Improve Thyself: A Cultivation/Cradle Quest

[Vesvius]

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!

 

[Vesvius]

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.

 

[Vesvius]

Character Sheet (WiP)​

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

 

[Vesvius]

Improve Thyself: The Mechanics
Subject to change as necessary​

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.

 

[Vesvius]

The Glossary​

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.

 

[Vesvius]

Dramatis Personae
​

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'.

 

[Vesvius]

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.

 

[Vesvius]

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.

 

[Vesvius]

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.

 

[Vesvius]

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.