Solo The Real David and Goliath.

[Archailist]

50th of Winter, 513.

Continued from here.

"What do you mean, you don't know anything about them?" He couldn't believe his ears.. well, he didn't anyway. They didn't work, they were just pieces of clay molded into the shape of ears. But if they worked, and if he could believe what was coming into them, then he wouldn't anyway. These monks, they'd spent such a long time - as far as he knew, really - battling these cultists, they called them. Constantly trying to undermine them. Constantly being undermined. It was like a war, really. A very strange war, but that was what happened when two factions so deeply devoted to their own cause struck heads. Or that was what he thought. Or guessed. He didn't know if the cultists were actually devoted at all. He didn't even know if they were even cultists. Apparently nobody else did as well, in this damnable city. The monks that he found and talked to, questioned.. none of them had a clue. None of them really seemed to care, despite everything. Despite the murders, and the explosions, and the fire and the battles on the streets and this and that.

"Ah told yah, they wear red robes 'nd all that." Evidently, the monk he'd chosen really couldn't care less. Usually, that would make him move onto another and just stop wasting time. But this was the sixth monk he'd come to, and the sixth one that had apparently no interest, not even the slightest bit of curiosity for the people that were trying to kill him. Not even why they wanted all the monks gone. Why they wanted to burn down all their crops, destroy all their food, set the city on fire, blow them up.. the list just went on and on and on. For the squirrel, it just wasn't possible. Surely there'd be someone, he kept telling himself, surely there'll be someone that can tell me something, anything at all new about these cultists. Where they came from, who they are.. anything!

"I already know that they wear red robes.. everyone knows that they wear red robes. It's the one thing they know. Now, do you know anything else about them? Perhaps, who they worship? Why they want to kill you?"

"Nope." The monk seemed quite proud of the fact. And the squirrel gave up, and hopped down from his shoulder with a huff of exhaustion and pent-up rage. Better to release it on a cultist than a monk, his rational voice told him.. but that voice was far away, threatened by the howling winds of anger. For now, he vented it by stamping his feet on the ground, but all it earned him was a sympathetic, if pretty condescending look back by the monk busy stacking up food outside his shop around the Fourth Day Market. "Hey, don't you worry, little boy." That was the last straw.

He wanted to yell so much. But he reigned it in and managed to hold it. "I'm not a little boy. I'm a squirrel." He spoke through gritted teeth - or as gritted as they could get without simply squishing into each-other like the warm clay that they were, before he turned on his heels and scampered as quickly as his little legs would carry him down the cobblestone street and around the corner. Damn them all. No luck at all. No help at all. What kind of a city was this where they didn't allow anyone to help them, didn't have anyone help them, and yet they didn't even understand that they were in danger?

Just before he managed to make his way out of earshot of the monk, he heard the elderly man chuckle over his shoulder. "Sure you are, heh.. a talking squirrel. Children these days." Gods, he really wanted to punch something now. He really, really wanted to punch something.. heck, anything would do now.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

In his rather frantic weaving through the crowds, it was pretty easy to get a scope of the day and everything throughout it. Though it was hardly anything that he hadn't become accustomed to, in all his time roaming about the city to get a good feeling of what happened inside. All the same, really. Lots of chores, daily things.. writing, setting up shop, moving foods gathered from the farmlands to the mills and elsewhere. Moving goods here and there and back again. All very boring. Though it did leave plenty of room for him to quickly pass between streets, and then between corners to find what he was looking for. At least, that's what he thought. As the squirrel slid under a particularly fast-paced monk who seemed to be heading for the Celestial, he only managed a passing glance around a particularly narrow corridor that trailed off from the road before someone emerged from it and nearly sent their foot into his side. The squirrel barely managed to pull together an extra burst of speed, and leap out of the way - but even that could not save him, because he could not slow himself down again.

