Flashback Tussle Talk and Trial

[Ezekiel Tabbris]

The forty-fifth day of Summer, 512 A.V.

Long had Ezekiel awaited the day he would be given the chance to prove his worth and join the monks of Nyka. His many peers who had joined in his training had not the dedication nor the will to become the monks they spoke of being with such bravado and pointless posturing. They would be the first to fall to the trials, and Ezekiel thanked Laat for it. Bone-headed fools who thought the robe to be just that were no better suited for combat than a babe fresh from the womb. Without resolve, they were nothing more than moving sacks of meat waiting to be crushed beneath the almighty forces of the Celestials who ruled above them.

"Tabbris, you're next."

The young man stepped forward, his frown bent in concentration as his steely eyes appraised his opponent. He was large, muscular, and walked with a cocky swagger that denoted him as one of the foolish individuals who thought the role of a monk nothing more than a position of luxury. Surely, those sort of people would have been discarded come the second trial, but Ezekiel saw no reason to allow them that far - this particular one especially. What better way to serve Laat than to eliminate those who would sully his name with selfish deeds and desires.

"Guide my hand that I might strike the sneer from his petching face." Ezekiel cracked his knuckles together and spit on the ground as they circled each other. Neither one of them seemed willing to make the first move, thus they continued, slowly closing in upon each other, maintaining eye contact the entire time. The other man was the first to take action. His fist swung out in an obvious roundhouse, slow enough that Ezekiel was able to dart in close and and shove his palm into the other man's throat with an uppercut thrust. The maneuver was surprising enough that by the time the man's arm slammed into Ezekiel's shoulder, he was too busy coughing and sputtering to follow up.

Ezekiel winced as he gingerly touched the area the other man's arm had connected with. His body wasn't built to take heavy hits, thus he had to end fights quickly if he was going to emerge the victor. Clenching his teeth together, he dove back in, striking several times in succession at the man's head. On the defensive, the other man moved his arms up to try to shield himself from the blows, but having been disoriented by the strike to his throat, he succumbed quickly to Ezekiel's onslaught.

The repeated punches that bounced off the man's weakening shield of flesh started to wear on Ezekiel as the sweat trickled down the sides of his face. Putting all of his forward momentum into a spinning kick, his foot landed squarely in the middle of the man's stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor. Not waiting for any kind of retaliation, Ezekiel immediately dropped down on top of him and began to jab at the man's face, shoulders, chest: whatever was exposed and a target. Not too soon after, the overseeing monk pulled Ezekiel off of the man, declaring him the victor.

Ezekiel looked down at the bloodied mess upon the ground with a hint of disdain. The other man had been too preoccupied with his intimidating physical stature to actually focus upon the art of fighting. Ezekiel had never been one to consider himself a martial master, but when the opportunity to counter-strike arose, he rarely passed upon the chance. He'd managed to keep the other man on the defensive. Coupled with his aggressive maneuvers, Ezekiel had been able to easily defeat his ill prepared opponent. He glared into the face of the monk as he was dismissed to clean up, commenting on Ezekiel's seemingly unnecessary brutality. "Were I to allow him a chance to fight back, I would have lost. There is no place for hesitation in a fight." Nor was there a place for hesitation in the pursuit of the Robe.

He turned his back upon the both of them, massaging his knuckles and grimacing at the painful signals his brain received from the action. Having chosen a more agile form of combat, his strikes were weaker but faster than those of many of his monk-hopeful counterparts. Thus, he had had to deliver twice - if not more - the blows to fell his opponent than many of the others. It appeared he had been much more cruel and bloodthirsty than had been his intention at the time, but after the fact, Ezekiel had owned it. Let them frown and whisper about him. It would only serve him in the end.

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Common
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[Ezekiel Tabbris]

With the first trial behind him, Ezekiel passed through the doors at the end of the room. The room beyond was much smaller than the last, sparsely decorated save for four tapestries - each dedicated to one of the Celestials - hanging upon the wall and two chairs positioned directly in front of each other. As he entered, the cold, green eyes of the only other man in the room stared at him from beneath bushy black eyebrows, a slight frown upon his face. "Ezekiel Tabbris?" Here, Ezekiel bowed in respect and nodded, awaiting an invitation before seating himself. "You're smaller than I expected." With a grunt, the other man made a loose gesture that suggested the vacant seat be filled. "How did you win your fight."

Ezekiel wasn't entirely sure whether the last bit was a question or a statement. As he eased himself into the uncomfortable, rigid seat, his eyes darkened slowly in thought. Was it a test? Did the large, powerful looking man in front of him think to eliminate him before even beginning the interview? Laat, guide my tongue that you might shine through me. "The swift are often the deciders of battle." The man raised a bushy brow, but nodded his begrudging contentment at Ezekiel's response. "It would appear so."

For a while, the two men stared in each other's eyes, neither willing to break the tense gaze each held with the other. Ezekiel, however much younger than the man before him, had no intention of appearing weak or meek in the presence of the monk. He had come to the Headquarters for a single reason: to become a monk. If he showed any sign of weakness or hesitation, it could be used against him. Laat surely had greater plans for him than to deny him what was, from birth, his right. "Your eyes are filled with defiance, Tabbris. What do you have to fight against?" The words were sudden, sharp and clear against the silence that had come before them.

