Solo Attack of the Giant People!

[Archailist]

47th of Winter, 513.

Continued from here.

He couldn't get the odd man out of his head, even as he tried by taking another lap around Nyka. It was one of the things that he'd taken to doing, now.. simply taking a few laps around the streets, into all four of the Quarters and using the bridges whenever he wanted to switch. It was one of the best ways, after all, to get a further in-depth view of the city.. as long as he'd been around, he still didn't understand much of the place. Mostly because it just wasn't that interesting. He was here to learn how to be a knight.. learn how to use his acrobatics, find his strength and all that. Not how to become utterly devoted to a God and spend the rest of his entire life constantly working to fulfill some unknown epiphany. That might have been someone else's ambition, but it wasn't his.

But if the monks were always trying to please their Gods, why would there be someone doing all those odd things? Why would they be trying to harm them? That's what most of the monks that he'd met had said when he'd 'ambushed' them during their daily work. Some had shooed him away and told him to mind his own business; that it was the duties of the monks, whether or whether not a visitor wanted to help out. The others glared at him, as if he should have already known. One woman scowled and had to visibly hold back from spitting over the floor. "Murderers! Thieves!" cried the angry old monk, much to the shame and embarrassment of the much younger one that stood at her side, arms folded over her chest and trying to look like she wasn't a part of the conversation. "They emerged from the Aperture, one day. Murderers, thieves.. trying to steal our grain and set fire to our ships. But we'll show them..." Her grumbling beyond that point wasn't loud enough to be heard.

"But.. why are they here? What do they want?"

"Hah! What they all want..." Evidently, he wasn't going to get much more from the elderly monk. But he pushed.. and pushed for answers until he found what he needed, after much arguing and more than a little sweet-talking. More than it should have taken. "They hide away.. nobody knows where they are. But you can wait for them.. catch them! Kill them!"

He'd never really thought about actually killing. Or even injuring - but he should have been. After all, that was what knights did, wasn't it. Killed and injured those who dared to threaten the security of Syliras. He didn't know a thing about killing.. but it was time to start. And it was time to track down that old man, and teach him a lesson or two, for sure. The old man and all of his friends, the ones that had been causing so much damage. Something told him that he should have told the other monks.. but if they weren't going to go out and gather information, then why would they listen to an outsider if they tried to explain it?

And then maybe the monks would stop being so mean and start showing hi something that he could bring back to Syliras for use in his knightly adventures? Something to make the journey worthwhile, at least? The only thing he'd been doing for the entire time here, was running around on rooftops.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Out of his own volition, he took a perch on the roof of one of the houses nearest to the gates at the West Quarter. After gathering as much information as he could possibly find, at least, from the Nykan people that would talk with him. Especially that old woman. As far as he knew, these people didn't actually live inside the city, so he just needed to wait for them to try and get back in. And while he was waiting, he could begin working on preparing his body, as well as his mind, for what he was about to do. He was actually going to try and injure someone. For now, the streets would be too narrow and too crowded for use of his Py-Pole.. and it'd be too large, getting in the way of all of his moves. It'd just be his two paws. But not just his two paws.

Squirrels, by nature, didn't have blunt claws. He did though - he'd never taken up the attempt to make them sharp, although he was sure that he could, if he tried. So he did. Focused, all on the claws.. like he had before, with his body mass, shaping it and trying to pull down from the edges, around the very tips. It didn't work the first time, though.. the claws just slowly molded back into his fingers, and he silently cursed before relaxing his mind and letting them slowly reform over again, as part of his 'natural' form. Then, he tried again.. focusing entirely on the small pieces of clay that lay in the claws. Pulling away mass. pushing it elsewhere. It wouldn't stay though.. moving clay inside the body was one thing, but moving it outside was something entirely different, and he didn't like it, far from it. The second time he tried, it just went the same way as well, so eventually he gave up after trying to change it multiple times and finding it near-impossible. Oh well.. he'd get the hang of it.

Though, he wished that he hadn't taken such a calm attitude to it. Because out of the corner of his vision, he could see something in particular.. a man, dressed up in red robes. Just like the one that had appeared a few days ago. In an instant, he was literally leaping down to the nearest possible perch that he could manage - which happened to be a small ledge on the edge of one of the walls of the neighboring building - before slipping down the last few feet to the floor to ambush the stranger. He could take him down from the lowest point on his body, and then knock him straight over. One of the many problems with being big, was how easy it was to knock them down when you were small.

