Safel Myzorin, Scattered Leaf In Wind

"I know not where I have strayed, but I shall persevere, because I MUST."

The Path
Safel Myzorin had not always been so confused. Once, his life had been set, his soul at peace, his mind and body set to accept the blossoming of enlightenment. Once, the universe was in balance--monsters were the stuff of nightmares and superstitious folk, and through the process of meditation, training, and proper conduct all men stood the chance to become something greater.

Once.

But no longer.

Safel Myzorin, Scattered Leaf In Wind, was once a student prodigy of the Temple of Ten-Thousand Virtues. An orphan, he was given to the monks of that monastic order by a dying woman, who, against all odds, braved the 108 tribulations across a seven day journey to reach the mountain stronghold.

"His name is Safel Myzorin," she had said, before she collapsed, never to rise again.

The novice monks that had greeted the mother had looked at each other, nodded, and muttered a prayer for the woman's soul, each marveling at how in times of great need, even an uncultivated soul may brave the 108 tribulations and ascend, if only for a brief moment, to something more than mortal.

That day, Safel Myzorin joined the Order of the Temple of Ten-Thousand Virtues.

The Base Clay
Safel Myzorin's case was special, but it was not unique. The majority of the monks of the Order of the Temple of Ten-Thousand Virtues joined at an older age. Some came seeking enlightenment. Others came, seeing the Temple as a means of escape, whether from debt, disaster, or simply from the world-weariness they suffered. Some were even criminals--it was all the same. All were accepted. None were denied.

Whether they would learn anything though, was entirely up to them.

This was the majority of the monks. Yet, sometimes, beyond the field, when the monks were performing their holy miracles, or sometimes, as in the case of Safel Myzorin, when one bore a child up through the mountains of 108 tribulations directly to the order, young children were accepted. Usually, such cases were frowned upon, as their elders questioned, how could a newborn soul, one that had not yet truly lived, understand enlightenment? If one had not felt the passions of love, the poison of hate, the fires of rage, the light of hope, then, how could indeed, such a pure soul reach the ultimate expression of life?

Still, it was not their place to question, but to accept. Such children were taken in, as honorary brothers of the Temple.

The Root
It was said, there was once a mountain so large, it pierced the very heavens. It was a sight to truly stun the eyes, but the native people who lived by its slope had long grown used to its grandeur and viewed it merely as another landmark, unworthy of notice.

One day, a stranger approached the village. The guards, wary of a trick, called him to halt.

"Sir! Lay down your arms."

The stranger obeyed.

"What is your purpose here?"

The stranger never wavered, but pointed a single finger at the heaven-violating summit.

"I wish to ascend to its peaks."

The guards looked on, incredulous, until they realized he was serious. Then, they began to laugh.

"What purpose is there in doing such, eh? Unless you wish for an audience to the Gods themselves, enjoy your mortal life! It is only folly and death to trifle with such things."

The stranger shook his head.

"I must."

The guards sneered.

"Why, because you seek an audience with the Gods? Or because you seek death?"

The stranger laughed, for the first time.

"Nothing quite so complicated. I must climb the peak, because it is there."

-The Scripture of the Unyielding Arhat.

When Safel Myzorin was five, he read and internalized The Scripture of the Unyielding Arhat. Even as a child, he was different. Partially damaged by his exposure to the elements during the 108 tribulations, he found it difficult to communicate. He could speak well enough, read and write, yet, when asked to profess his opinions, he would bluster and fall silent, or burst into a mute rage. He found it difficult to sympathize with his classmates, even as they laughed and played and enjoyed their lives at the monastery, for though it was strict, the monks were compassionate, and could not bring themselves to end their wards' innocence so early. Yet, Safel Myzorin had no innocence. There was only sin, and suffering.

Even as the children, now grown, slowly left the temple one-by-one, to seek out their fortunes in the wider world, Safel Myzorin stayed.

One day, the elder Arda-Yehovah approached the child, now on the cusp of manhood.

"Why do you not go out, to seek your destiny amongst the vast world? All your peers have left. Are you not interested?"

Safel Myzorin clasped his hands together and bowed, for he was honored that such a wise figure would deign to speak to him.

"Wise elder, it is not that this student is not interested--but that instead, his destiny is here."

The elder was surprised, and and stroked his beard.

"Oh? And what destiny would that be?"

For the first time in the entire conversation, Safel Myzorin dared to look up upon the face of the venerable elder Arda-Yehovah. Within Myzorin's eyes, Arda-Yehovah saw the burning spirit of the Unyielding Arhat.

"I wish to attain enlightenment."

The Stem
Arda-Yehovah burst into laughter. It was a sound that had not been heard in many a season.

"Enlightenment? Safel, do not be offended when this old fool tells you, that a man who has not tasted tea will not be able to differentiate between the good or the bad. You have not even lived yet. You have not tasted the passion of love, the poison of hate, the fire of rage, nor the light of hope. Even if you achieved enlightenment, how would you know?"

