Failed 483

READDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD THISSSSSSSSSSSS NOTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Gonna rewrite this whole thing. plot and all. the actual chapter will probably look nothing like what i'm about to post, so honestly, I'd say don't even bother reading this. I'm just putting it up there for anyone interested in reading what happens when i try to be brief and concise. Spoiler alert: It's terrible.

But yea. I should be changing almost everything aside from the descriptions, meaning what jorani does and how the monks behave and such. If it takes more than 3 chs to get through this Jorani/Brotherhood arc, then so be it. It doesn't help that I found a plot hole in my outline which I dont really know how to fix, but I'll figure it out. A lot will change, so don't read into anything in this failed chapter, meaning it might as well be an alternate universe chapter lol.

Anywho, here you go.

Edit: Also, really sorry for the word vomit. Will git gudder, or try to at least.

Read the authors note.

Read it.

I SAID READ IT GOD DAMMIT!

k here you go. trash chapter incoming.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/14cNpj-UHur-NcaZHakktTkxs5aLaMjd56rgMpBKS8ds/edit?usp=sharing

Thanks to the skilled ministrations of the aged monk and the surprisingly delicious vegetarian meals, it was only a matter of days before Jorani was back on his feet, and he wasted no time investigating the surroundings. His room wasn’t much to look at, cozy little nook with a bed, nightstand, dresser, and writing desk, the same as almost every other room in monastery he soon learned, most of which went unused. Despite GangShu’s chilling statement about their interest in Jorani, the monks were a quiet and indifferent bunch who paid him little mind and put no constraints on his movements. In fact, aside from the old Healer, a thin, wizened man with more wrinkles than most had hairs, no one else sought to engage Jorani in conversation, which was good because none of the monks had names. Though free to come and go as he pleased, they did warn him to be wary of wild beasts and venomous snakes, and while this might have once scared him into staying safe behind the walls, he was a Martial Warrior now, so he thanked them for their warnings, coiled his Spiritual Weapon around his fist, and set out into the wilderness to find an escape route, should he have need of it.

Where this was exactly, no one would say, because their location was supposed to be a secret to preserve the peace and tranquility of the Brotherhood’s isolated existence. Nestled within a vast mountain range, the monastery offered an endless array of scenic views during this autumnal season, with the vibrant greens giving way to varying shades of red, yellow, orange, and brown. As the days passed, Jorani familiarized himself with all the paths going to and from the monastery, but despite going as far eight hours out, he hadn’t found a single person besides those living at the monastery, nor had he run afoul of the supposed dangers. Chalking it up the Brotherhood’s inclination towards privacy, he mapped out all the safe routes to run should the monks ever try to forcibly induct him into their ranks before finally turning his attention to the monastery itself.

If he had to guess, he would say it was located somewhere along the border of North and Central, because even though these monks were an eclectic bunch, the majority were northern born, or at least born to northerner parents. However, the lack of bone-chilling winds, waist deep snow, and ravenously hungry predators preparing for a long winter meant they weren’t in the Northern Province proper, so he figured he had better than even odds of being right. Not that any of the monks would gamble with him, not even for coppers or imaginary points which were worth absolutely nothing. No, gambling was a sin, because greed corrupts Man into condemning the Eternal in favour of temporal, earthly possessions, which was one of the few topics the monks were happy to discuss with Jorani, though he had no interest in listening to sermons.

Sloth was also frowned upon, for the monks kept to a strict schedule each and every day, one which started with the rooster’s first crow. Why a bunch of vegetarian monks kept roosters and chickens, Jorani couldn’t say, but after a few days of waking up at the crack of dawn thanks to the one, noisy feathered bastard, his nightly dreams were filled with delicious meals of chicken soup, chicken pies, chicken skewers, and of course, roasted chickens.

Even if Jorani stubbornly ignored the noisy bird and stayed in bed, sleeping in was but a dream. Every morning without fail, all thirty-seven monks living in the monastery would gather in the flagstone courtyard for an hour of communal prayer, which as far as he could tell, involved sitting in neat little rows and chanting in a foreign language while drumming a slow and steady beat on their wooden fish. All the noise made it impossible for Jorani to go back to sleep, so he made the most of his time and spent his mornings in quiet meditation. What their chanting meant, he couldn’t say, but he found the deep, droning tones incredibly soothing and helpful for finding Balance and Insight, so it wasn’t long before he was out in the courtyard meditating alongside the monks and making leaps and strides along the Martial Path.

Once finished with their hour of prayer, the monks all stripped down to their skivvies to engage in their famed penitent punishments, but to Jorani’s surprise, the Brotherhood’s religious ceremonies involved a lot less self-flagellation than anticipated. They still pummelled themselves bloody, but it wasn’t much more serious than what the bossman demanded from his soldiers during training, which was a far cry from what all the stories made the Brotherhood out to be. Jorani thought there’d be hooked chains, hot coals, hammered nails, and whatnot, but the beating were all self-inflicted using these dinky wooden flails like what farmers used to thresh grains. After a slip of his tongue and a few days of persistent badgering from his bald, wizened benefactor, Jorani finally gave in and showed them the bossman’s training exercises, and just like that, the post-prayer paddling became a staple in the monks daily regimen.

