

She may be down but Tan is a warrior through and through. She pushes herself back up quickly- but this time it's your turn to meet her as she rises. Tan tries to focus on her technique but her core must be nearly empty; she's spent so much time trying to keep you down that she doesn't have anything left for your sudden resurgence. She tries to push you back with a kick, hands raised to defend her face from further damage. You see it coming from miles away and step nimbly to the side, grab her foot, and pull her in. She stumbles and you strike again, hitting that same spot on her jaw.

Again she goes down and again Tan goes to get back up. But you don't fight like she does- you're not content to stand back and let her get back up to a full base. This is a spar, so it should be treated like actual combat. Anything goes here. So as she puts a hand on the ground to push herself back to her feet you jump, landing near it, and kick that hand out from under her.
END HER NOW
She rolls to her back to defend herself but you've already set your stance. The feeling of someone's focus grows on you, but you pay it no mind. You've a fight to win! Blows begin to rain down on Tan. She dodges as best she can but the only thing that could even this now is her Enforcer Technique, and you haven't given her so much as a second to even begin to cycle. Still, she manages to twist out of the way of your first two strike. Your third lands home.
strike harder strike faster make her regret her actions make her know who the better is
As you're tensing up to deliver another shot, you hear a call from the front of the field. "Enough!" bellows an Iron. He isn't focused on you, but rather on the entire group of Foundation Students, who are all in the middle of what look like heated combat.
bleed her take her teeth and shred them against the wall
A ways away from you, Song has Huo on pinned up against a wall, a fist pressed up against his stomach. Not thirty feet from that fight, Quan is barely holding in a bellow of laughter as his Striker technique sparks in his hand, pointing at Shui Dai, who has marks of previous techniques all over her face. And almost right on top of you, Duan Liang has Zhen Jin bent in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position, his limbs held down by various forged objects. It appears yours wasn't the only spar to reach beyond the basics.

The Iron stares at you all for a long moment, begrudging respect on his face. "You have had enough live training today. Now, you will exchange pointers with your partner. Begin now."

You don't immediately reach down to help Tan up. You're too busy staring at Duan and Zhen. How did they get so close without you noticing? Were you that focused on your fight? But after a moment, and a polite cough from the bruised girl beneath you, you flush red with embarrassment and pull her back up. You go to apologize but she just waves you off, sending a suspicious look of her own at the nearby pair.
you would have died had they meant you harm as you deserve
Once you both tear your attention away, Tan gives you a rueful grin and rubs the side of her jaw. "That's what I get for taking it easy on you I suppose."

"That was you taking it easy?" you reply, rubbing your own ribs. Her fists may be smaller but that just means they hurt more. "Then may the heavens tremble should you ever choose to use your full power."

Tan punches you in the shoulder, but it's a light jibe, not an attack. "If I had not felt sorry for you than I would have kicked you in the face the first time you went down, as you well know. But I did, and we see where that got me. My ranking will slide for this."
she raises a hand so soon after her defeat paint the walls with her marrow
The thought gives you pause. "I doubt that," you answer. "This was not an official ranked fight after all, and even if it were, no winner was announced. And I had a very poor showing in the early stages."

"It is not about how your fight begins, it is about how it finishes," Tan quotes. "And of course this will affect the rankings. How could it not? You may rise to second- but I may also slide to second while you maintain your current placement."

She stops, deep in thought. "Did you happen to spy how Dai fared today?"

"When last I looked, Quan had her pinned down with his Striker technique."
she fell to an ape which makes her lower than the ground
"Ah. Then perhaps she will take the large plunge and we shall be spared. We will find out, I suppose. But-"

The feeling of eyes upon you draws your attention, and you glance over your shoulder. To your disappointment, the brown robed figure of Lyra is gone, as is Elder Iraphaeus. You had been hoping to ask her opinion after the fight was over. Instead the eyes on you belong to the Iron who called an end to your spar. You can almost hear his thoughts. You're talking. You're not training.
the lion has changed focus and you are sorry for it you deserve what comes to you
Tan has the same idea. "The flaw I detected is in your stance," she offers. "You are accustomed to fighting with your shield, and so you stand as if holding it at all times. It left your right flank open, which I was able to exploit quickly."

You nod in thanks while mentally reviewing her pointers. She isn't wrong. You're so used to your shield that any fight without it leaves you feeling underprepared. That's no excuse though; you need no weapon, not even a weapon as glorious as your shield is. You need to be the weapon. You will have to close that gap.

After you're done digesting the critique you stop and contemplate Tan's own fighting style. It would be rude to take advice and have none to give in return. "After you get hit once," you say out loud as you think, "You tend to guard the spot you were struck more than anything else. That made several new openings that I could have exploited if I had chosen to."

This time it's Tan who mulls your words over, and she nods in agreement as she thinks on her own actions during the fight. "Interesting," she murmurs. "I hadn't thought of that."
you share words that could help instead of doing what is right
"And," you add, as the Iron calls an end to today's training and you start making your way towards the Column, "you became focused entirely on defense at the end. I have no doubt that there were openings when I moved to finish that you could have taken advantage of."

Tan falls into step with you. "Indeed. Had I been but a small amount faster then I would have been able to trap your arms. But would have are worthless, so I was not."
words are worthless you are worthless
The two of you chat amicably as you enter the Column and start pulling yourselves up. Neither of you wastes the madra on Enforcement, so it's slow going, but it's a pleasant trip. Still, even without the added strain of another technique, your stomach is loudly protesting by the time you pull yourself to the seventh level. You've worked hard today and your body and soul both need to refuel badly.