Safel, at the sound of the venerable elder's derision, once again bowed his head in shame. And yet, he would not be swayed.

"I must."

Arda-Yehovah leaned down, closer, for he was old, and his hearing was not perfect.

"Hmm?"

"I must."

Arda-Yehovah asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Why?

"Because it is there."

There was silence.

Arda-Yehovah was still. He was so still, in fact, that it seemed as if he was moving, for he was stiller than even the earth.

"What makes you think you are ready?"

Safel Myzorin kowtowed three times, then stood to his feet.

"Because I know."

In saying so, he clapped his hands three times with such spirit that the previously still garden was awash with wind. Safel bowed again.

"I have studied the scriptures, again and again. Alone, out of all the others, I have taken the first step to the road of enlightenment, by recognizing that it is there. And with the first step, comes knowledge, and with it, power."

There was a pause, as Safel struggled to speak his own words.

"I have seen the Grandmasters of the Temple perform impossible feats. I have seen them walk on water, strangle with their shadows, paralyze with a glance, and cause trees to grow fruit with a touch. It is not magic, I know now. It is the culmination of the flower of understanding."

Arda-Yehovah nodded.

"The blossoming of the perfected lotus."

The Bulb
And so, Arda-Yehovah took Safel Myzorin, the last of the Children, under his wing as pupil. Under him, Safel's spiritual mastery grew and grew. At the age of thirteen, he had memorized more texts and could speak them more eloquently than layman monks more than twice his age. At the age of fourteen, he had purified his body to the point he could wrestle ten men at the same time and endure blows that shattered stone. At the age of fifteen, the completed his first martial art style, that of the Air Dragon, that allowed him to walk on clouds and listen to the tiniest rat nibbling away at the temple. His ascension was meteoric.

Exactly sixteen years after he joined the order, his master, Arda-Yehovah, called him by his side.

"Safel," he had said, "you are perhaps my greatest work."

Safel bowed humbly at his master's praise.

Arda-Yehovah continued.

"And yet--are you my greatest creation, or my greatest failure?"

Safel bit his tongue to restrain the surge of wounded pride and hurt that welled up inside. Instead, he withdrew his emotions and thought deeply again at his master's words, for Arda-Yehovah did not say things without sense.

The elder stood.

"We shall see, Safel. Come with me. It is the time for your crucible."

...

And yet, no crucible came. Practice continued daily, and things went on as before.

One day, however, as Safel was meditating under a tree at noon, he heard a familiar cry. Safel thundered--

"Who is it?"

using his mastery of wind to project his voice--and yet, there was no reply. Safel was intrigued, for though he was young, his mastery of over Air was unparalleled, and there could be no mistake. There had been a cry.

Who would disturb the monastery at this time? Discipline was paramount! Safel glided, calling the wind itself to speed his travels as he moved towards the source of the noise. He moved through the dark forests surrounding the monastery, yet he was not afraid of being lost, for Air itself kept mark of his location and would not let him go.

Finally, he reached a clearing. Then, he realized his folly.

"Nightsbane!"

The Wilt
For Nightsbane was the most deadly of poisons. It effects did not cause death (for death would be preferable) but it warped and twisted the victim's mind until he could no longer tell truth from fiction. His soul was forfeit, for he would have nothing but a lie to live in.

All they would remember was the point of contact. Anything before or after that would be forfeit.

And so Safel Myzorin fell screaming into the hells of impossibility.

...

..

.

He awoke to the sounds of battle. It was all dark, and for a brief, panicked second, Safel thought he was blind, until he realized he was merely resting inside a dirtied carriage. Screams and grotesque snapping sounds sounded from the outside. He struggled to move his hands, but they were bloodied, and his muscles screamed with pain as he had not felt for years. Gritting his teeth, he drew upon the meditation techniques he had learned, and blotted out the pain.

Where was he? What was going on?

A door of the carriage flung open, and a terrified soldier, perhaps just reaching his twenties, fell in.

"Oh-god-master-I-don't-want-to-die-the-Grim's-"

He spoke no further, as a single great paw snapped his spine. Safel looked on the the wanton bloodshed in horror, for beyond, was a terrible sight--a large, masqued monstrosity looked on in the carriage, teeth stained with blood. Safel's heart recoiled in fear, but his mind boiled with rage. Life was holy! It was Safel's duty, as a monk of the Temple of Ten-Thousand Virtues protect the weak, yet he had failed!

"Air Dragon!"

Ignoring his protesting muscles, Safel stood, and assumed the stance of the Air Dragon, whose breath permeated all of Creation. The crude armor on his body chafed and restricted his movements, unlike his usually flowing robes, but he ignored that. He had a duty to perform, and he would do it. Gathering the strength of a whirlwind in his palm, he threw a mighty blow, at the aiming right between the eyes--

Only to hear a thundering crack and have his knuckles shattered.

The Scattered Leaf In Wind
Write the second section of your page here.

He is unable to express himself well, so this is why he seeks to memorize so many scriptures: they form a well of backup responses that preclude's his need to express his own opinions clearly.