Instead, he found himself rolling through the dust and straight into a small tower of wooden crates, holding various scraps of fabric that he could only guess were on their way to the Hall of Robes to be remade into monk gowns. But now they were scattered all around the floor, collecting plenty of dust. Even one of the boxes had a visible dent where some of the wood had splintered - he could guess, by the ache growing in his side, that he'd collided with the boxes at that spot. That was one of the few looks he got because soon a shadow crested over his vision and left him staring up at.. a somewhat surprised, but mostly apologetic monk. "Ahh, I'm sorry for that, my young Pycon. I must not have been looking where I was going.. or at least, as much as one should be when there are Pycons on the road." The man.. on closer inspection, he wasn't entirely sure if this man could be considered a monk because of his lack of facial hair and full head of hair.. (the vast majority he'd seen had incredibly thick beards, and yet seemed completely bald at the same time) and he didn't wear the same clothes. They were small differences of course, minute and one could say unimportant.. but they still gave off the same overall look.

What struck him even harder was that the man knew what a Pycon was. "Guess we're both guilty as charged, hmm?" He couldn't stop the small smile that soon crested over his face, and he didn't try. Instead, he focused on pushing away some of the smaller strands of fabric and rousing himself from the scattered pieces. That, and apologising to the very cross monk that stood nearby with a grim scowl and both burly arms folded over his chest.. both of which looked about ready to make a new plate out of the squirrel. "Sorry.. I'll fix it, don't worry. Now, uhm.. sorry, I didn't get your name." As much as he wanted to try and stop his reputation sinking any lower in this city, his natural curiosity kept bringing him back to the man who stood at his side. Well-kept, respectable... much less brutish than a few of the monks he'd seen around Nyka, and although there were many aspects of him that made it seem as though he was indeed a member of the city.. there were others that completely went against it. Wise, but young. Intriguing. He didn't even realize that he'd completely forgotten about the monks clothes and other things until he found himself walking behind the monk, idly chatting about how crass all of the other monks were. Even pointing and laughing at a few on the way, although if any of them realized that they were having fun taken out of them, they didn't show it.

"My, you know all this about Nyka, and you've only been here.. my, how long have you been here?" It made the squirrel proud to know so much - mostly just through wandering, questioning, all the other things. It made a few enemies but it made more friends, thankfully. In the end both friend and enemy ended up annoyed but that didn't matter - it was all in the name of knowledge.

"Oh, about 50 or so days. I came here with my father, you see.. to learn the ways of the monks. Fighting styles, honour.. discipline. All the things we were told as children for bedtime stories." He felt as though all of that was a very long time ago. However, it wasn't. Barely a few years in fact. "But... well, it's not the same here, is it. Nobody wants to even talk with an outsider." He was sure that it wasn't the same in other places. Positive, in fact!

"Mm, I don't know. I don't think that there's anything different about the honour and discipline you find here is any different than that you'll find anywhere else, whether in Taloba or Riverfall." The squirrel had never heard of either of such places, but he nodded nonetheless in rapture. "You just need to learn to utilize it all without listening to what they tell you. Forge your own path instead of letting others forge one for you." Now that.. was inspiring.

"Wow.. I guess you're right. Thanks for that."

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

They chattered and walked for a while - although during that time, the squirrel managed to find a way onto the mans shoulder and since there was no complaints, he took it for acceptance and left it that way. Talking proved interesting - the man had a name, Ezkahar. He wasn't really sure what the name originated from but it was not important. He'd been born in Nyka and grown up there as well, but he hadn't found the same acceptance in their gods as he did for the ones he worshiped now, and so he had gradually pulled away and become a mere citizen rather than a follower. It would explain the differences between him and the rest of them. Ezkahar was apparently on his way to the Palace of the Celestials, and although the squirrel wanted to go with him, the man refused.. after all, there were only a select few that could be allowed into such a place, and so the squirrel would only escort him to the front doors.

Say, why are you allowed into the Palace then? I thought you said that you didn't find them to be as accepting as the ones you worship now?" Surely that would mean that the monk would not be welcome in such a place either?

"Hmm?" Archailist narrowed his eyes but Ezkahar wasn't looking. His concentration focused only on the passing monks that circled the palace, watching carefully for intruders. Not that there could really be any - there was an entire city between the Palace and the wonders of the world beyond. Pretty secure, but.. well, they were monks. One was supposed to expect fanatical paranoia every now and then when it came to sacred areas of worship. But, they continued walking steadily towards it right up to a short alleyway that forked from the main entrance. There, Ezkahar suddenly turned and ducked down into the edge, wandering along the closest wall with his back nearly pressed flush against it. It was enough to make the squirrel grab a handful of the scruff of his neck and tug - which, if anyone's never had that done to them, hurts.