He wasn't walking fast.. quite the contrary. The crimson hood was drawn down over his face to cast it in shadow, and both arms were crossed as he silently slipped by.. and as soon as he'd crossed the small alleyway, the squirrel sprung out from inside and used all four paws to build up the most powerful run that he could manage. The hood raised but he wasn't focused on that - the only thing he needed to do was build up his speed, run faster, quicker.. dig his claws into the cobblestones and power himself forwards. And all of his hard work paid off. His shoulder struck right on the side of the ankle before the cultist could so much as raise a foot to stop the blur of brown and grey clay that had launched itself for him, and the last thing that the squirrel heard apart from the wind rushing past was a satisfying cry of pain as the man lost his balance and toppled straight over, unexpectedly, onto his side. His hands tried to reach out and catch himself, but they failed in the narrow alley and scraped along the walls on his way down - his shoulder struck the cobblestones hard.

It was in that moment as he lay there, breathing heavily, that the squirrel realized that he'd done it. He'd caught a cultist! He had to squash his excitation before it took over his senses, and then he scurried back over to the man as quickly as his stubby paws could possibly carry him, before he should try and escape again. He'd been caught red-handed (well, red, anyway) and the squirrel couldn't help but rub it in his face a little, though. So he crawled up his side and sat on his chest... before shouting straight in his face. "Thought you could get away with it, didn't you! Thought you could destroy this city, damn maniacs.. well I got you!" Yes, he was the victorious squirrel of the city. "How does it feel, huh, to be outsmarted and beaten down by a squirrel?" he mocked. Though, the more he mocked the cultist, and as he looked down at the man beneath him, he begun to feel.. something wasn't right. The crimson hood had fallen back and what stared at him looked... well.

It didn't look like a cultist. Or at least, what he expected a cultist to look like. He wasn't sure what he expected it to look like either, but the point was... this didn't look like what he'd expected for a cultist to look like. The man looked... a lot like a monk. A lot like a monk, in fact. Balding head, grey wrinkles. "Wha' tha' petch d'yah think you're doing?!" the man screamed suddenly. Oh petch. Maybe he should have looked before he leaped.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

He tried to get up, but the monk was already rising and he lost his balance, tumbling over onto his side with an ominous shadow cast down over his body. Oh, the monk didn't look happy at all.. and this was turning out to be a very bad idea. "What the petch did you think you were doing, huh?" the monk shouted as he took a step closer, and forced the Pycon to take one back. He didn't like the look in his eyes. "Cultist scum, am I? Manic, am I?" He knew what the man was planning before the foot even rose.. and in an instant, he was sprinting with all the speed that his four paws could carry him down the street, bolting between the nearest visitors legs in an attempt, as mad as it was, to escape the monk that he'd so clearly annoyed. It didn't work though. He could clearly hear the last thing in the world that he wanted to hear, even through the rushing wind and the heavy beating in his ears.

The monk was close behind. He could tell by the loud yelling, and the occasional cursing as he struggled to keep up with the sprinting Pycon, which had the advantage of two extra feet over him. A few others were yelling too.. it wouldn't be long before a crowd would be chasing him, that much could be damn assured. Even running for his life, carefully trying to evade the passing Nykans that gasped and jumped back from the blur of clay and the monk, red-faced and screaming at the top of his lungs from behind; he couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the irony of the situation. Just a few days ago, he'd seen a cultist ran out of the city by a bunch of monks. Now, for trying to protect the city from more of them, he was getting the same treatment. Hopefully he wouldn't be finding out what happened when they caught the cultists - he'd had enough education for that day.