Ezekiel frowned, his eyes darkening once more. The other monk was difficult to read, and his tone gave little away. The question sounded like everything else that had come from between his partially chapped lips. A question, a statement, a praise, a reprimand. "Your question is vague." The monk appeared to ready a response, but Ezekiel continued with a silent prayer to Laat. "You ask what I defy, what I refuse. Yet, I fight and struggle each day against the enemies of Laat, of Nyka. I cannot pick and choose my battles, as is wise, nor can I ignore the threats directly presented to me. There is no one thing I fight against, yet I rage against all things." Ezekiel shoot his head, his frown slightly lifting. "Perhaps it would have been better to relate what I do not fight against."

The monk sat back into his chair, crossing his arms and inhaling deeply as he appraised the answer. "Evasive, aren't you." Ezekiel raised a brow but did not respond. He was from the Eastern Corner. Directly answering every inquiry asked was like demanding a fish walk upon land. "Still, your point stands." The man's green eyes moved up and down the entirety of Ezekiel's person. Appraisal, disdain, and a slight hint of interest flashed in the shifting shine of monks gaze until he spoke again. "You spoke of Laat and the Eastern Quarter. You plan upon joining his ranks, should you become a monk?"

Here, Ezekiel glared directly back at the man's question. "When I become a monk, I shall continue upon my path of service to my god." The very idea of joining the order of another quarter was no only repulsive to him but blasphemous. To deny the deity that had given you everything and run off into the arms of another? Preposterous. Laat was, and always would be, the only thing his heart would serve. To even insinuate otherwise was not only an offense to him but to Laat as well. "I see." Once more, silence fell between the two as each waited for the other to break it.

"Your ardor seems genuine. It's... refreshing." The monk shifted in his chair, attempting to find comfort. "However what of your goals. Your intentions. Why have you chosen this particular path, Tabbris. For money? Glory? To show your piety?" Ezekiel's face remained a neutral blank. His mouth, slightly curved down naturally, tightened slightly as the questions hit him. His intentions? Shaking his head, Ezekiel finally turned his mouth into a smirk. "I cannot refuse a calling. This is what I was meant to do. I need no reason to follow that which Laat has placed before me." He gave the monk a challenging raise of his brows, as if to test him to see if he would say anything on the matter. The monk seemed to chew upon what Ezekiel had said, but whatever rumination he was cultivating was not shared with the once more silent room.

"You are different, I'll give you that, Tabbris." The monk rubbed his eyes with both hands, leaning back into the chair. As his arms once more fell to rest in his lap, the monk let out a large, tired sigh. "Your boldness is certainly something worth adding to our resources. Your faith, as well, is a twist I am beginning to see less and less of." Here, the monk frowned, mulling over something else but uncertain how to phrase it. "You're dangerous though. Don't expect to make many friends among your brothers." With that, the monk stood up, gesturing that Ezekiel should as well. "I have no reason to refuse you passage, though I confess I'd like to after what I've had to listen to. Still, if your words reflect your heart, you will emerge from the Aperture unmarred."

Ezekiel rose along with the monk and nodded. His face had returned to its natural, almost dour appearance, as his mind quickly processed everything that had just happened. He'd passed the second trial. The monk handed him a sealed scroll and shooed him out of the room, but Ezekiel was too preoccupied with his muttered prayers to really pay the forced eviction much heed. The fact he'd been concerned about whether or not the monk would allow him to continue only showed how weak his faith and resolve were. "...That I might never again doubt the path you have set before me." With a newly kindle fire in his piercing, hawk-like eyes, Ezekiel set off for home, where he would prepare for his final and most difficult trial in the journey for the Robe.

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Common
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[Ezekiel Tabbris]

The fourty-sixth day of Summer, 491 A.V.

Ezekiel stood upon the edge of the Aperture, his bright white robes stark against the darkness below him. He flexed his toes against the strong leather of his sandals, testing the strength and releasing some of the nervous tension that wracked his body. Fear was not something beyond him, though it wasn't anything he liked to admit. The truly devout were above fear: secure in the knowledge that every act was done in the will of the respective god. Were he to falter, surely Laat would turn his back upon him. There was no use in weakness, for the weak were nothing more than a stain upon the great city the holy Celestials had striven to create. He refused to join the ranks of the pathetic and unworthy.

Clenching his jaw, he knelt before the Aperture. The cool stone pushed back against the weight of his knees, as his face slowly relaxed even in the uncomfortable position."Forgive me my weakness, Laat. You are my light, my path. I hold true to your guidance and shall not falter despite my humanity. Guide me, shape me, create in me the tool you desire to shape this world." Once finished, Ezekiel kissed the bone woven into the bracelet on his right hand before tearing it off and letting in fall into the depths. He watched the white object descend, slowly drifting down until it was lost in the shadowy recesses of the world below.

