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Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
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<blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 1258535" data-attributes="member: 227"><p>The Ironjack wizard took Cazamir's extended hand and shook it respectfully, nodding to the monk as he stepped away from the triumvirate of figures clustered around the injured man on the table. The other Ironjacks sitting on and around their ironclad wagon watched him cautiously but without hostility as he moved away in search of a Grumandic acolyte.</p><p></p><p></p><p>It wasn't hard to locate one who didn't seem to be immediately tied up in other duties. Every so often a gray-robed figure could be seen passing through the cloisters on their way from the temple to the living quarters or from gardens to storehouses, carrying a carefully tended plant in a pot or with a sack of harvested food slung over one shoulder.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Cazamir managed to get the attention of one man crossing the cloisters in what seemed to be the uniform gray colours that were worn here by the monks. Tall and well-built, skin tanned a healthy colour from working out in the sun, the man had a leather-strapped rack of what looked like weapons - sianghams and kama - slung over one shoulder, the weapons freshly polished and sparkling, while in the other hand he carried a small leather bag. The monk stopped and nonchalantly nodded in greeting to his Urazelite counterpart.</p><p></p><p></p><p>"Greetings, traveller. May I be of assistance to you?" he asked questioningly but pleasantly. </p><p></p><p></p><p>Cazamir bowed to the grey-robed monk, locking his hands in the traditional Uzraelite style.</p><p></p><p></p><p>“Greetings to you,” Cazamir said, producing a slight smile.</p><p></p><p></p><p>“I have a question. Would it be possible for me to further explore the compound? I have studied at the Uzraelite monastery in Huron, and I an interested to see what elements our faiths share. I do not wish to disturb your bretheren, but rest assured I would be quiet and respectful within your halls.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>The Grumandic monk nodded at Cazamir's question, interest in his face. "Certainly, by all means feel free to look around our home. Of course there are some places that are only for our brethren to enter, but I imagine that the places which hold interest for you, you will find easily accessible."</p><p></p><p></p><p>As the monk headed onwards on his way, having paused longer only to give Cazamir a general direction towards the temple of the compound, the Huronese man was able to make his own way about. Meandering from the cloisters, he saw that many of the low buildings scattered around, constructed from granite and sandstone, seemed to be either quarters for the monks here, small windows letting him see in to the sparsely furnished interiors, or store-houses for the produce that the inhabitants grew from the tiered steps of crops and gardens that spread down the side of the valley below the compound. He could see the small figures of the farmer-monks down there now from the southern wall of the compound; the monks here seemed to value hard work and effort, and from their strong physiques it looked like they trained even harder to toughen themselves beyond what working in the elements did to one.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Round one corner he came across a sandy area, the ground sparse of the grass or gardens found throughout most of the rest of the compound. Here he saw a half-dozen of the acolytes, younger men and women in loose gray garments that watched a seventh figure intently. The tutor, a tough-looking man, squat and broad, stood before them speaking in commanding tone, occasionally running a hand over his bald head to sweep away a sheen of sweat. His face and bare arms looked like a scything slayer had played noughts-and-crosses on them, ragged scars running madly across his skin.</p><p></p><p></p><p>"Now watch! You step <em>thus</em>," and he swept one leg round into position, "and settle <em>thus</em>. Now, attempt to bring me down; I shall not strike back." One of the students tentatively stepped forwards, bringing to bear the kinds of movements that Cazamir found familiar, trips and attempts at throws or grapples. All the tutor did was throw the occasional timely block, never striking back offensively, and the student could not drop him, the older man's stance unyielding.</p><p></p><p></p><p>"One must be like the very stone and earth of Grumand itself. Unyielding, unrelenting. Let the enemy wash up against you like you are a wall to his strikes, such that he cannot harm you."</p><p></p><p></p><p>Moving on from the training lesson, Cazamir found himself at the entrance of the building that the monk had indicated was the temple to Grumand here. Larger than the other structures around it, solidly built and founded; within the wide doorway it was gloomy and dark, cool, moist air flowing out towards him.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Within was a wide space, not ostentatious but instead simple in its furniture and embellishments. At the far end was the altar to Grumand, a stone-ringed pool of water from which sprouted upwards what could only be one of the natural rocky growths that formed deep in mineral-rich caverns, water from the ceiling above dripping down onto it in quiet serenity. He couldn't see where the water was coming from, as it simply seemed to come from the rock itself; then he saw a bronze pipe running up one wall, and doubtless there was a steamwork pump nearby too that pushed the water up, from where it slowly diffused down though the porous rock. A tiny bit of a deep cavern, recreated here on the surface.