"Look, why are you being so weird all of a sudden? Why are you allowed into the Celestials Palace when you're not even a monk, and why are you purposefully avoiding the entrance?" Now, the squirrel liked the man. He liked him a lot, considering that he was seemingly the only man in this city that he could talk with and not be treated like an infant or be scowled at until he finally gave up and walked away. After a fair few weeks spent in these conditions, constantly being belittled by the same community he'd hoped to learn from, he'd come to a breaking point where he desperately needed some kind of basic communication with an equal mind. But for all the mans charm and wonder, he was acting very suspiciously, even for someone that he'd only met that same day. And he wanted answers.

"I've got special business with the Celestials from some other proprietors, because all of the dealings of Nyka needs to go through them, obviously I need to go to the Palace to discuss them." True enough, it sounded like a logical reason. He'd never heard of any dealings that needed to be brought through the Palace to be instigated but he wasn't a well-versed squirrel in the arts of politics and so he could only nod. "And I'm avoiding the front doors because even though I do have completely valid reasons for visiting the Celestials, those monks throw away every person that wants to see them that isn't in a monk uniform, regardless of if they even have a signed permission slip from the Celestials themselves. Understand?" Ezkahar had a cold look in his eyes and a frown on his lips, so the squirrel quickly released the mans collar and nodded. Yes, he could agree with that.. somewhat. Though he did seem to be getting a little impatient and frustrated. Archailist guessed it was his fault for being so suspicious of the man for all of his perfectly-justifiable, if slightly suspicious mannerisms.

"Now, hold this for me would you?" As they moved further along the narrow corridor of red brick and stone, the man reached down into his robes and pulled out a fairly large scrap of parchment wrapped tightly with a little cord. The squirrel eagerly took it, to compensate for his earlier distrust.

"Sure thing! So, how are you getting in exactly?"

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

The scrap of parchment felt somewhat heavy, though the squirrel could not complain as they pushed further along the wall and eventually came to the end - which opened out onto a small side-road that tracked around the edge of the Palace. The walls blocked off the edge and forced the road to snap sharply to the right, and a few monk could be seen only by the tops of their bald heads bobbing occasionally over the crest of the wall. Once again, doubt pushed its ugly head to surface, and the squirrel could not ignore it. The Palace of the Celestials was a place of worship and one of the most sacred places in the entire city - how on earth did Ezkahar intend to get in? There wouldn't be a chance of finding an entrance point that the monks did not know about, nor was there a chance of fighting their way inside or sneaking around the monks. There were far too many of them constantly patrolling the area and each one was highly trained, as all of the monks in the entire city were, in the arts of combat. The guards weren't the only worry, on that subject. Archailist had no problem deducting that if they should even attempt to get inside, not only would the guards raise the alarm but the entire city would be on their heels in an instant. And being in the center of the city, how did they expect to escape again after they'd managed to talk with the Celestials? Was Ezkahar so confident in his plan to win them over with business that he could assure their leave, and hope they would call off the monks? What if the Celestials didn't like the idea, and left both the squirrel and his friend to the sheer brutality of the monks?

He'd seen enough on Myri Burning Day to know how utterly masochistic some of the monks were.

"So what's in the scroll then? Your business proposal? Can I get a look at it?" Of course he had more questions to ask, and couldn't help but unfurl the parchment a little in order to get a peek. But he barely managed an inch before Ezkahar's hand closed tightly down around it, nearly snatching it from his hand.

"It's the proposal. And no, you can't look at it. It would ruin the surprise. Now, come on." As time went on, the man seemed to become more cold and determined. It was worrying - where had the smiling, laughing man from before gone? It was like he'd lost it all, a skin - to be replaced by the same grumpy shell that every other monk in the city had. And here he was, thinking he'd found someone different. Showed just how much he should trust anyone in this damn city.