You and Tan join the throng of Sacred Artists streaming into the central dining chamber and make your way to the Foundation sections. There's an open spot near one of the younger ones who you don't know; you go stand beside the seat, with Tan taking the spot on your other side. You can only hope that the Jade who judges when the Highest won't be coming makes up their mind quickly. You need food right now more than you need to show your respect.

Over the next ten breaths the room fills up with the Artists of the sect. Every Foundation, which you expected. Most of the Coppers, most of the Irons. A good chunk of the Jades have made it even. And-
THE JACKAL
Your breath catches in your throat as more and more elaborate robes enter the room. Elders. Golds. More than you've ever seen in one place before. In the middle of then is a spot of brown that lets you know Lyra is among them. Your brain fights to digest that for a good few moments. If she's still with the Elders, does that mean she was actually Gold? Were you speaking disrespectfully to a Gold?! How are you still alive right now?!

But even that shock is dwarfed seconds later when the simple seat that waits in the center of the room is just…

Filled.
the god clads himself in lies
One moment, it is as empty as you've ever seen it. The next, it's occupied by a man in a plain white Sacred Artist's robe. His dark hair is kept short and unruly, a small white ornament in a braid on the side of his head the only effort put into it. Around his neck is a long string of beads that move silently as he settles into place. On his hands are dark gloves, the only speck of color on his clothing at all. But what really captures your attention is his sheer presence. The moment you realize he's there you wonder how you ever missed him. He may only be sitting on a simple white chair but he seems to be filling the entire room.

You have only ever laid eyes on him from a distance before, but you know who he is the instant you lay eyes on him. The Highest. The strongest Sacred Artist who walks the Path of the Silent Summit. The leader of the sect. A man who has reached the very limits of Gold and still strives for more.

Your hunger is forgotten. Breathing, nearly forgotten. All you can do is throw yourself to the floor as fast as you can.
pathetic
Around you, everyone does likewise. From the lowest Foundation to the Highest Jade, everyone prostrates themselves on the floor. Out of the corner of your eye you can see that only the Golds- and Lyra, who just seems confused- remain standing, but even they sink to one knee as you watch.
pathetic
They don't remain there for long though. One Gold straightens up and walks to the Highest after what must be some kind of silent command. There is a brief pause, and the Gold speaks.
pathetic
"All rise," he intones. "The Highest needs not your devotion. He is only one Sacred Artist who walks this path, and deserves no more than you would offer another of your own advancement."
pathetic
From the tone of the Gold's voice, his words are lies. If you were to treat the Highest as you treat Tan or Quan, you would lose your life in short order. But still, the command is obeyed. Everyone rises back to their feet and focuses their attention on the center of the room.
pathetic
"I am Elder Canus of the Second Circle," the Gold says, his voice still the low intonation of one imparting grave news. "And I have been granted the great honor of imparting the Highest's words to you all. Listen, and carve them into your soul."
he is pathetic
The attention on the center of the room sharpens even further. If it were a physical thing it would be slicing at Elder Canus like a weapon. But the Elder shows no notice and continues to speak. "The Highest sees all and knows all that happens within the Silent Summit, and he is pleased. Every single one of you, from those who walk the peaks of Gold to those who are just now beginning to set their foundations, has been conducting themselves admirably. You think of the Summit before you think of your own earthly needs and desires, and that is something that must be praised. Furthermore, it must be honored."
you all are pathetic
It feels like you may grow wings and fly right now. You've never even seen the Highest before! And when he finally appears, he offers you praise. Sure, it isn't praise just for you. But you aren't greedy. You know you are part of the Summit, and when the Summit is honored, so are you.
you are the most pathetic of all
"To honor your work and dedication, the Highest decrees the following," Elder Canus continues. "Tomorrow, any duties besides those most crucial are to be suspended. Any tasks, discharged. And it shall be a day of celebration, a day devoted to the praise of the Silent Summit and those of you who take it into your very being."
pathetic
"And what better way is there to celebrate the Silent Summit than to practice it's arts? Each advancement will meet in the training fields tomorrow and, under advisement from the Circle of Elders, determine who among their group best embodies the Path of the Silent Summit."
pathetic
Across the table from you, Quan looks lost. You want to kick him. What the Highest is saying is simple to understand! Tomorrow, there is going to be a series of battles, organized by the Golds. The winner of each one gets… what do they get?
pathetic
As if in answer to your question, Elder Canus continues. "And as a reward for proving yourself, the Highest decrees that whoever is victorious tomorrow shall receive a small token of his favor." He pauses, as if he can't believe the words that are about to come out of his own mouth, and indeed when they do, they are tinged with wonder. "They will receive it with the evening meal, which the victors will take with the Highest in his private chambers."
pathetic
You're very glad you're not holding anything right now. Because if you were, you would have dropped it at that.

The evening meal alone with no one but the Highest, the other victors, and maybe a few Golds? Whatever token the Highest is going to offer pales in comparison to that prize.

The Highest looks around the room and his mouth quirks into a small smile. Elder Canus speaks for him. "He is very interested in seeing who truly seeks the Summit. All of you rest well, for tomorrow, you compete."

Then just as suddenly as the Highest appears, he is gone.

Everyone stands in shocked silence for long moments. Even the Foundations tasked with serving tonight's meal are frozen with various trays and bowls cupped int trembling hands. It's only when the Elders start to file out that the spell is broken and food starts being consumed.

Your group eats slowly and mechanically, barely tasting their meal. The taste, the feel, even exactly what you're eating is unimportant after hearing the words of the Highest. He had words for all of you! This will be a day that goes down in celebration for generations!