Standing now, Ezekiel brushed off the rocks and dirt that had stuck to were his knees had been placed upon the ground. His sharp eyes gazed at those who had come to watch him descend. Several were the faces of people who would have liked nothing better for him not to return, and those faces were what gave him strength. They were worms, sniveling children hiding behind the heels and power of Laat. They took for granted what he strove to uphold, and that sickened him. Had Laat desired it, Ezekiel would have cast the lot of them into the abyss. They were neither worthy nor deserving of the grace the Celestials had granted them by simply allowing them to live beneath their benevolence.

"Ezekiel Tabbris, child of Muthias Tabbris, monk of Laat." His posture straightened as the monk addressed him. "You shall descend into the Aperture for three days and nights with nothing but your robe, your water skin, and your faith. Should you emerge before this is accomplished, you will be cut down as a coward. If you remain until the final day, you will rise from the abyss as a monk of the Eastern Quarter." Ezekiel nodded his understanding. "Very well. Descend." The ladder was thrown over the edge and the people around began to murmur. Several let out cheers both of encouragement and mockery, though the latter were muted in fear that too much disdain would require punishment.

Ezekiel placed the skin in between his teeth and began the long journey to the bottom of the Aperture. The cheers began to grow as he moved farther and farther into the swirling energies of the world below until they eventually faded into nothingness. So began his final three days as the commoner Ezekiel Tabbris.

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Common
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[Ezekiel Tabbris]

The darkness enveloped him like a cool, calming blanket. It was a surprising feeling as his feet blindly moved down the ladder rung by rung. His breathing had become labored by the time he finally reached the ground, or at least, he assumed it was the bottom. For all he knew, he stood upon an outcropping of stone a good distance from the true canyon below. Kneeling down, he ran his hands along the stony surface around him, gingerly feeling for the lip of a drop-off. Before he had expanded his inquisitive investigation very far, the sound of the ladder rising out of the Aperture gave him a start. Shaking off the sudden bout of unease, Ezekiel continued running his fingers over the ground.

When his hand found the edge of the ledge, Ezekiel let out a thankful "Ovek be blessed." as he inched his body back against the wall behind him. Had he simply walked off like a fool, that may well have been the end of him. Yet, if he could descend farther that meant he was not truly within the Aperture. He'd only just arrived and had immediately been given a moral conundrum. If he waited upon the ledge for three days, he'd surely emerge relatively unharmed and be grated monkdom. Yet, Ezekiel doubted he could live with the humiliation of knowing he'd never actually descended the entire distance into the heart of the world.

Gritting his teeth, Ezekiel resolved himself to continue. "May Akajia guide my feet." His voice was but a whisper in the calm dark silence of the blackness around him. He stood then, preparing himself for what had to be done. A deep breath was drawn and released before Ezekiel took two steps forward. Good. He was now standing upon the edge, his unseeing eyes unable to gauge the distance below him as everything around was the same unpenetrable black. Despite everything, Ezekiel found himself closing his eyes as he leaped from his position out into the nothingness. For a few split ticks, he felt weightless, falling through the open air to Lhex only knew where. The next moment, his feet landed upon uneven ground that sent him stumbling forward.

Ezekiel let out a slightly nervous laugh as he regained his balance, thanking both Akajia and Ovek for their assistance. Though he was still without his sight, Ezekiel felt strangely safe. Truly, it felt as though Akajia herself had wrapped him up in her arms, cradling him against the dangers of the Aperture. He knelt then and there, gingerly testing the ground before him before bowing his head in silent reverie for the goddess of the night. With his face so near the earth, Ezekiel was able to take in the strange, sweet smell around him. It was... heady, almost overpowering now that he'd noticed it. He slowly pushed himself up off the ground, leaning back onto his feet and peered into the darkness around him.

Of course, he was unable to see anything, but the distinct scent of some blooming organism was unmistakable. He reached out a tentative hand, thinking he might find the source of the smell, but all that was before him was empty space and the ground beneath him. Rising to his feet, Ezekiel moved forwards, drawn to the hypnotizing aroma that drifted all around him. It was incredibly familiar, comforting... It drew him in like a warm caress, daring him ever forward until-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of falling rocks crashing into something metal somewhere to his left. Ezekiel quickly snapped his head towards where he believed the rocks to have landed. A suddenly as the scent had arrived, it was gone, leaving behind the stillness of the Aperture as it had been when he'd first descended. He reached out a curious hand, brushing against something soft that caused him to recoil in both surprise and disgust. The thing was not just soft, it was slimy as well. Gathering up his courage once more, Ezekiel muttered a prayer to Caiyha, that whatever he had found be something benign.

Again, his hand made contact with the thing in front of him. It was cool, cooler than the air around him, and something beneath the surface of it pulsed. Ezekiel felt his face turn into a concerned frown as he his hand continued along the smooth, slimy surface. "What in Caiyha's name..." Another pulse, this time bigger than the one before, expanded and contracted the thing beneath his hand. There was even a faint rising of heat which was more than enough to suggest to Ezekiel it was time to leave.