Even more surprising was the monks’ prowess in Healing. The aged Healer was the monastery's only physician, but even after half a week of daily beatings, not a single monk sought out his assistance. Even the worst injuries faded after a good night’s rest without even a hint of bruise or scar left behind, but the strangest thing was, he never saw any of them stop to Heal themselves, unless they did it during their morning prayers. Jorani himself had to take an hour or two after each day’s beatings to restore himself back to full health, but the monks would simply put their flails away and immediately go about their business as if their bodies weren’t covered in scrapes and bruises.

Either their Healing method was even easier and more effective than Panacea, or the monks slept less than the bossman. There was no other way to explain it, and any inquiries were met with quiet smiles and lengthy recruitment spiels, so Jorani stopped asking. Only a fool would shave his head and lop off his genitals just to satisfy his curiosity...

Outside the prayer and beatings, the monks lived a fairly normal life here in their hidden mountains. Most of their days consisted of chores like chopping firewood, laundering clothes, sweeping the courtyard, polishing their giant bells, and other such busy work required to survive in an isolated location like this one, but aside from an hour of communal prayer in the morning and the beatings which followed, the monks were free to do as they pleased with the rest of their time. Even then, there were no shirkers or layabouts to be found, as every last monk had something productive to do, whether it be practising the Forms, discussing scripture and philosophy, carving wood, sculpting clay, painting scrolls, or any number of activities with varying degrees of skill. The only time the monks were ever idle was when they were asleep or sitting in quiet meditation, an active life packed to the brim with structure and routine.

They even had arranged spars every other day, which Jorani happily joined to show off his skills, only to end up losing all face after a long string of straightforward defeats. Considering they were all sworn to do no harm, these bald bastards sure could fight.

All in all, not so different from a soldier’s lot, though the monks didn’t have to go fight. Add in the guarantee of a warm bed, a full belly, and a roof overhead, and it wasn’t the worst life one could have. Much better than Jorani’s life as a bandit, and he figured the Brotherhood would probably find more recruits if they did away with the whole eunuch business, but the old Healer almost seemed offended when he bought the matter up during dinner in the communal dining hall. “There are reasons we do what we do,” the nameless old monk said, without bothering to swallow his food first. “As laid out in the Four Noble Truths, suffering is inherent in all life, and suffering is caused by desire, so what lust besides the cause of suffering? Now, the next Noble Truth states...”

Whatever the Four Noble Truths were about, table manners obviously weren’t covered, so after suffering through a shower of half-chewed rice and vegetables, Jorani vowed never to bring up a question at dinner again. No wonder the other monks ate in complete silence...

By now, an entire week had passed and GangShu had yet to return, so Jorani was starting to worry. Even with hundreds of monasteries around, it shouldn’t have taken so long to find Wugang and Yelu Shi, which meant something had gone wrong. Knowing Daxian was out there watching over him, Jorani tried to contact his arrogant brother, but he didn’t know how to Send without physical contact and all his secret signals and whispered demands went unanswered. After another week of indecision, he decided it was time to take matters into his own hands, so he visited the kitchen in the middle of the night to filch a small bag of uncooked rice and a dozen of the most delicious steamed buns he’d ever tasted before escaping over the walls unseen.

He wanted to steal a chicken or three as well, but despite searching all week, he had yet to find the hateful rooster’s coop...

Though the trees shrouded the mountain path in darkness, Jorani’s night-vision was nothing to sneeze at, and he made his way down the familiar trail without much of a plan. Walk until he found someone who wasn’t a monk or a nun and knew where to get a drink, he supposed, but after three days of hard travel, Jorani hadn’t found a single sign of another living person, much less a person themselves. He’d even resorted to shouting insults about his dysfunctional family in hopes of provoking Daxian or GangShu out of hiding, but wherever they were, neither of them were within earshot or they’d have come barrelling out of the bushes to beat Jorani bloody. The only living creatures which crossed his path were bugs, rodents, and birds, all tiny, piddling little creatures who posed no threat to a newborn babe much less a Martial Warrior like himself. It was strange seeing such tiny squirrels and pigeons, and the worst part was, they weren’t much good for eating either. Not enough meat on their tiny bones, but he made do, and even got a glimpse into how Ral felt when eating proper-sized chickens.

After ten, long days of walking, he finally reached the base of the mountain, but what greeted Jorani was far from encouraging. The edge of the forest bordered on a flat plain of grass, with the base of another mountain in every direction he looked, which meant this valley sat firmly ensconced in the mountain range, and the Mother only knew which way to go. Sighing in abject defeat and stomach gurgling with hunger, Jorani promptly turned around and headed back towards the monastery, hoping GangShu would be there waiting with Daxian, Wugang, and Yelu Shi.