All of his daydreaming wasn't going to have any positive outcomes. A monk stepped out of the archway of the nearest building and Archailist didn't register the foot right in front of him, right until Arch turned the corner and collided with the female monk; in turn, sending her - and himself - flying in the process. Papers, tomes, quills, inks and and all of the other materials on their way to the Hall of Robes scattered over the floor, some smashing into pieces. Some of it directly from the female monks hands, and some from the stalls and other supplies that were stacked against the red-brick walls of the streets. Apparently in confidence that a squirrel wouldn't pass by at high speeds and smash them to pieces. Oh petch oh petch oh petch. This really, really wasn't working. Demonstrated by the small group of very angry, very scowly monks that immediately circled the crash-site. Some of which were still clutching the last remains of fabric and parchment left intact. Others holding brooms, apparently on clean-up. Seemed he'd really petched off a lot of monks.

"I'm sorry!" It wasn't much but it was all that he could come up with.. and he could tell that it wasn't much by the way all of their frowns just deepened, with angry mumbles echoed over and over just behind. He didn't have time to stand judgement, though.. especially when he was pretty sure that it was going to end up in something very, very bad. Just an inkling, from the way they all stared with something hidden in that usual Nykan scowl that threatened there would be clay to pay. Though why they all had that look was really beyond him. Of course, he'd made a mistake and all that, but it was in the name of a just cause - he thought the man was a murderous cultist that wanted to kill people and blow up boats! What, would they had preferred if he just let everyone go by unmolested, including the cultists? What if the man was a cultist in disguise, even now? Would they all still be glaring at him? Alright, bad question.. they were Nykan monks, so they'd always be glaring. Would they all be angry at him for it?

"I'm sorry!" He repeated himself again without thinking, and suddenly turned and fled from them all, quickly and nimbly jumping between the gaps of the monks legs. Left, right, left, left again, down, right.. he didn't know how many people had gathered and he didn't try to count, but he went as fast as he could manage and crossed straight out through the gates of Nyka. Most of the other monks stayed behind to clear the mess.. but that one monk. The one that he'd knocked over in the beginning, just kept on going, shoving some aside as he ran after the squirrel.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Even with all of his training, and all of his relentless workout, the squirrel had a limit. He'd reached it a few minutes ago. Even though he couldn't breathe, what with a complete lack of lungs and other internal organs vital for any organic creatures survival, he was 'gasping' as he slowed just outside the city walls and bent down to regain his composure.. regain his strength. But the monk was on him in the few precious seconds that he took to relax, looming overhead. He knew it was over then and there; the Pycon wouldn't run any more.. even if he still had the energy. These monks were all too fast, too well-trained in whatever it was that they did. Disciplined - the very thing he'd searched for in this city and found in so any of these monks, and yet they all regarded such things as secrets not worthy for anyone else, especially squirrels. He might as well give himself up - not just to the monk but in this entire journey, searching for something he could not have. He might as well return to Syliras and focus on becoming a knight there. "Look, I made a mistake, I said I was sorry.. what more can I give?!" he yelled in exasperation before turning away from the monk, back to the forests that he wished he could run into and escape the hole that he'd dug for himself in this city.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you're sorry. What's this about going against these cultists, eh?" Now, that was surprising. A monk actually taking interest, in his interest?

"I saw them, a few days ago.. doing something. I want to help." Why wouldn't he want to help - if these people had done all that the other monks all said, then they deserved to be run down and hunted like the beasts that they were, for all of their murders.. and sabotage.. and the other horrible things. What could even drive them to do such things? Although, with a city full of scowling people that never smiled and chased down people just for simple misunderstandings, why would he want to save them? If anything, common sense dictated that he should become a cultist himself just to exact petty revenge on all the nasty people for doing lots of horrible things to him. Poor Pycon, being put through so much...

"Do you even know why we chased them out?" The monk seemed sad, as he knelt down before the Pycon.. evidently, he wasn't going to be injured. So, he shook his head, which only made the monks head sink lower. "We found them around the docks, trying to burn up some of the ships from Zeltiva a few days ago. Nearly did it too. They were sneaking around, trying to set fire to other stuff as well on that day. Knew it was them because they had those same robes. Apparently they didn't notice that the buildings here are made of stone - nothing's gonna burn that." The monk seemed confident, but something told the squirrel that the man had missed something vital. "This isn't the first time we've had strange people running about neither. Lots of weird stuff's been going on.. people disappearing, murders, fires, disease.. dangerous stuff, lad. Everyone's got a different idea of what's going on.. me, I don't know personally neither. Best cross the bridge when we get to it, rather than get ourselves killed trying to fight something we don't even know.