Wiping his hand upon the hem of his robe, he turned from what he believed to be the egg of some massive creature and began to warily traverse the uneven terrain before him. "Perhaps it is best I find an abandoned nest as the others suggested..." His words sounded foreign to his own ears in the stillness all around him. Thus, his tone was hushed to the point where it would have been nearly inaudible had there been any other sound around him. Instead, it seemed to thunder through the stark black landscape, as if he had just declared war upon anything and everything that took up residence in the Aperture.

Ezekiel shuddered slightly, for the hundredth time uttering a prayer to Akaija, as he continued on into the darkness.

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Common
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[Ezekiel Tabbris]

The fourty-seventh day of Summer, 491 A.V.

He'd spent the night in a crevice - or so he'd figured it to be so - he'd come across after a good long walk through the Aperture without much else of import occurring. Ezekiel wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, but nothing had really prepared him for the strange, calming sensation the Aperture imparted to him. Even his encounter with the monstrous egg had felt strangely peaceful, as if he had been fondling the head of a shaggy, loving beast rather than the incubation sack of some probably deadly creature. He wasn't sure how long he'd walked, nor how far, but it didn't really concern him. He wasn't alone down in the depths of the darkness. His gods were with him, listening to his prayers and responding in kind.

Not for a moment did he doubt he would emerge a monk from the depths. Laat would surely have been pleased to see him so calm, so refined. He'd spent the morning - or what had felt like the morning - praying to several gods to put himself more at ease. While he was completely devoted to Laat, Ezekiel was not so foolish as to disregard the strength of the other, numerous deities of Mizahar. For the time being, Akajia had received the brunt of his thanks as well as his supplications. She'd kept him safe and well for the time being - a thing he thanked Laat for as well -, and Ezekiel didn't wish to anger her so that she might retaliate.

Confident in his protection, Ezekiel struck out once more into the darkness. This time, things were different. The ground beneath him was no longer difficult to pass over but rather smooth, like the cobbled streets of the city above him. Occasionally, there would be a small fault or crack interrupting the unnatural ease of the stone beneath him, but for the most part he was able to move forward with little hindrance. The ease of travel meant, of course, Ezekiel could cover much more ground in a shorter amount of time. Thus, he began to experiment with his surroundings. Taking a sharp left, Ezekiel trudged on. To his amazement, the path before him was just that: a path unblocked by what should have been a solid, impassable wall of rock.

Ezekiel continued on, though he now did so with some caution. Whatever trickery was afoot, it was certainly nothing to be taken lightly. On and on he went, his footsteps ringing out in the impossibly large space. In the distance, for he could now discern such things, there flickered a pale purplish light. Strange and unnerving as it was, Ezekiel headed towards it. While the Aperture was filled with dangerous, unbelievable things, he had the will of the gods behind him. He knew better than anyone that he was one of Laat's chosen, and as such, he was certain his life would remain intact, as it was not his own to begin with. Still, that knowledge could not stop the creeping fear that seemed to grow within him as the light gradually grew larger and larger as he approached.

It cast a strange, unnatural light upon the floor around it. The brazier, for the fire burned within the metal structure, was situated in the middle of the stone floor he'd been walking upon for a good while. The ground was a seamless slab of swirling greys and blacks from what he could discern by the purplish blue light of the fire before him. He stopped, hesitantly gazing at the edge of the eerie circle of light. Whatever burned within the prison of the brazier was certainly not a product of Ivak's craft. It was almost ethereal with its silently dancing rhythm as it licked up the sides of its confining cage.

Unsure what more to do, Ezekiel stepped into the light.

There was a loud, resounding crack as several fault lines zigzagged like lightning across the ground as the purplish flame erupted from the newly formed gashes in the earth. Ezekiel jumped back in time to avoid the rushing flames engulfing him in their silent rage. There were more sounds, similar to the skittering clicks of nails upon stone, that had begun to fill the room. The light of the heatless inferno illuminated even more of the blank expanse of the flat realm around him. As far as he could see there was nothing but fire and planer stone. Whatever had happened to the walls of Aperture, it didn't seem they were coming back anytime soon.

He backed up away from the brazier where the first flame had first danced. By then, the fires had grown and molded into each other, creating one giant behemoth of an inferno with the brazier at its heart, barely visible behind the contradictory waves of heat that Ezekiel could not feel. He maintained a visual of the fire for as long as he could before his eyes were drawn to the shuffling figures that were the source of the skittering noise. They were spiders, strangely pale with elongated legs that must have been at least a man and a half in length. The bodies were smaller, perhaps the size of the head of a young child, but in their eyes burned the similar color of the flames that licked up around them but did not burn.

Ezekiel held his breath then, gingerly continuing in his now muted retreat from the light. His mind shot off frantic prayers to Caiyha, imploring that the beasts be more interested in the flames that his own person. It seemed his wish was granted. The spiders were completely enamored with the flames that rose from the cracks in the earth. The ran wholeheartedly into the depths of the flames, acting much like a moth to a candle. Yet here, the spiders did not burn. Instead, they merely lounged - or whatever the spider equivalent of such an action would be - within the hypnotizing turmoil of the purplish fire.