It was enough to drive the squirrel over the edge. "I want to see." He wasn't taking no for an answer any more. If the man could be cold, then the squirrel could be even colder. After all, he didn't even have any specific body heat - being made of clay often had that problem. One of the advantages was that his nimble paws could soon press against the fingers that clasped tightly around the little scrap of parchment and distend around them, pushing up at the bottom and forcing the scroll out from his grip. Ezkahar didn't seem pleased about this though, because he immediately stopped in the middle of his half-duck half-crawl along the edge of the wall just to reach up to his shoulder with the free hand and grip the squirrel tightly around the midriff, clenching hard enough to cause the clay of his waistline to squish together obscenely.

"Stop it." Ezkahar talked low, through gritted teeth with dead eyes glaring down upon the squirrel. "Keep pushing and I swear, you'll regret it." It was enough to cow Archailist into submission, the way he looked. Like he wouldn't hesitate to kill the squirrel, if he knew how. And he had a feeling that the man knew how. It drove something deep into his stomach, that he'd never felt before. A true fear - staring into the eyes of a killer. But something was wrong, here. It suddenly dawned on the squirrel that this man, this... thing. It was not looking for an agreement between Celestials. It wasn't looking for a business agreement. It was looking to sneak into their Palace, without anyone knowing, to do something with that scroll and then get out again. He needed the scroll. Otherwise bad things would happen.

"You... you don't scare me!" The quiver in the squirrels tone said just how much he was lying, and Ezkahar knew it.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Ezkahar only scoffed condescendingly, and it didn't help the squirrels confidence one bit. "Yeah, that's good." Suddenly, there wasn't a hand holding Archailist up any more. Instead, he was flying through the air and slamming into the wall with his side, sending the entire world into a daze. At least his head hadn't been damaged too much by the blow, but most of his torso had been seriously disfigured by the blow and distended. Out of a corner of his vision that he wasn't really that focused on, he could hear a short laugh. "Because you don't scare me either." The laughter only got louder as footsteps began fading away. Now he really knew something bad was going on - something really bad. He needed to get that parchment. He needed to find Ezkahar and bring him down a few pegs. And he needed to get the monks involved in this. They could track him down and put an end to all of this if they could find him - but there was one big problem in his plan. Even though he was stuck to one of the walls that was practically right outside the Palace, there was hardly a soul to be heard nor seen. The streets this far were deserted, with only empty crates loitering about the cobblestone streets. Not even footsteps from monks passing over the walls could be felt or heard any more. The entire city was deserted.

"Hey, someone! Anyone! Help me!" Nothing. He tried to wriggle himself free, but nothing. His body was stuck fast - parts of his clay body had managed to find themselves lodged in the small gaps between the red bricks, and he couldn't find it in himself to pull free again. But he needed to! There was nobody else that knew of Ezkahar's plans - he needed to push himself free, and track him down, and find him, and get rid of that scroll! Give him to the Nykans to throw in the Aperture, for what he'd done! For what he would do! He was going to track that man down and.. and.. kill him.

He couldn't do that while he was in this state though. And leaving himself to reform naturally could take too long. He'd already lost sight of Ezkahar and the footsteps were fading fast. Come on, Archailist. You're made of clay. You can remake yourself, just like normal. You just need to speed it up. Good plan, one problem - he didn't know how. It was all a bit hazy - like a natural reflex. Like breathing, one didn't think about things all too much when one did them. They happened, and one took it for granted and kept going with their life. But damn it, if this wasn't important. Come on. Think. Think about what you want to be. He remembered his body, made a mental image of it.. the way his arms and legs were supposed to look. The way his torso and tail looked.. it was all there in his head but no matter how much he strained for something, anything to happen.. it didn't. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Okay. Think harder. Think about.. something. What does it feel like? Maybe that would work. If he thought about what it felt like.. what it looked like. The different parts of his body coming together, reshaping themselves. He could feel it, in his mind.. he could see it all, feel it all, coming back together to become the same squirrel he could always visualize. Except it wasn't happening either. There was still nothing happening. He was just a splatter on the wall, held there only by the vacuum of air that suctioned his malleable clay body to the small grooves of the red stone. Well, looked like he'd be waiting for a while then.. Ezkahar had won. He was just a stupid squirrel, made of clay, able to be thrown about like a lump and stuck to walls to dry. If he could have cried, he would have at that point. He felt so useless.. utterly useless, trying again and again and nearly screaming with the effort that he put into every inch of his clay body to reform.. except it didn't happen. Over and over.