But slowly, the euphoria wears off, and you glance around at your fellows.

No.

At your competitors.

Tomorrow, you will need to prove yourself better than they are if you want to have any chance at dining with the Highest. This is a chance that you will likely never have again. If you want it, you need to seize it with both hands and throttle it like it's a Rock Snake until it submits.

And you want it. Heavens above, you want it.
the pup mewls for milk where blood would do
And so when the meal ends, you rise, bow politely to your competitors, and walk sedately out of the room- and once you're out, you run towards…

Tomorrow, you must prove yourself above the other Foundation Disciples. The only way you will be able to do that is if you prepare and prepare well. How do you choose to ready yourself?
[] You go to the third level, where you live, and find as many of your Aunts and Uncles as you can. Each one is far above you in the Sacred Arts and they may have little tricks or tips for you that will make the difference in a close fight.
[] You make your way to the training grounds on the first level. You've no doubt that the other Foundations will make their way there in short order. You will prepare with them and get the full measure of their abilities before they're turned against you.
[] There is only one place in the Summit large enough to contain such a display of the Sacred Arts as the Highest desires: the grand hall on the twelfth level. You will head there and get the lay of the land- and perhaps set the battlefield to your advantage, if that's possible.
[X] You've learned all you can from your Masters right now and there's very little they can teach you that you can use overnight. But that's your Masters, and you might have a new resource to use, if you can find her. You will seek out Lyra of the Dancing Lights and see if you can prevail upon her for some pointers.

When you think about your options, the choice is clear. You've already learned all that you can right now from your Masters. The rest of what they have to teach you relies on your mastery of the Foundation techniques, which while you're well on your way to perfecting, is not something that you're going to finish overnight. Besides; anything you learned from them would be something familiar to at least one of your upcoming opponents. You need something that they won't see coming. But you've a new resource you may be able to use: Lyra of the Dancing Lights. She seemed interested in you. You can find her and prevail upon her for some pointers at the very least. Maybe she'll have something even more interesting to teach you!
begging for words from death itself
There is only one problem with the plan: you have no idea where she is.

The Elders, and Lyra, filed out well before the actual evening meal started. They're long gone, back to apartments scattered throughout the Summit. If Lyra has been assigned a room with one of them, then she could be anywhere- and even if you found her, you would not be able to disturb her. Bothering a Gold just for your own benefit would get you chastised at best and at worst… you're not doing it. It's not worth it.
you are insect beneath the foot of any who matter
But that's just one possibility. You've heard rumors of guest quarters on the second level, even if you've never had cause to go there before. And even if she's staying with an Elder after all that doesn't mean she's with them right now. She could be training. You've never met a Sacred Artist who didn't like training. If that's the case, she won't be in the communal areas you use. She'll be in the higher level fields on the tenth level. Your shoulders ache just thinking about climbing that far. It's worth a look though.

You should get started. And so you do, jumping down the Column and catching on to the second level. A quick inspection of it lets you find your way to the guest apartments; all you have to do is follow the scent of dust and disuse. It leads you to a small section of the Summit far away from the main Column. An even quicker inspection shows that it doesn't look like anyone's been there for quite some time. You barely hold in a stomp of frustration. The time you've spent coming down here is time wasted.
time wasted by a waste may as well not exist
There's no time to pout though. Every second you spend here is a second that Lyra could be getting out of your reach- if she's even in your reach to begin with. You need to check the tenth level. You run and leap into the Column, hitting the wall with such force that you have to stop and hold on as your bones stop trembling. Once you're done shaking, you get your feet under you and start climbing, desperately grabbing at every hand hold like it's your last.
pathetic without help you will fail you will fail you will fall
With every hop, thoughts race through your mind. You're going to slow. She's going to get away. She was never there to begin with. Even if you find her, you'll have taken too long and she's going to brush you aside. You'll lose in the competition. Your shame will be on display. You will never get to even be in the same room as the Highest again. Your mind races, coming up with worse and worse things that are all going to happen to you if you don't find Lyra right now.
you will die alone and no one will mourn you
And so when you make it to the tenth level and race to the advanced training grounds, you don't look at high, beautifully carved ceilings. You pay no attention to the craftsmanship on the chiseled floors. You don't stop to try and feel the Silent Summit Madra you're sure is permeating this room. All you do is glance around like your neck is a wound up rope, craning for any glimpse of someone who doesn't belong here.

Nothing.
as expected from a waste
Your heart sinks as the worst consequences your mind can conjure run through your mind. You've wasted too much time. You won't be able to find your Aunts or Uncles now; they have their own training that they will be deep into by the time you get there to attend to. And you've been climbing so long that your competitors will have already finished most of their own work. Perhaps you could still get to the twelth level? You won't be able to do much there, but at least you will be able to tell yourself you tried before you're thrown outside in a disgraced heap like so much-

Wait.

Outside.
no
Lyra isn't from the Summit. From the stories Aunt Mira has told you, outsiders think living inside a mountain is strange. They actually like the feeling of wind in their face and the cursed sun on their back! Maybe Lyra's outside somewhere! But where?

Idea after idea comes to mind. The farms? No. That wouldn't be an easy journey for an Elder, let alone an outsider. And you don't think she knows where they are anyway. The water basins? Unlikely. She already saw them while she was with you. The outer training grounds?

...it sounds as good as any other idea you've had tonight.
it is a worthless idea as all your ideas are
You leap back down the Column, reaching for the eighth level. As you fall you try and think harder, searching for another idea for when this idea fails too. But no other place comes to mind. If Lyra isn't in the outer training grounds, you will be finished in truth.