Thanking the goddess, Ezekiel turned to better see where he was going. His foot caught on an unexpected rock that released a loud bang through the once empty chamber. He froze, every single muscle tensed, as the sound of skittering came to a halt and silence filled the room. With agonizing slowness, Ezekiel turned to look back at what he believed to be the center of the room where the spiders had congregated. Every single creature had turned to face where the sound had come from. Not a single beast twitched or faltered. They were like statues but for their strange, purple eyes.

The next moment, they started towards him. The terrible clattering of hundreds of legs filled Ezekiel with a fear he was not ashamed of. Now, he prayed openly to any god or goddess who would listen. Though, it certainly sounded less like a prayer and more like the words of one being chased by large, apparently malignant spiders. Without much thought, Ezekiel headed off into the darkness, wanting nothing more than to distance himself from the creatures. The skittering was almost deafening as it bounced around and around, making it impossible to tell if more were coming from the sides or even in front of him. He shouted out into the darkness, attempting to stay his fears with the vows of the monks. His breath came in gasps, so many of the vows were only half the words or less, but it was enough to partially drown out the impending click of the legs upon the stone.

His frantic dash was interrupted by a full-on collision with an object much the same as he'd found the day before. With a resounding pop, Ezekiel found himself thrown back onto the ground - it was rocky and jagged once more - as the sicking splash of liquid exploded and coated everything around it, Ezekiel included. He gagged, coughing as the stench from the pod invaded his nostrils. Somewhere in his expedited exit, the clicking horror had stopped. Now, he found himself alone, repressing the urge to vomit, covered in good, upon the floor. To make matters worse, it was dark again, though this time it was the sort of darkness that sent chills down the spine. For now, Ezekiel was all too well aware of what sort of ilk lurked in that darkness. No longer could he feel safe with Akaija's embrace, for the images of the spiders filled his mind once his sight had again been removed.

He stood, slowly, wiping his hands upon the back of his robe before attempting to removed what glop he could from his face. The substance reeked of decay, like a fetid corpse of some poor, forgotten creature left for the maggots to dispose of. With that thought in mind, Ezekiel quickly patted himself down in search of the writhing pustule sacks that often accompanied the scent of carrion. To his relief, there were no larvae, only the slime that had burst from the egg. Before he could offer up thanks to Ovek for his great fortune, there was a terrible, rasping noise. The sort that came after one had been under water for just a bit too long. It sputtered, shook, then grew in confidence. The sound soon became breathing, which in turn, began to sound much like the slapping of tongue against roof of mouth.

Frozen in place, Ezekiel could do nothing but silently pray to Ovek that his luck not change. The clicking stopped and a terrible cracking noise began. Whatever it was snapped and clicked like bones breaking or joints popping. There was a slight moan of ecstasy and then... Breathing. It was heavy, labored, but very much the sound of another creature sharing the same space with Ezekiel. He felt the chilly sweat of apprehension trickle down the back of his neck as he did his very best to remain inert. His breath barely passed between his lips, the shallow breathing causing a feeling of lightheaded panic. When he felt as though he could no longer keep himself from drawing the creature's attention, the thing spoke.

It was a terrible, rattling sort of voice that drew out the vowels and drove in the consonants. "It ha-as wo-oken us." The telltale sound of footsteps driven into slime covered ground became apparent as the creature moved towards him. "Ye-et... It is filled with..." A large, rattling breath was drawn. "Fe-ear..." The word was exhaled in such a way, it seemed as though the speaker had just had a particularly delicious sort of meal and was now expressing its gratitude. "It tre-embles." The steps continued, growing closer as closer. The wet slap of skin upon soaked stone made Ezekiel's stomach turn. The ever present stench adding to the creatures sickening aura. "Why? Why does it not ru-un from us?" The breathing was close now. He could smell the even stronger stench of the thing's breath as it passed over his face, bringing tears to his eyes with is repugnant odor. "Why does it sta-and so still? So..." Another breath was drawn as the creature moved close enough Ezekiel could feel its heat. "Ca-alm..." Again, the word was exhaled with the strange, appreciative tone. Though this time, the rattling voice was close enough to impart what could only be the creature's mucus as it imparted its thoughts vocally.

The substance landed upon Ezekiel as his body screamed out that he run, fight, anything to rid himself of the thing before him. Yet, he could not. He remained there, frozen in his fear and awe of the beast before him he could not see. His mind was filled with millions of prayers to not only Ovek, but the majority of the Miziharian pantheon as well. Even gods and goddesses who certainly did not apply to his current dilemma were included. Whatever help he could receive, Ezekiel was not about to discriminate at that moment. A warm, slimy hand caressed the side of his face. The feeling sent a kind of chill down his spine he'd never before experienced. A slight hrng escaped his lips.