Unfortunately, Heaven was not so kind and Jorani returned to find nothing had changed in his absence. His room was still there, the floors clean and bed neatly made, with even a spare set of monk robes laid out in case his single outfit was too dirty or ragged to keep wearing. It was, but Jorani would rather prance naked through the streets of Sanshu than wear the Brotherhood’s orange-red robes, so he washed his tunic and went without a shirt while it dried, then washed his pants before going to bed. When the rooster’s crow woke him the next morning however, he discovered his pants and tunic had disappeared, but now there were three neatly-folded monk robes sitting inside his dresser, alongside a sharpened razor and a note from the old Healer which read, “Brother Jorani, Life is suffering, and in suffering, we find life. Set aside your meaningless suffering, embrace the Four Noble Truths, and take up the Nobel Eightfold Path, for only then can you find true peace.”

Too terrified to leave the room, Jorani left the robes where they lay and crawled back into bed and wept. When night finally fell, he snuck out in his nightclothes and stole enough food to last him two weeks before escaping over the wall once more, this time in a different direction. Alas, this expedition ended even quicker than the first as he stumbled across a vast canyon barring his way to freedom, and before the week had come to an end, Jorani found himself back in his room at monastery reading a second note left by the old Healer. “Even the thickest stones must give way to dripping water,” the note read, “And the tallest mountains worn down by the winds. No matter how fast or far you run, you cannot hide from the truth. Eventually, you will come to see the Right View, and from there, your journey truly begins.”

Crumpling the note up into a ball, Jorani put on his monks robes and shuffled into the courtyard for morning prayers. “This is fine,” he told himself, ignoring all the knowing smiles and quiet compliments regarding his manner of dress. “So yer wearing their robes. Robes don’t make the monk. Ye still got yer hair and yer dangly bits too, so there ain’t nothing to concern yerself with.”

Despite his fear and unease, Balance came easily as the monks chanted and drummed out a beat, and Jorani used his quiet time in the void to plan his next move. Either GangShu and Daxian were in trouble of their own, or this had all be one long con to trick him into becoming a eunuch, but regardless of the reasons, Jorani was on his own from here on out. Six weeks of hard travel and lack of proper nutrition had taken its toll, so it would be prudent to rest here a week or so before trying to escape again. Perseverance worked both ways, so as long as he didn’t give up, then eventually, he would most definitely find a way out of this nightmare, even if it meant waiting until he was powerful enough to Cloud-Step away by himself.

How long could it possibly take? Ten years? Twenty? A hundred? No problem. He was young and had several centuries of life still ahead of him, with plenty of women to be wooed, so it was far too early to bid little Jorani farewell. Besides, the twelfth month was already upon them and there were only five weeks left till new years and seven before Ral and Chey’s nuptial, so Jorani decided to gamble everything on one last desperate attempt to make it out of these mountains and back in time to raise a toast at his best friend’s wedding.

There was almost zero chance he’d make it there, but with the Mother as his witness, he was going to try...

With his explorations on hold, the next few days passed slowly as Jorani rested and waited for his strength to recover. Out of some misguided sense of rebellion, he spent his days lounging in plain sight while the other monks worked themselves to the bone, but they treated him no differently from before, with polite smiles and stifling silence aside from their morning chants. Unable to garner a reaction, Jorani quickly grew bored of idling about and went back to sparring with the monks, but whether it was through strength, speed, or skill, he was soundly defeated every single time. Worse, none of them would explain what he was doing wrong and all insisted he should ask the old Healer instead, which Jorani took as a roundabout way of saying their strength was a trade secret.

Even if they could turn him into a Peak Expert by week’s end, it still wasn’t worth a life of celibacy...

Despite the lack of meat, the monastery meals were delicious, hearty, and filling, so Jorani soon recovered to full strength. After stealing yet another bag of rice, Jorani snuck out for the third and hopefully final time, though he suspected he could’ve walked right out the front gates and no one would stop him.

“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” Having barely taken twenty steps away from the monastery, Jorani almost jumped out of his skin when the aged Healer appeared out of thin air with a wrinkled smile on his face and a rucksack laden with food. “This monk saw Brother Jorani skip this afternoon’s spar and guessed you’d be leaving on yet another journey. A single bag of rice will hardly keep you fed for long, so this monk packed you something more substantial.”

Blinking in confusion, Jorani hesitantly reached for the bag and said, “Er... thanks? Mighty fine of ye.”

“It was nothing. Safe journey now, and may the Mother guide you safely along your Dao.”

A strange way to say goodbye, but Jorani didn’t leave right away. “So... yer just... gonna send me on me way? Not gonna convince me to stay or nothin’?”

“Why would I? Is escape not what you desire?”

“Well yea, but... beggin’ yer pardon, but ye seemed pretty pushy about gettin’ me into these monk robes.”

“Why of course.” Scrunching up his nose in distaste, the old Healer said, “We might be ascetics, but that doesn’t mean we live like filthy vagrants. Your clothes were so disgusting we could smell them from across the monastery, so this monk took it upon himself to burn them for you.” Patting Jorani on the shoulder, he grinned and whispered, “They’re just robes. You can change out of them whenever you like.”

“Ah... right.” Coughing to hide his embarrassment, Jorani was starting to have second thoughts. Maybe it was all in his head and these monks weren’t aggressively trying to recruit him.