Your hand catches on the eighth level and you run, ignoring the main halls, searching for the small little used passage that leads to the open air. You have to dodge around three Foundation and bow and make apologies to one Jade, but you make it to the outer training grounds without too much delay. And the moment the night's breeze reaches your face, you skid to a halt, eyes raking the area.

The outer training grounds are different than any of the other places in the Summit. They aren't as humble as your usual field, they aren't as ornate as the upper levels, instead meeting somewhere in the middle with white stone floors and a minimum of carving. For another thing, they are… well, outside. Mostly. They're almost like one of the water basins you spent all morning re-scripting, with high stone walls and open air above. From what the Elders say, training here during a rainstorm is one of the best ways one can advance along the Path.

Another way the outer training grounds are different from the rest of the Summit? Here, you've actually found who you're looking for.
do not move be still be very very still
Lyra stands alone in the middle of the platform. Her limbs extend in a form unfamiliar to you; something that ends with clawed fingers instead of a palm strike or a punch. She's still wearing her traveling cloak, and it streams behind her in the breeze with every move she makes. As she spins, you squint, looking at her face. Her eyes are shut and a calm, nearly blank, look is painted on her dark features.

You seem to have caught her at the end of her form training. She drops to a seat, legs folded, where she stands and her hands go to her knees. She's cycling.
crawl away bug
You don't want to disturb her while she's in the middle of her own routine. Still, you do need to speak with her. You move on the tips of your toes over to her and drop into a position like hers. You know that some higher levels can cycle for hours on end if not days. You'll need to be ready to wait for a long time, all night even, if you want to-

Lyra's eye cracks open. "May I help you?" she asks.

If you weren't sitting, you would have leapt backwards out of sheer shock. "Apologies!" you blurt. "I didn't mean to disrupt your cycling! I will come-"

The outsider sighs and shakes her head. "That won't be necessary. Just tell me. Why are you here?"
waste
Uh… alright. She doesn't seem like she's upset. Still, you should be as polite as you can. You should introduce yourself again; she's Jade or above after all. It wouldn't be shocking if she has already forgotten your name. "Honored visitor," you begin. "I am Meng Hakko. I was the one who met you this morning and-"

Lyra looks like she wants to sigh again, but she holds it in, even if it looks like it took a force of effort. "Hakko," she says, the sound of your name making your mouth slam shut instantly. "I remember you. I only met you this morning. And I saw your spar this afternoon- which was some very nice work, if I may say so."
praise to make you fat and lazy and weak
Your chest swells with pride. "Oh," you answer, fighting to keep modesty in your voice and your face. Feeling pride is one thing, acting prideful is another thing entirely. "I thank you for your kind words, even if I do not deserve them. My match was a small thing and I spent most of it-"

"Hakko," Lyra cuts you off once again. This time there's definite amusement in her voice. "False humility is unbecoming. Speak your heart."

That's all you needed to hear. "I had hoped you saw!" you exclaim, excitement bubbling over. "Tan had me at first, but I stopped her! I met her own strength with mine and won! I won! Over the top ranked Foundation! I did it!"

Lyra's lips curve in a small smile. "That's better," she allows. "Now. I believe I asked you if there was something I could do for you?"

Right. "I was looking for you," you answer. "You saw the Highest today, and you heard of the competition he announced. I need to win, and I was… er, if I could prevail upon you if it's not too much trouble I was hoping-"
stammering shows weakness
"Hakko. Say it."

You clear your throat. Must be all this outside air. You're not usually this hesitant to say anything! "I was hoping to prevail upon you for some pointers. Just a small thing. Something that could give me an edge in the battle tomorrow."

Now both of Lyra's eyes are open and focused on you. "Really?" She asks. She seems almost surprised. "You want pointers from me?"
she is surprised you would seek from one who will drink your lifesblood
You frown in confusion. Why would she be surprised by that? She's clearly above you. Why wouldn't you seek knowledge from her?

"I thought that that would be 'beneath you'," she clarifies. "After all, is not the Silent Summit the one true path and all that? Why would one of it's disciples look for aid from someone not on it's path?"

Oh. "Well," you begin. "Some would think that. I have several friends who think that any training not from one of our Masters is not worth having. But there is merit in having an outside view look in, I believe. My own father was from outside the mountain, and while he did not rise as high as Mother did, I'm told that he was admirable in his own way. And his advice helped show Mother the way forward."

There's a different kind of look in Lyra's eyes now. "Was?" she gently prods.

Ah, that's right. She wouldn't know. "Yes, was," you confirm. "Mother and Father both journeyed to the heavens long ago. I barely remember them."

"Who takes care of you?" Lyra asks.
people who should know better
You shrug. "Everyone, I suppose? Auntie Mira feeds me and keeps me healthy, Uncle Erling teaches me things a man should know, Auntie Rifka taught me to cycle, Uncle Yang, Uncle Rofan, Auntie Sidonia, Uncle Miroh…" You could go on and on. You've never really stopped to think about it, but you suppose you really do have quite a few Aunts and Uncles.

"I see," Lyra says after you trail off. "But even with your past, others might look down on you for learning things that are foreign to your path. Does that not bother you?"

"A little," you admit. "But I need any advantage I can gain."

"Is the prize your Highest offers truly something so impressive?"

You blink once, twice at her. Prize? What is- oh, right. The Highest said that the winners would receive a token of his favor. You had forgotten. "No, that isn't it," you say, almost laughing despite yourself. "I had barely considered that. No, I need to win this so that I may join the Highest and the other winners for the evening meal."