"It is so... So-oft." The hand trailed down his neck to rest on his shoulder. The path clearly defined in a new trail of rank, viscous liquid. "We were once... Li-ike it. We were once..." The creature drew in a rattle breath as Ezekiel braced himself for what he now knew would follow. "So-oft..." The wave of humid heat that emanated from the creature's jaw spread over him like a noxious blanket. He felt it move its head closer, the sound of it smacking its lips was almost as revolting as the smell. Slowly, the creature licked from the base of Ezekiel's chin to his ear, the warm, slimy organ gliding smoothly over his skin. His body exploded, silently, against the constraints of his brain. Every single cell in his body screamed against him, cried out for action for death for anything but what he was forcing it through.

"Spe-eek."

Ezekiel gasped for air, unable to retain his composure any longer as he fell to the floor, heaving in and out the malodorous air he'd been denying his lungs for so long. When he was able, Ezekiel spluttered out, "..but I shall not die." The creature remained quiet, allowing Ezekiel to regain his breath before it spoke. "Aga-ain." He nodded, uncertain whether the creature could see him or not, though with how accurate its actions had been, he assumed the creature could at least see some. "My body has strength and my mind has purpose. I know not the weaknesses of the flesh. I may be killed, but I shall not die."

There was silence between the two of them save the rattling breath of the creature as it pondered Ezekiel's words. "Mo-onk." He nodded once more, affirming what he believed to be a question. Very abruptly, a resounding peal of laughter reverberated throughout the canyon. "It is... a mo-onk?" More laughter, the sort of sick, trembling laughter that rarely emanated from one upon a death bed. "We were... A mo-onk." The rattling breath once more. "Once..." Ezekiel found the creature even more unnerving after its reaction to his words. Resolving himself, he dared venture a question. "...what happened to you?"

Again, only the rattling could be heard for a long while. Ezekiel sat there, unsure what to do. The stench had, for the most part, become almost bearable. Were he to have acted upon his more base nature, he would have lost his stomach and with it, his chances of surviving another and final day. At the moment, he had himself under control, but he dared not think what might happen should he lose it. When the creature spoke, it was quieter, almost introspective.

"We..." It paused, sucking in air with its terrible rattle. "We were li-ike you... So-oft. The-en... She ca-ame..." Its voice faded as the rattling breaths slowly became faster. "She... di-id thi-is... So-ome thi-ing..." By now, the creature was huffing and puffing,"We were so-oft so she-" There was a sickening crack, a muted sputter, and the creature fell to the floor, its suddenly lifeless body sprawled out over him. With a shout, Ezekiel jolted to his feet, throwing the corpse off of him in a violent hurl. When his cries had faded, there was nothing but silence once again, this time void of the creature's labored breathing.

"She...?"

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[Ezekiel Tabbris]

He'd continued on from where the creature had been, careful to create the most minimal of sounds so as not to attract anything more. The stench that clung to his dirtied robe and face had eventually began to subside, though more due to an acclimation of the sense rather than a lessening of the putrid liquid's stink. The haunting images of the spider-like beasts had been replaced by the terrible, rattling words of the creature. Though faceless, the fact that such a being existed below the great city of Nyka was certainly astounding, if not completely abhorrent.

Ezekiel had had enough experience within the swirling darkness of the Aperture to last him a lifetime. Though he knew full well no true harm would befall him, it didn't mean the gods and goddesses would stay from testing him further, and he grew apprehensive for it. On one hand, he desired their approval, Laat's especially, and should he be able to attain it through the rigors and tests of the Aperture... He would endure. On the other hand, Ezekiel was incredibly shaken. His faith had never wavered so much in his life. The creature especially. He tried hard not to dwell upon it, for it had obviously been a tool with which to measure the depth of his willingness to follow the path the gods had set before him. He would not falter.

He moved through the darkness, his bones weary and muscles sore, as the occasional sound of food falling down from the world above would break the silence that plagued Ezekiel with the ever presence moan of the creature's voice. "May Qalaya rid me of these ghastly images and sounds, that I might walk in the peace of Akaija." Truly, he found himself wishing for sleep. Somewhere along his desperate dash from the arachnid creatures and the festering ooze of the creature's lair, Ezekiel had lost his waterskin. His mouth parched, his stomach grumbling, the prospect of continuing to travel through the endless blackness was anything but appealing.

With a heavy sigh, Ezekiel gingerly groped around until he found a suitable place to rest his back and bottom against. Closing his unseeing eyes, he drew in each breath evenly, holding it for a few ticks, then slowly releasing it back into the air around him. The turmoil and confusion that plagued his mind had lasted long enough. Though very aware of the potential dangers all around him, Ezekiel found meditation to be even more necessary than continuing forward at the moment. Easing back into the dip in the rock, he continued his breathing in steady, constant waves. Eventually, his body relaxed and the flashes of his mind streaked by in images, smells, and sounds. His body rippled with disgust as he recalled the conversation with the beast. Whatever it had been, its life was done.

Ezekiel started, shoving himself off of his rocky perch, eyes widened in surprise. The cracking noise... It had been much like the sound of a neck snapping. His father had demonstrated several times on the carcasses of pigs and other animals that came through the harbor. How then, did the creature snap its own neck? He shuddered, creeping back into the recess as much as he could. There was something else down there with him, something that had apparently wanted to keep the creature from relaying anymore information. Be it god or beast or man, Ezekiel had had enough for the time being.