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Carnifex, post: 1258535, member: 227"] The Ironjack wizard took Cazamir's extended hand and shook it respectfully, nodding to the monk as he stepped away from the triumvirate of figures clustered around the injured man on the table. The other Ironjacks sitting on and around their ironclad wagon watched him cautiously but without hostility as he moved away in search of a Grumandic acolyte. It wasn't hard to locate one who didn't seem to be immediately tied up in other duties. Every so often a gray-robed figure could be seen passing through the cloisters on their way from the temple to the living quarters or from gardens to storehouses, carrying a carefully tended plant in a pot or with a sack of harvested food slung over one shoulder. Cazamir managed to get the attention of one man crossing the cloisters in what seemed to be the uniform gray colours that were worn here by the monks. Tall and well-built, skin tanned a healthy colour from working out in the sun, the man had a leather-strapped rack of what looked like weapons - sianghams and kama - slung over one shoulder, the weapons freshly polished and sparkling, while in the other hand he carried a small leather bag. The monk stopped and nonchalantly nodded in greeting to his Urazelite counterpart. "Greetings, traveller. May I be of assistance to you?" he asked questioningly but pleasantly. Cazamir bowed to the grey-robed monk, locking his hands in the traditional Uzraelite style. “Greetings to you,” Cazamir said, producing a slight smile. “I have a question. Would it be possible for me to further explore the compound? I have studied at the Uzraelite monastery in Huron, and I an interested to see what elements our faiths share. I do not wish to disturb your bretheren, but rest assured I would be quiet and respectful within your halls.” The Grumandic monk nodded at Cazamir's question, interest in his face. "Certainly, by all means feel free to look around our home. Of course there are some places that are only for our brethren to enter, but I imagine that the places which hold interest for you, you will find easily accessible." As the monk headed onwards on his way, having paused longer only to give Cazamir a general direction towards the temple of the compound, the Huronese man was able to make his own way about. Meandering from the cloisters, he saw that many of the low buildings scattered around, constructed from granite and sandstone, seemed to be either quarters for the monks here, small windows letting him see in to the sparsely furnished interiors, or store-houses for the produce that the inhabitants grew from the tiered steps of crops and gardens that spread down the side of the valley below the compound. He could see the small figures of the farmer-monks down there now from the southern wall of the compound; the monks here seemed to value hard work and effort, and from their strong physiques it looked like they trained even harder to toughen themselves beyond what working in the elements did to one. Round one corner he came across a sandy area, the ground sparse of the grass or gardens found throughout most of the rest of the compound. Here he saw a half-dozen of the acolytes, younger men and women in loose gray garments that watched a seventh figure intently. The tutor, a tough-looking man, squat and broad, stood before them speaking in commanding tone, occasionally running a hand over his bald head to sweep away a sheen of sweat. His face and bare arms looked like a scything slayer had played noughts-and-crosses on them, ragged scars running madly across his skin. "Now watch! You step [i]thus[/i]," and he swept one leg round into position, "and settle [i]thus[/i]. Now, attempt to bring me down; I shall not strike back." One of the students tentatively stepped forwards, bringing to bear the kinds of movements that Cazamir found familiar, trips and attempts at throws or grapples. All the tutor did was throw the occasional timely block, never striking back offensively, and the student could not drop him, the older man's stance unyielding. "One must be like the very stone and earth of Grumand itself. Unyielding, unrelenting. Let the enemy wash up against you like you are a wall to his strikes, such that he cannot harm you." Moving on from the training lesson, Cazamir found himself at the entrance of the building that the monk had indicated was the temple to Grumand here. Larger than the other structures around it, solidly built and founded; within the wide doorway it was gloomy and dark, cool, moist air flowing out towards him. Within was a wide space, not ostentatious but instead simple in its furniture and embellishments. At the far end was the altar to Grumand, a stone-ringed pool of water from which sprouted upwards what could only be one of the natural rocky growths that formed deep in mineral-rich caverns, water from the ceiling above dripping down onto it in quiet serenity. He couldn't see where the water was coming from, as it simply seemed to come from the rock itself; then he saw a bronze pipe running up one wall, and doubtless there was a steamwork pump nearby too that pushed the water up, from where it slowly diffused down though the porous rock. A tiny bit of a deep cavern, recreated here on the surface. [/QUOTE]
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