"Hey. You alright?" The squirrel refused to even look up to the voice that spoke, and the small shadow that began to grow over his body when the person moved closer. "You alive, little guy?" Great, another monk. An elderly one by the looks of the wrinkles lining his face and the slight stoop as he walked. An old monk that held heavy lines but a kind smile as he reached up and gently began to push his rather dirty fingers into Archailist's body to remove him from the wall. There were a few specks behind but he honestly couldn't care about them any more. He couldn't even look up at the man that had saved him from the iron grip of an inanimate wall. "Hey. Come on, speak up." Eventually, he had to accept that there was no escaping his failure.

"We need to go. Someone's planning to break into the Palace of the Celestials." Perhaps if they managed to get together enough people then they could actually outrun him, or find the Celestials and hide them away until the danger had passed. He expected the monk to go wide-eyed, start crying out for help - all he did was laugh softly as he begun walking. It completely stumped the squirrel - these monks were supposed to worship the Celestials, why was he laughing off the one threat that came to them? His confusion must have been evident because as they walked, he begun to speak.

"Nobody has ever gotten into that Palace without good reason and nobody is starting now! The Palace has always been guarded better than anywhere else in Mizahar and it's still standing because they all do their job. There's nothing to worry about, no matter who tries to get in - they won't." He still wasn't convinced. There was something they needed to do - something powerful. He could feel it building inside his chest for absolutely no apparent reason. A sense of utter dread. They needed to do something! They needed to get out there and find him!

"But---" He barely got a word out. The entire city was suddenly erupting in a cacophany of yelling. All saying the same thing, like a wave cresting from one end of the city to the other.

"CULTIST!"

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

The squirrel was out of the mans hands like a bolt of lightning, hopping straight onto the floor and turning only so that he could catch the monks surprised gaze for a split-second. "You need to warn everyone, there's cultists trying to attack the Celestial Palace!" The monks eyes went wide as saucers but by that point, the squirrel had already turned and dashed off as fast as his four little paws could carry him. There was no doubt in his mind now. Ezkahar was related to the cultists. He sees the man, with a strange scrap of parchment, trying to sneak around the guards of the Palace to do something with the Celestials inside, and then mere chimes afterwards, there's a call of a cultist. There must be some connection to the two, much as the squirrel hated himself for admitting it. Ezkahar, for all his oddities, could never be considered a cultist. He was too.. well, too normal. Too likeable. For someone to try and murder not just one, but several monks.. destroy their city and their way of life.. well, that was just horrible. And the people who could do such a thing would be monsters.

But, Ezkahar wasn't. In a city filled with crazy monks that attacked each-other just for looking at them wrong, Ezkahar was level-headed, and intelligent. Charismatic. He was everything a cultist wasn't. And yet, why did he want to get into the Celestial Palace? Why did he need parchment? Was there a relationship, was he going to do something with the parchment? Was he going to make the Celestials do something? It just didn't add up.

But then, he supposed his answers would be given soon. As he heard another cry of a cultist, he immediately turned on his heels and bolted in the same direction, having to scale the nearby wall that bridged the edge of the Celestial Palace grounds just to get a good view of the area. Thankfully, the vast majority of monks guarding the area had vacated in the hopes of tracking down and getting rid of the cultist. There was still a skeleton crew of monks guarding the palace but they didn't look very happy. Most likely because they were being cheated of the opportunity to bash a cultists head in for daring to step on their sacred grounds. Few of them batted an eyelid at the squirrel that hopped off the wall, onto a neighboring buildings window-ledge and then used that to climb up to the lower lip of the roof, hanging precariously with both paws while scouring the streets below and around.