Lyra seems confused. "Is.. is that an impressive feat?"

"Of course!" you nearly yell. "I have only seen the Highest a handful of times in my entire life! If I were to have the opportunity to be in the same room as him, even if I am not permitted to speak, I could… I could…"

"Learn?" Lyra guesses. "I do suppose that being near seniors you haven't spoken to might allow you to glean some kind of insight into your path. Is that it?"

You shake your head. "No," you answer. "No. I could… I could find some way to thank him."

Lyra waits for a moment for you to go on. When you don't, she prods you. "Thank him?"

You look down at the white stone beneath you. You're hesitant to say more, but you've already come this far. "My parents," you start. "They… well, my Mother did not live within the Summit most of the time. She was an honored Jade, one who could one day become an Elder herself. Her power meant that she could do things outside of the Summit that others could not. And so she spent weeks outside, helping the Summit while being apart from it. I'm told that's how she met Father actually."

"During the course of her duties, Mother… Mother died. She fought someone who wanted to torture her for the secrets of the Path and died rather than give them up. Father died of grief shortly thereafter."

"But then the Highest went out himself. He went and found the evil people who killed Mother and showed them the real power of the Silent Summit! He avenged Mother and, when he returned, gave me this."
you really believe that you waste
You reach out to the empty space next to you and grab your shield from where it's just appeared. Lyra stares at it, and her fingers twitch slightly. "Aunt Mira said that the Elder that spoke for him said that it was a weapon from those monsters. And since they took from me, I should take from them. It's been with me ever since."

Lyra absorbs your story for a long moment, leaving you in utter silence. It's a bizarre silence; not the complete still of the mountain that you're used to. Instead it's a silence of small noises, of wind, of far away trees, of birds in those trees. Looking up, you can see the darkness of the sky and far away, twinkling lights. It's different from what you're used to, but it's peaceful nonetheless.

Finally, she claps her hands once as she comes to a decision, the noise jerking you from the near reverie you had fallen into. "Very well. A small pointer or two. Now, Hakko, cycle."

"Right now?" you blurt out. "I-"

The look in her eye leaves no room for argument. "Cycle, disciple."

You know that voice. You haven't heard it from Lyra before, but you know the Master voice when you hear it. It's a voice that promises pain and retribution if it's instructions are not heeded immediately. You've had enough pain today; you start cycling.

And almost immediately stop as two fingers smack you across the brow. "Is that really your breathing technique?" Lyra scoffs. You nod, hands raised to defend yourself from more blows, but they don't come. Instead Lyra sighs loudly. "It's not suited at all for your channels. It looks like it's designed to widen them, perhaps to make your madra gain a broader flow once you've started conducting vital aura, but for now it's doing you far more harm than good. And by the ancestors what did you do to your channels?"

You flinch under her harsh gaze. "Beg pardon?"

"What did you do to your channels?" she repeats. "The ones in your limbs are irritated and raw; numbed by an elixir I would hazard. That doesn't just happen. Did you take a pill above your stage?"

"No," you say, looking down. "I may have attempted to correct my own breathing technique without-"

Again, her fingers slap your brow. And then again, as if for good measure. "That was foolish," she chastises you. "I suppose you tried to 'go off instinct'? No need to answer, of course you did."

"Hakko, innovation is something to be proud of. But foolish innovation is something that will only ruin your foundation. Before you even took a breath you should have been in your library, studying the principles of cycling and trying to apply them to yourself as a cohesive whole. You tried to… you attempted to write a script without even knowing how to hold a chisel. Never do it again."

"Now, breathe as I do." She immediately puts action to words and starts breathing in slowly. But as Lyra lets the breath out, it comes out in short, almost choppy waves. "As you do it," she continues after a few repetitions, "cycle your madra in a tight spiral around your core. Broaden that spiral with every exhalation, and then bring it back when you breathe in."

You do as she does, and do as she says. It's a simple technique; you're a little surprised you haven't tried anything like it before. But by the heavens is it hard. It's feels like you're breathing through a straw while buried under heavy stones.

But you're not in pain. And your channels seem fine. So this is far better than the last time you experimented with a new breathing technique.

"This technique," Lyra explains, "will not broaden your channels like the other did. Instead it provides more channels in the same areas, allowing you to maintain the same density of madra but focus it far faster. After you're able to do this as easily as your last, you will be able to bring out a technique far faster than you were previously able to."

You stare blankly at her as you struggle to breath. You only understood about half of what she just said. Lyra can see that. "Think of it as… a river. Your channels are like a river running through your body, and your core is the ocean. Are you following so far?"

You've never seen either rivers or an ocean before, but you know what they are. You nod. "Excellent. Now the way your old technique worked, it spread the rivers wider. It made it so that the water- your madra- traveled through the rivers, it spread out. So more water went through the rivers, but it arrived with less force than it otherwise would have."

"This new technique cuts new rivers, leaving the old ones alone. These new rivers are very small, meaning that when madra passes through them, they shoot through quickly. So the madra arrives where you want it to be faster."

...you're still pretty sure you only understood maybe three quarters of that.

Lyra just sighs. "Trust me, it works. Do it until it's second nature."

You nod as you breathe. This is going to take a while. But if you focus on it with all of your being you should be able to have it mastered within days, hopefully-

"Now, what else?" Lyra muses.

"Else?" you gasp. You almost lose your breath and your madra stills, but you wrangle it back under control with sheer force of effort.

"Yes, else," Lyra continues. "What else should I teach you? This is a small thing. There has to be something else that would aid you more immediately…"

By the heavens, she's not done. You had expected this to be it. A quick pointer and you're on your way. If she wants to teach you something else…

Fingers slap your brow. "Spirals!" she barks. "Spirals or we have you do this while upside down!"