Though wrought with nightmarish and underworldly images, he found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. As his consciousness began to fade, he thought he saw the hem of a deep, purple robe... Odd.

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[Ezekiel Tabbris]

"Akaija, please! Blanket this abominable place in your embrace once more!"

He'd been woken by a strange light and found himself in a stone chair in an empty and decrepit hall that appeared to be some sort of assembly hall. There were pillars on either side of the great room and a tarnished, ragged rug that seemed as though it had run the entire length of the middle of the room. The only other thing about the room that was striking (in fact, the only truly striking part of the room at all) were the piles of mummified bodies that filled the entire area. At first, Ezekiel had been too shocked to be able to respond to the horror before him. Then, the reality of the situation set in and he could only bend his head in prayer, hiding his face from the perpetually horrified faces of the corpses around him.

"The-ese are the bo-odies of the unfa-aithfu-ul." The familiar, rattling sound of the creatures voice reached his ears. Rapidly, he jerked his head to face the direction where the words had come from, only to immediately regret having done so. What stood before him could hardly be classified as human. The thing was so bent and twisted, had there not been a face, Ezekiel would have thought the beast its own pile of fetid meat. Positioned between two legs that splayed off into the air like wings was a round, rotting face that had the appearance of a child. Its eyes, however, were pure white, giving the unnerving appearance of some soulless monstrosity. The rest of the body was a tangle of miscellaneous limbs and organs, all poking out in different directions, leaking the same, putrid purple liquid.

"The-ey..." The creature began, rattling as several lungs attached at various places increased in size as it drew breath. "Defi-ied her." It gestured with an arm that awkwardly hung from where the hip might have been. "Yo-ou wi-ill join the-em so-on, monk." Despite the abomination's appearance, Ezekiel thought he heard the tinge of sadness in the things voice. "...What do you mean." He kept his tone as even as terse as he could, though it still wavered slightly. The strength of the gods and goddess alone were what kept him from breaking into panicked sobs. Never before had he felt so much fear as when he stared into the blank slits of the creature's eyes.

"She wi-ill co-ome." The creatures head shivered, splattering more of the purple goo onto the stone beneath it. "Bu-ut perha-aps..." It took several shaky steps forward with the help of three legs and an arm or two. "Yo-ou can... Use her." The creature's mouth disfigured itself even further into what only could have been some twisted horror of a smile. "For your go-ods, monk." It laughed its terrible, wheezing cachinnation. "Ye-es! Ye-es! Twi-ist her into your to-ol!" The puss-like ooze now flowed from the crevices of the creature like a waterfall. The flow became like a flood that began to fill the room as the corpses joined in with the creature's mirth until the entire room was filled with laughter of millions of mouths slowly being swallowed up by the purple liquid until-

Darkness.

The fourty-eighth day of Summer, 491 A.V.

His painfully dry mouth whispered out prayers of thanks to each of the gods and goddesses that had protected him thus far. Without Syna's guiding light to alert him to how much time had passed, Ezekiel had little idea how long he had been in the Aperture. It felt as if years had passed, but he knew that was surely not the case. Trying not to dwell upon it, Ezekiel pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Surprisingly, the sensation of something cool and slimy reached his face instead of what should have been tired and battered skin. With a yelp, Ezekiel realized the slime that had dried before once more saturated his entire being. Frantically running his hand through his slick and slimy hair, he fell to his knees and cried out.

What he had believed to be a dream... Had it been? What was reality and what was illusion? Had the creature been real at all or had he only imagined it...? Suddenly, the faint image of the purple robe popped to the forefront. The Lady in Purple? Was it she who plagued him so? Had the gods sent her to test him? He grit his teeth and slammed his fist into the rocky ground, wincing slightly at the pain of the impact. No. He would not surrender. He'd come far. Far enough to emerge victorious: a true monk to serve the great and wise Laat.

"Have you no more? I will withstand a thousand horrors for my lord Laat! Nothing, not even the loss of my own life will waver my will!" His voice was raspy, cracked, but still carried the strength to reverberate through the canyon in an impressive echo. He spit upon the ground before him, shoving himself to his feet as he shook off what he could of the goo. "Come then! Bring your ghouls and ghasts! I do not fear you!" He waited, though for what, he wasn't entirely certain. He knew even if the Lady had been responsible and listening, there would be no obvious or apparent reply. Perhaps the spiders would return, or something worse. It didn't matter. He had resolved himself to face them, to break them, and to emerge the victor. Nothing, not even the Lady in Purple, could hold him back any longer.

Surprisingly enough, the rattling sound of something bouncing off the rock walls filled the Aperture. It was unlike the falling noises of the offerings dropped by the citizens of Nyka, for it lasted much longer with more clatter than was usual (or often possible) for food to create. The ladder? Ezekiel turned towards where he believed the sound to be originating from, quickly traversing the uneven terrain as the sound grew louder and louder. "Laat be praised!" The ladder it was indeed. How they had found him, Ezekiel could only assume the gods and goddesses had had something to do with it. He broke out into joyous psalm, praising all those who had been with him in his most dire of straights.