It didn't take long to find the stream of monks. Most were gravitaing on the area, some at a steady pace - most likely just curious - and some dropping everything in their hands and sprinting off faster than even the squirrel could manage. It was absolute carnage, but at least it was easy to spot. They were all gathering on one of the wider streets heading directly down for the Bridges. Specifically - the Cursed Bridge, opening up into the West Quarter. The squirrel would have to run at full pace to catch up, but his mind was immediately filled with small doubts. After all, he'd been in this particular position before. What if he didn't reach it in time? What if he made a mistake and the cultist got away? What if the cultist wasn't even the big problem here?

That last one stuck in his head longest of all but he shook it off and ran after the trail of monks, although it wasn't really a run. He had to climb up onto the roof of the building and quickly cross over to the adjacent with a short leap, crossing from one building to the next in the small row that lined up along the edge of the street. Of course, not all of them were the same height.. some were lower and so after he landed, the squirrel ended up rolling to try and conserve his body shape. He didn't want to land too hard and end up with his legs collapsing on himself from the weight pushing down on them. Some were taller and so a quick extra leap after grappling onto the nearest ledge available was needed.

At the end of the line, came a larger gap than the others - an alley branched off from the main road here, and he knew he couldn't jump across it the moment he saw it. However, that wouldn't stop him this time. Never breaking his stride, the squirrel leaped off the edge of the building without ever intending to reach the opposite ledge of the other - instead, he aimed for the window-sill of the floor below the window, and with both paws outstretched, he caught it and hung on for as long as it took to catch his breath before bracing both feet against the wall and building up enough tension in his arms to spring backwards with one arm outstretched, to grab the window-sill of the window on the opposite building - on the floor below. From there, just a brief hop down to the floor and the squirrel rounded the corner of the alleyway entrance, onto the main street and the short distance left to the Cursed Bridge.

Given that there were few monks around now that weren't chasing the cultist, the streets were considerably more empty than they'd been barely a few chimes ago. The few monks wandering about were easy to hop aside in his weaving path through the traffic, straight up and onto the banister overlooking the lips on either side of the bridge. Usually he wouldn't go anywhere near the edges of the bridge, because one small slip could mean a long fall to his probable death.. but this was a dire situation. A few hairy situations where the few monks crossing the bridge came a bit too close to the railing for his liking, and the squirrel was finally in the West Quarter. And now... that cultist.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Now all he needed to do was find the cultist. There were some yells from here and there but they were uncoordinated - he couldn't decide on a direction to go, so he turned to the nearest building and begun to climb using whatever ledges and grapples that he could. Thankfully, there was a door to climb up until he reached the top of the frame, and from there he could hop up onto one of the higher windows and climb up to the roof. And suddenly, he saw them. A cultist dressed all in dark crimson robes that fluttered about their ankles as they passed around a corner just a few houses over, into an alley. Behind him were several monks, with some chasing him straight down and the others splitting up down different alcoves - apparently trying to corner him or take a short-cut to make sure he couldn't escape. But in the end, the squirrel had the advantage. He leaped straight across the narrow gap between one building and the next until he could build up suitable momentum, and then kept going - his ears perked all the while for the slightest noise that could tell him where the mob of monks and the cultist could be going.

Strangely enough, the cultist wasn't heading towards the gates as expected. Or at least, it was strange until he glanced over and found the monks usually guarding the gates for unwanted visitors barricading it. Looked like he was cornered then - the cultist wouldn't be able to escape the city any other way, since there was only one gate in and one gate out... and climbing over the walls was out of the picture too, considering the many more monks guarding the walls as well. For once, the squirrel found himself thankful that there were so many monks around the city, always remaining vigilant in the face of danger. And he also found himself thankful that the red-brick roads were thick enough that he could practically dance down on either side and still be able to see around the corners of the streets branching off even a few houses down. Otherwise he might have missed the cultist turning around a corner quickly, and then turning again down a smaller alleyway branching off from there into a small alcove. The other monks did - they turned the corner and veered down it heedlessly.

He was smarter. The squirrel managed to hop straight down off the edge of he roof he had been perched upon, down to a lower balcony and from there to the floor. Afterwards, across the street and he was straight up the house opposite, using the edges of red stone for grip with his thin clay claws to climb all the way up to the first ledge, so that he could ease himself around. Oh, he didn't wan to come through the same entrance that the cultist had used, oh no.. he wanted to come in right off the walls, to crash into him. Make sure that he stunned the cultist long enough to pull back that crimson hood and get a good look at the fear in his eyes before beating him senseless.