...this may kill you.
and you will deserve it
Lyra is offering to teach you something else in addition to the new breathing technique. What would you like her to show you?
[] The basics of a new madra technique! Even if it's just the beginning, a whole new technique could be the decisive edge you need tomorrow!
[] A new combat form! It's not as impressive as a full technique but it's something different that no one would expect.
[X] A trick with your shield! You have the basics down, but you could always use something new and different.
[] Beg off. You've got a breathing technique to make work; if you take on too much, you won't be able to do anything.
[] Write-In (No approval needed from the QM. But if it's a terrible idea, Lyra will shoot you down and you will get nothing.)

And at last, the new stuff! You may post after this update!
-------
You think for a long moment, struggling with your new breathing pattern all the while, but eventually the parts of you that aren't focused on the rise and fall of your chest manage to form a coherent thought. "My shield," you manage to gasp out. "Do you know any pointers on how to better use my shield?"
all the better to hide behind
Lyra nods slowly as she considers your request. Her eyes glance over the shield in question. "Very well," she says. "What training have you already received with it?"

"I…" you begin, but trail off after a moment's thought. Your mind hops back, thinking about training you have had in the past. Forms, proper ways to speak, your foundation madra techniques, live sparring… outside of some very early lessons where you were taught how to properly hold your shield, you can't recall any lessons you've received in it's use. The little you can do that doesn't involve blocking is entirely self taught. "Not a great deal."

The newcomer nods as if she expected that answer. "Then your Summit shows sense. The shield is rarely used as a weapon, or indeed for any purpose besides protection. Only very specialized paths use it for more, and only a fool would attempt to instruct one in arts which they themselves do not know."

She stands abruptly. "Pass it here."
surrender your tool your weapon give it as tribute
You do so without thought and Lyra hefts your shield. The emerald and steel glisten under the torchlight as she gives it an absent twirl. "Light weight," she muses, and raps her knuckles against the front. The shield gives off a solid *thunk* of sound in return, which Lyra seems to like. "Good material. How does it's bond with you manifest?"

You almost lose control of your breath at that question. You don't remember telling her that your shield is joined with your spirit. So how does she know? It cannot be Coppersight; the Coppers you are friendly with have not known the true connection you have with your shield until you have explained it to them.

As quickly as the question enters your mind, you dismiss it. Lyra is no simple Copper. She's shown that already. From how the Elders treat her, she's likely reached the heights of Jade, and the Jades you know do know that your shield is more than it appears. It's hardly a reason for you to lose your breath.
choke choke on the air let it leave your lungs fall into slumber
Lyra watches your struggle with an amused look on your face. When she sees that you've recovered, she gestures impatiently. In answer to her question you reach behind you, to the sheathe where your shield usually hangs. Sure enough you find it there. You produce it, causing to to Lyra glance from the shield in your hand to her own empty ones.

"Excellent," she says. "Then yes, I have an idea that may suit your own deficiencies well. Stand." You huff and you puff, and your body protests with every motion as you maintain your breath, but you follow her instructions. And when she gives you more of them, you continue to do so.

For the next hour, as best you can determine from the crawl of the moon through the heavens, Lyra 'teaches' you. At least you hope that's what she's doing- you would not dare suggest this to her, but you would not be surprised if she attempted to train you incorrectly as a joke. Lyra walks you through forms that make no sense, has you practice scooping your shield up off the ground quickly for some reason and coaches you on quick evasive maneuvers. All of her lessons are good- save the forms- but they don't actually seem to have anything to do with your shield.
dance fool dance for your life
Still, this is what you ask for. You follow her instructions without complaint no matter how little sense they make to you. And there are several that make absolutely no sense! What's the point of a form that leaves you open and exposed? What possible reason could you have for extending both arms like a bird attempting flight!

After another frankly ridiculous form that has you slowly spinning while bent over at the waist, Lyra finally calls for a stop. You look up at her hopefully. Perhaps now she's finally explain what she's trying to teach you?

There is no explanation. Instead, there's a heavy jar flying straight towards you. You barely catch it before it smashes into your face. Your weary arms tremble under it's weight, but you're able to hold it steady. You give Lyra a questioning look over the pottery. She sighs and gestures towards it. "Drink," is all she says.
poison poison poison poison
Obediently, you lift the jar and hold it to your lips. Cool, clear water pours down your parched throat. It's almost sweet, and it has a distinctly different taste from what you're used to in the Summit, but it's not an unpleasant change. When you have drunk your fill, you hold the slightly lighter jar back to the newcomer-

Only to find that she's now several paces further away. Lyra claps her hands and holds them out. "Now, Hakko, return it to me."

You take a step in her direction only for her to raise one hand to still you. "No, not like that," she corrects. "Toss it. Throw the jar back to me."

"But- But-" you stammer out. "The water! It would spill everywhere!"
better the water than your lifeblood
Lyra shakes her head. "Not if you do it correctly. Or are you currently standing in the midst of a puddle?" You glance at your feet. She… she's not wrong. She threw the jar at you, and not a single drop of water escaped it. This must be some kind of special jar that keeps the water trapped within it with not lid. A script perhaps?

The how is not important. What is is Lyra's instructions. Throw the jar back to her. You gather yourself, rear back, and let loose-

And shower the stone between you and Lyra with enough water to fill a tub. It spreads immediately, soaking your feet with an icy chill. The jar bounces to a halt near her feet.
as expected from a failure
You stare at it blankly for a long moment and then fix Lyra with a look. "You said that it wouldn't spill!" you almost yell, accusation clear in your voice.