"That's why I want to help! I want to help you guys make--"

"Lad." The Pycon bristled suddenly at being so suddenly, and rudely, interrupted in explaining himself. "This is a Nykan City.. and we monks are responsible for its safety. You're too small, get yourself hurt.. and everyone else, too. The monk grunted in finality. "Best leave it to us and leave it at that." He wanted to yell at the man, tell him that he was grossly underestimating the squirrels abilities.. but the monk was up already, turning his back on the Pycon like he was merely dismissing a child. And he suppose that was what he was doing, s he walked back towards the gates. Leaving the squirrel to stew, on the verge of boiling.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Rage seethed in the squirrel as he turned his back on the Nykan city and instead headed directly for the outlands that surrounded it - the curve of wilderness that fringed the city, never straining too far. But damn, did he want to punch something then and there. Better yet, he wanted to punch that monk. Better yet still, he wanted to punch that cultist, any cultist, all the cultists! Just so that he could drag them back and push their corpses in the mans face and prove that he was not just some ignorant piece of clay, too weak to stand up for himself. He knew he should have expected it. He had been told as much - that the Pycons, especially the squirrels, would never be taken seriously. They were lumps of clay with big hearts but for all the big hearts they had in the world, they were inches in height. And that would never change. They were the mice to the men, in the eyes of the men.

But they were wrong, all of them! He would become a knight, and then he would be the one that stood between them and chaos. He would be the one that stood Sylir and Rhysol. And then they'd change their tune, if they knew what was good for them.

Right now, though. Competent and structured thought was becoming difficult under the red mist. He even found his entire body shaking as he pictured the monks face again, and visualised graphically as his paw slammed into the mans nose and caused a slow, gruesome explosion of flesh and bone. One that mangled all semblance of a face that it had once been, ruptured eyeballs and reduced his nose and lips to bloody strips of muscle dangling limply off the side of his face...

Before he even knew what he was doing, his right paw clenched into the tightest fist that he could make - one so tight that it caused his fingers and claws to melt and bend into one-another, until there was nothing but a large, heavy lump in its place - and punched a tree. It didn't budge, of course, but immediately he found the monks face staring down at him on the trunk of that tree, mocking him silently. He couldn't even bruise a tree, he couldn't even hurt a plant, an inanimate object.. and yet he was going to try and go against cultists? Against monks? Foolish. Stupid, foolish, ignorant..

For every insult that the tree threw at him, he threw another punch in return. First with just the right fist, but soon he added his left fist as well to the frey. He jabbed, threw punches that used the full weight of his body, he kicked it and slammed every inch of his body possible into it in the hopes of breaking the trees face, like he had imagined so many times. He braced his own shoulder, gripped both paws with one-another, dug his claws into the earth for grip, and powered forwards with all the strength his body could gather, to build as much momentum as he physically could before launching himself into the air and slamming hard into the tree. It shuddered just slightly, and when he pulled away, he could see that many flakes of bark had fluttered to the floor, along with some small volume of leaves. The flesh of the tree, the wood underneath, had been dented slightly and there were some small splinters pushing out like fragments of bone. They spurred him into one last punch, but by then, he was exhausted.. physically and mentally.

As he turned and sat at the base of the tree that he'd spent.. countless bells punching away at, he wondered to himself how he was ever going to get a cultist. It was the first time he'd ever actually thought about such a thing. Before, it was more the 'finding' rather than the actual 'killing', or at least hopefully killing. Maybe capturing, or seriously injuring. But he knew now... he needed to train. He needed to prepare. For what would come, soon.

Continued here.

[Aoren]

Riddled With Rewards Archailist Experience Skill XP Earned Persuasion + 1 EXP Sculpting + 1 EXP Running + 2 EXP Unarmed Combat +1 EXP Endurance +2 EXP Brawling +1 EXP Lores • Lore Earned • Persuasion: Pushing For Answers • Sculpting: Shaping My Claws • Running: Sprint • Nyka: A City Not Worth Saving • The Monk: Essence of Mockery Notes : If you have comments, questions or concerns please approach me at your earliest convenience. Don't forget to edit/delete your request in the request thread!