But when he crested the building and looked down upon the cultist, he found something he hadn't been anticipating. It was a cultist, that much he knew because they wore the same red robes as usual. The hood had been pulled down however so that it was left draped around his shoulders, apparently so that he could fiddle with some scraps of parchment. The face, he knew. It was the same monk that he'd mistaken for a cultist before.. the last time. The one that had chased him, that had later degraded him for being only a squirrel in a world of monks and cultists. He didn't know the monks name.. or, the cultists name. But he remembered him.. oh, he remembered that face and that voice all too well. And he would for the rest of his life. Even then, he could hear it echoing through the air, those same words repeated over and over...

"This is a Nykan City.. and we monks are responsible for its safety. You're too small, get yourself hurt.. and everyone else, too. Best leave it to us and leave it at that."

Immediately, he felt all of that rage building back up again in his chest. And as the cultist turned and began to run back for the alley away, to escape.. the squirrel lunged with all the force that his legs could bring. They catapulted his small body around the small circle of houses, from one roof to the next with barely a footstep laid down on them, as he built momentum. A jump missed but caught again on the narrow balcony overlooking the alley from one of the houses upper floors, and he kept going.. sprinting with all four legs as the monks head lined up almost perfectly with the squirrels trajectory...

Everything after that was a blur. His body, flying through the air with both paws outstretched and his head turned to the side. A tearing, as his entire body slammed into something.. but it yielded, and broke his impact with something else in turn. And a final collapse as he felt warm stone beneath his body, when his airborne flight came to an end. Not even the adrenaline, the rage seething inside his compact body or the series of harsh, sudden impacts could keep the dizziness from almost completely incapacitating his body for a few chimes. But when he'd found his breath and his senses alongside them, he found that what he'd done to the monk was much worse.

Monks had gathered to the sound, and some were looking sick-faced. The left side of the monks face was a wreck - swollen and bloodied, and the right half wasn't looking much better. Slamming into one side of the monks face inadvertently knocked him nearly off his feet and into the other wall, sandwiching his skull between two slabs of brick and from there... well, the rest would be pieced together from the floor and the walls.. and the blood that laced a lot of it. Most of it from a nose hanging at an awkward angle, a few teeth missing.. although he should have been happy most of his skin was still intact. There was plenty of bruising though. When most of the monks had regained themselves, they picked up the cultist around either arm under the pits and dragged him to his feet... and then off, to goodness-knew-where. Most of the monks were cheering. Only later did he found out why. "They're proud of you, you know. You damn beat up a cultist that had a lot of stuff on his hands. Had the same reimancy glyphs that blew up the Zeltivan ships. Goodness knew what would have happened if they managed to get into the Celestial Palace. The whole city owes you a great debt for that, all four Quarters." Then why did he feel so numb to it all?

[Balderdash]

Delicious rewards! Happy days and jubilation!

Skill	XP Awarded
Brawling	2
Running	2
Observation	2
Acrobatics	3
Interrogation	1
Apologizing	1
Subterfuge	1

Lores: : The Cultists Are A Black Box, The Monks Don't Care About Threats To Their Way Of Life, Getting Dissed By A Squirrel-Hater, Percussive Greetings Are The Worst Greetings, A True Man Strikes His Own Destiny, Ezkahar The Suspiciously Discontented Citizen, The Celestial Palace Is Heavily Guarded, The Eyes Of A Murderer, Some Scrolls Carry Dire Power, Ezkahar The Fanatic With A Plan, Reformation Is A Tricky Thing, Some Monks Can Be Nice, The Palace's Track Record Is Flawless, The Tactics Of Monks In Pursuit, The Uniform of A Cultist, Encounter: THAT GUY, Using Oneself As A Missle, Killing A Man, Being A Hero

Items and Consequences: +3 Repute: All, The occasional high-five from various members of the populace, +1 Citizenship

Well! That was an interesting end to an awfully long saga! I did get a little confused at certain points due to structure, not gonna lie, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. Keep up the good work!

If you have any questions or concerns about this grade, please PM me. A happy you is a happy Balderdash!