Lyra meets your look with an amused one of her own. Her feet, you can't help but notice, are still somehow bone dry. "I said no such thing," she answers. "I said you had to do it correctly. Clearly, you did not do so."

She bends down and scoops the jar back up. She gives it a small shake and tosses it back at you. Only your reflexes keep it from smashing into you- and when you catch it, you find it full once more. "Now. Again, Hakko. And do it right."

...this is training. This is the worst kind of training. It's training that you have no idea how to do!
you know it your body knows it not your mind your mind is the last to know anything
But you're no quitter. Lyra says there's a way to do this properly. You just have to find it. You heft the jar, rear back, and let it fly once more.

And your feet are soaked again.

Again, the jar is tossed back to you, and you don't even let her say a word before you let the pottery fly. Your reward for your speed is a through dousing as the water doesn't even wait until the jar hits the stone to start spilling. This time, you stomp towards the jar and pick it up yourself, not waiting for Lyra to return it to you. You lift it, throw it, and spill it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The moon moves through the sky as you try and fail to throw the jar to Lyra without spilling it. It crawls past the stars and among the heavens at a glacial pace- but it isn't moving as slowly as your training is. At least the moon is showing signs of progress! That's more than can be said about you.

You lose track of how many times you throw the jar, but it's enough times that you're starting to curse whoever came up with the concept of jars. Water soaks your entire body. Your Foundation Robes are completely sodden, and you feel like you've just crawled out of your lake. The less said about the stone around you, the better. You can only hope that an Elder doesn't come out here any time soon; if they do, you'll be forced to explain how their stone arena has become flooded on a clear night.

Your hands are trembling with weariness as you scoop the jar up once more. The water within it slops over the side as your hands refuse to hold the vessel steady. You let out a sigh as you star at the rivulets that course down the side and over your fingers. This attempt is another failure already. You should set it down and wipe it clean before you try again- but no. A small, yet powerful part of you rebels against the idea.

If you're going to fail this attempt for spilling water, by all the heavens above, you are going to spill all the water. Not just a small amount from weary hands. All of it. Every last drop.

You rear back and throw-

And your wet fingers catch on the pottery. The jar launches towards Lyra, and again falls to the stone. Water trickles out once more.

But not as much. As Lyra picks up the jar and refills it, it takes less time for the script she's triggering to do it's work. There was still some water in the jar that time!

How- why- what…
at last the dawn breaks upon the fool
You catch the jar once more and study it. What did you do that made it retain some of its contents? You hold one finger up to Lyra as you think. "I beg a moment's respite," you call out, all your focus on the jar. You did something. Something that made it spill less. You just need to figure out what.

"By all means," Lyra answers. Her voice is thick with amusement as she says, "I have nowhere to be. You, on the other hand, do have a battle to prepare for on the morrow. So perhaps some haste may be called for."

You do your best to ignore her words. She's trying to throw you off the scent, trying to rush you. For what purpose, you've no idea, but that's clearly her intention. Even knowing that, the thought of walking straight from your sodden training ground to the morning's activities sends a shiver down your spine. But no- you need to focus.

Your fingers got wet, which made your already pruned digits catch on the hard clay. That must have been it; there's nothing else you did last throw that you didn't do three dozen times before. What kind of effect could that have on a jar that makes it retain water better? Experimentally, you wet your fingers in the puddle around you and scoop the jar up once more. Again, you throw it. This time you barely put any strength behind it. Instead you focus on the release and how it leaves your grip.

The jar comes to a rest bare feet from you, and your eyes widen. As your fingers caught the jar, it spun.

You see now!

If you spin the jar, the water within it spins as well! And if it spins fast enough the water forms a small whirlpool. And that… that pushes the water against the sides of the jar, where they cling like a desperate man on the edge of the Summit! That's what's keeping the water in the jar when Lyra throws it! A heavy spin!
she spins water as she will spin your bones from your flesh
Of course, knowing what to do is very different from doing it. You heft the jar up and throw it with the best spin you can muster. It falls well short of Lyra and more water slops over the sides. But far less! Progress buoys your heart and spirit, and almost makes your breathing come easily for the first time since you started tossing the jar.

The moon continues it's crawl and you barely pay it any mind. You know what you're doing. You just have to do it! And by the time it reaches it zenith, you're finally successful. With a mighty heave and a quick jerking motion with your left arm, you send the jar spiraling directly into Lyra's open arms. Not a drop of water escapes it. You let out a cheer as she inspects the vessel, and you almost collapse when she takes a sip after deeming the task done.

You stay standing though and force steel into your spine. "Excuse me, Honored Lyra," you say. "Might I prevail upon you to share your wisdom?"
true wisdom would be running and running and running until your feel are naught but nubs
"Honored Lyra…" the visitor muses. "I quite like the sound of that. What wisdom do you seek, young Hakko?"

"What was…" you say carefully, picking and choosing your words like you're picking flowers amongst thorns. "If it is not too much trouble, I would be privileged to know the goals behind the honored visitor's unique training method."


Lyra looks like she wants to laugh, but thankfully for your pride she keeps it within. "Hakko, are you asking me what the point of all that was?"

Your silence is your answer, and this time Lyra doesn't hold back her laugh. "I believe in training one's skills however one can," she answers once she's done. "Whether it be through daily tasks, formalized lessons, or small skills that can be gleaned from accidents like that one originally was. And as for it's point… Hakko, your shield. Pick it up."