As if in divine response, Ezekiel was thrown forward onto the ground where he landed with a heavy thud upon the rocks below. Despite the pain, Ezekiel found himself laughing. His hand had landed on the familiar texture of his mother's knucklebone. So truly had the divine powers given him their blessing. Gripping tight the bracelet in hand, he latched onto the ladder with a triumphant sneer. "I will be waiting for you. Should you think you have the strength to stand against one chosen by the gods and goddesses, one bathed in their blessings, them come. We will be waiting." With that, he began his long ascent back into the light of Nyka.

Below, barely audible, came the rattling wheeze of laughter.

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[Balderdash]

The next day... After the nightmarish third trial, the final part of Ezekiel's path to monkhood was mercifully easy. He simply had to show up. Dozens of monks from each and every quarter were gathered in front of the Celestial Palace, along with hundreds of civilians. At their head were the Celestials themselves in all their divine glory. Naturally, being among the most zealous of his brothers, Ezekiel had gotten up early, and as such was first in line. Fanned out behind him were at least two dozen other initiates, all in various stages of weariness, yet all elated. Even if some tried to hide it. Laat was at the forefront of the crowd, his High Priest at his right hand. "Ezekiel Tabbris." the Alvina called out. "Step forth to swear your oaths."

[Ezekiel Tabbris]

At the sound of Laat's voice, Ezekiel found his entire body fill with a rush of awe and elation. Weary as he was, he could only poorly hide his grin behind a shaking hand as he obediently moved to stand before his god and high priest. The ground was entirely obscured by the sheer volume of those gathered to behold the ceremony, their faces raging from eager to stoic, though the courtyard was filled with an almost tangible buzz of excitement. To overcome the three trials was trivial to the moment Ezekiel was about to experience. To be so close to his god, to Laat, was almost painful. His body had begun to shake the moment he stepped forward, and continued to do so, his muscle frantically tensing and relaxing in feverish waves as sweat began to bead at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

He kept his eyes averted, staring at the ground and he moved. He bowed to no man, but Laat was anything but a man. To gaze into his eyes was nothing short of blasphemy. Though there were those who regarding the Four with love, adoration, and respect, many of them lacked the decency to treat them for what they were: the founders and guardians of the city of Nyka. To gaze into their eyes, to speak directly to them without being addressed, to use their names in any other fashion than a reverent prayer; those who did so were to be held in contempt and pity, for they knew no better than to carry on as a pathetic pigs they were. Ezekiel was different. The Four, Laat especially, would find in him the greatest resolve out of any of the brothers. That was his vow as he knelt before Laat, his body shivering beneath the divine presence.

The high priest had him rise, the ceremonial robes held grandiosely in his hands. Ezekiel nodded, the sweat running down the side of his face as his eyes fixated upon the spot just between Laat's untouchable feet. With swift, shaking movements, he removed his torn and sullied robes, letting the garments tumble to the ground to reveal his bare, exposed skin that glistened, pale in the light of Syna's gaze. For a moment, his eyes closed in a brief respite as the gravity of what he had done sunk into him. The shaking of his body quieted as the chains of his once-life fell to join the physical garments that had just a moment before adorned him. His fears, triumphs, failures, and joys swelled and fell away, drifting far behind him as steady hands took hold of the robes extended towards him.

With deliberate movements, Ezekiel clothed himself, his eyes still shut, lids fluttering slightly as his hands ran the length of the fabrics that now wrapped themselves around him, covering him in his new life, his new purpose. When his eyes opened once more, he stood before the City as a monk, a son of Laat and a brother to His children. With one final exhale, his past life drifted from him, and as the air refilled his lungs, so filled his eyes with the ardent fire of zealous vehemence. His voice, full and strong, filled the courtyard as he began, his stance resolute and stark against the bright morning sky.

"I am a monk of Nyka." His eyes burned holes into the many faces of the crowed. "My body has strength and my mind has purpose. I know not the weaknesses of the flesh. I may be killed, but I shall not die." Slowly, his gaze panned across the congregation, searching for those who had the audacity to challenge him. "I serve the city that gave me life by giving her my life. Should I renounce my duties, forever I shall be banished." Those few that stared back at him cast aside their gaze, allowing him to rampage on as his voice echoed over their heads. "I am always prepared. I shall never turn down a challenge that my opponent has the right or opportunity to issue." Here, he paused momentarily, daring any to come before him. Murderous intent glared out upon the faces of those gathered, but none stepped forward, as none were foolish enough to do so in the presence of the Four. "At war, I am relentless. At peace, I am industrious. I know no rest in battle, or luxury in my house. I shall own nothing but be thankful for what the city gives unto me." Gathering speed, Ezekiel let his voice rise. "My gratitude to Nyka and her founders has no bounds. I shall not worship the immortals who plot against Nyka or those who have wronged the Celestials." Reaching the conclusion, Ezekiel let his words ring out over the crowd as the beating of his heart filled his body with a fiery warmth as the high priest came forward.

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