You do so, scooping it out of it's sheath once again. Once it's in your hand, Lyra places the jar down on the stone and steps away from it. "Now, my disciple," she says with another chuckle. "Show this object of torment the depths of your power!"

From over here? What can you-

She's been teaching you how to accurately throw something. And then she told you to get your shield. It doesn't take a heavenly messenger to tell you her intentions.

You grab the edge of your shield and step-

But Lyra stops you. She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "No," she says. "Not like that. Put everything together."

Everything? Part of you wants to ask her more questions but a much more powerful part wants to see what she's been teaching you. So you move into one of the ridiculous forms that Lyra drilled into you, let your breath come to the end of it's cycle, and step. You lunge, you twist, and you release.

Your shield lances through the air, careening into the jar and shattering it into so many pieces of useless pottery.
you broke it you broke it you broke it
You stare at the remnants of your enemy as you reach out and grab your shield once more. That was a heavy, strong jar that hurt your arms to lift for too long. And you just destroyed it with a flick of your wrist.

"That is the power of the proper stance," Lyra muses. "And of course, most of your foes in the future will be far more willing to fight back than my poor jar. But the techniques I've taught you should be useful. Do not forget though; when you throw your shield, you shan't be able to defend yourself with it. So keep your wits about you should you choose to let it fly."

She looks like she wants to say more, but you're barely listening to her. You… you did it! You learned a new technique with your shield! You can do more with it than just cower behind it's emerald and steel. This is a skill that- no.

This can only be described as a true step along your Path.

A snap of Lyra's fingers in front of your face draws you out of your reverie and back to the present. "Now," she says. "I think it's time for you to rest for the night. You've a battle to prepare for on the morrow, no?"

You nod eagerly, mind still buzzing from your new skill. You haven't mastered it, not by a long shot, but you can work at it until you do! But again, you draw your focus out of your daydreams of throwing a shield at an army and knocking them out all at once, and return your attention to Lyra. She's right. You should sleep. But it would be in poor form to not thank her for her assistance.

You bow deeply to the newcomer. "My thanks for your aid, honored Lyra! I will engrave your lessons into my very spirit!"

"No, no, enough of that," Lyra answers. She looks almost embarrassed by your thanks. "It was a pointer and a breathing technique. Hardly a gift from the heavens."
leave leave leave leave leave
It may have been nothing for her, but it's everything for you. She doesn't look like she's going to hear any arguments though. So instead you bow even further. "If there is anything this humble disciple can do to aide you, please do not hesitate to call upon me!" When it looks like she wants to protest further, you continue. "Doing any less would be shameful, honored Lyra. Please allow me the privilege of giving you one small boon."
this decision will fill your soul with pain
Lyra rocks back on her heels and sighs. Her eyes turn to the heavens. "I suppose I cannot argue with that. You wish to repay me. Then… Hakko!"

Her voice is a whip crack and you find your spine straightening under her regard. "Tonight you became my disciple, even if just for an evening. And my disciple must not bring shame upon my teachings! So as my boon…"

Her eyes twinkle even as her voice stays harsh. "I command that you join your Highest, your Elders, and I for the evening meal tomorrow. Do you understand?"

You freeze for a moment- before a wolflike grin splits your focus. "Yes! I will see you there, honored visitor!"

Lyra nods and doesn't say anything further. Instead she turns and sits, ignoring the puddle in much the same way it's apparently choosing to ignore her, and closes her eyes. Her breathing evens as she resumes her cycling. This conversation is clearly over.

That doesn't do anything to diminish the fires burning within you. With determined strides, you leave the outdoor training grounds and make your way through the Column, to your own humble apartments and into your own cycling. Sleep follows shortly thereafter, and you wake the next morning as excited as ever. The morning meal passes in a flash. You have nothing to say to your opponents right now, and they likewise focus on their own preparations. It's a tense and eager group that walks from the central chamber and into the grand hall.

The grand hall on the twelfth level puts the training grounds on the first to shame. The massive room is dominated by the stone stage, which is surrounded on all sides by seats carved into the walls with skilled technique and an artistic eye. Only a few of those seats are full when you arrive. A scattering of Coppers and a small number of Irons are the only ones there to witness the Foundation Battles. You are, after all, the first and least impressive of the fights that shall take place today.

One Iron that isn't watching is standing in the middle of the marble. It's one of the several that oversees your daily training, and he nods when you approach. In short, clipped words, he gives you your instructions. Everyone pair up. You'll all fight on a different section of the arena at once. You can win by submission, knock out, or by removing your opponent from the ring. When your fight is over, stop and await further instructions.

A buzz goes through the group as everyone focuses on the first thing he said. Pair up. Which means that you have to select your own opponent for the first round.

Your eyes rake the disciples around you. There are twenty five other students besides you. There's plenty of people to choose from.
victims victims naught but fodder crack their skulls and watch the blood drain from them
Who to fight, who to fight….

Who do you decide to square off with for your first match in the battles?
[] Huo Rugong: The fourteenth ranked of the Foundation students. He would be a good middle ground target. He's not strong, but no one would accuse you of attempting to choose an easy opponent should you fight him.
[] Quan Sigdag: The seventh ranked of the Foundation students. He's in the upper half off the students, so he'll be a challenge. And he mocked you after you failed to improve your cycling technique. That must be avenged.
[] Song Luoyang: The twenty-second ranked of the Foundation students. He's one of the less-skilled people on this stage, and he would prove an easy fight.
[] Tan Jaci: The first ranked of the Foundation students. She's lithe, vicious in a battle, and wishes to avenge her loss from yesterday. She is a worthy way to prove your strength.