Western Plains of Crucible, Canvas, Frontier Territory, Late Autumn, 1596 PTS
The endless fields of grass lightly swayed in the stormy breeze, expanding so far as to almost touch the horizon. The breeze was cold, and Jin found himself shivering as his feet dangled off of the wagon’s back edge. It was the tell-tale sign of winter’s approach.
Had his life continued on its previous path, Jin wondered whether he would have died in the coming winter. It had been a cold year, and his moth-bitten blanket was too thin for living on the streets in the winter. He had barely survived last year, and in his early childhood he had been fortunate enough to live with his father.
As the caravan continued its way through the Western Plains, Jin found his eyes roaming the expanse that seemed to never end. The field of grass was only broken up by the occasional boulder or tree, and the long line of road.that stretched like a divot in the grassy surface. The road the caravan rode down was not cobbled. Instead, It rode across dirt and trampled grass, what must have been a long-worn route through the grassland. Occasionally, the oxen would lean down to chew on the grasses, a matter which Jin had observed with great interest. He had never left the city before, after all. Prior to meeting Master Yuenan, he had never even seen the sights of the outside world. Everything was new to him, vibrant and shocking. It was all so different than he had expected, based upon the stories. Or at least it had been so for the first day.
The caravan had been moving for several days now, however, and Jin had already adjusted to the sights of the grassland. In fact, he had already found himself bored for hours on end, finding nothing to stimulate himself.
“How much further away will it be, Master?” Jin asked, glancing over to where the old man sat. He had grown much more comfortable with the man over the past days, and felt he was able to speak freely with him.
Yuenan chuckled at his soon-to-be disciple’s naivety. The elderly practitioner was relaxing on the side of the wagon, seated on a hefty bag of rice. He calmly sipped from a cup of well-prepared tea, and seemed to simply be enjoying the views.
That was something that Jin had noticed about the old man. He was always drinking the beverage. It seemed that Yuenan had been serious when he told Jin he would be seeing a lot of tea. It felt like every other time Jin glanced over at the man, Yuenan had pulled out another smattering of tea leaves and prepared himself a cup.
“We’re very close, Jin,” Yuenan assured him, after taking another sip. “Less than a day away from the sect. You should be able to see the stormwall from here.”
Jin squinted off into the direction the old man pointed, seeing nothing but an enormous stormhead on the horizon. Was that what he was referring to? Perhaps the sect’s territory was hidden beyond the rain.
“Is it safe to go that way?” he asked. The storm looked dangerous, like a wall of water blocking the path forward. Would they have to travel around it?
“I would certainly hope so,” laughed Yuenan. “We’re going inside, Jin. Welcome to the Downpour.”
Jin’s eyes remained fixed on the distant storm as it slowly neared. He found himself unable to glance away as more and more details slowly emerged about the storm clouds.
“I did tell you that was the name of the sect,” explained Yuenan, a trace of mirth hidden in his smile. It seemed he was enjoying this. Jin scowled. He had never been the sort to appreciate being mocked.
Though he did remember the sect’s name, Jin had thought it was merely a reference to the region, not located inside of it. So this was the Downpour? He had previously thought the place was a myth, a location of legends like the Undersea Palace or Cihilar, the fabled homeland of the gods. He had envisioned a circular wall surrounding the region, a barrier impassable to all but the greatest of warriors. A legendary hellscape, where no mortal could survive.
In reality, it simply looked like a typhoon or a large thunderhead, and the shape of the clouds were slowly shifting and moving in the sky, just like any other storm. It was… disappointingly mundane, he decided. Still, he found himself curious about the land he would be living in, so Jin decided to ask about it.
The primary difference between the Downpour and an ordinary rainstorm, Master Yuenan had explained, was that although both were ever-shifting, the Downpour’s location relative to the land never changed. It was a land created by the hands of two gods, a mystery left for deities and immortals alone to decipher. When Jin had asked about it, Master Yuenan had simply called the storm a symbol of the formless domain. He had informed Jin that it would make sense to him in the future.
Imagining a life inside such a powerful storm, Jin shuddered, unable to help but dread the idea. He hated the rain. It had always seemed to him to be a sort of cruelty to the heavens, cold and uncomfortable, and sick. Some of the other street children had taken to worshipping a god of the sea, the Bringer of Storms. They believed that by praying to him, they could delay or prevent the rains. When it rained, people on the street would often soon become sick. Jin knew multiple kids who had died from the shivers. But that was not the only part of the reason for his reservations.
The legends had claimed that the fiends here were far more powerful than those that could be found anywhere except for perhaps within the ruins of Reth or the Heart of the Wild, where Toval dwelled.
Not that Jin had seen much of normal fiends, of course. The most he had ever experienced was a small plainsfiend that had been merely the size of an ox. It had appeared somewhat like an oversized skink, but with a flaxen, hairy material emerging from the gaps in its scales. The fiend’s head was pointed, its jaw filled with bizarre-looking hooked teeth that it had gnashed towards the caravan.
The beast had attempted to ambush the caravan and run off with an ox, but Master Yuenan had taken it down in a single blow of his sword. The event had left Jin burning with awe, feeling proud to watch the power of his master. He could not help but wonder whether he might ever reach that level.
After he defeated it, Jin’s master had given him a lesson. The fiends of the plains were the weakest type of the creature, Yuenan had told him, their growth ceasing at about the size of the one he had seen. They were supposedly beasts that even sufficiently skilled mortals could fight, though Jin could not imagine he himself would have been capable of doing anything but running from the creature.
Jin’s eyes remained set on the Downpour as they slowly approached it, nervous trepidation building up inside of him. As they drew closer, he noticed small figures in the distance, between their path and the storm. A pair of young-looking seiyal men, he realized were standing roughly one hundred feet from the stormwall. They wore black robes lined with blue borders around the edges. Was that the design of the Downpour Sect’s robes, Jin wondered? If so, it seemed perfectly fitting for a group whose home was located in a sunless land. They were similar in design to Master Yuenan’s robes, as his master’s was composed from white instead
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The caravan slowed and eventually stopped as they arrived near the young men. The area here was muddy, and several small streams dripped across the ground, runoff from the endless rainfall. As Jin watched, several of the wagon drivers each clambered off of their seats to greet the men, who had a short conversation with them that Jin couldn’t quite make out.
The young men were standing beside what appeared to be an oddly shaped boat, lying on top of the mud. After speaking with the caravan drivers, both groups began to lift goods off of one of the wagons, shifting them into the boat.
“Are they sect members?” Jin asked, glancing towards his soon-to-be master.
Yuenan glanced over, giving Jin a sagely nod.
“Yes, they’re some of your senior disciples. Given the last open recruitment we did, they should be about… three years your senior. I’ll introduce you to them later. In time, you’ll have to learn to rely on your martial siblings.”
Jin frowned.
“Can’t I rely on you, Master?”
Yuenan glanced at the stormwall, and replied with a distant tone.
“Your master won’t be around forever, Jin.”
Before Jin could reply, Yuenan quickly downed the rest of his tea, carefully wiping and cleaning off the cup, before packing it away and hopping off of the wagon. Jin quickly followed.
“What are they doing?” he asked. He was watching the boat be packed with materials and foodstuffs, but he did not see any waterway large enough to hold it.
“They’re preparing the sledge,” responded his master calmly. “Our territory is too muddy for beasts of burden to safely walk, so we must carry our supplies in ourselves.”
“That sounds awful,” he muttered.
Yuenan smirked.
“For a martial artist, the task is not quite so difficult as it seems. It will serve as a good training exercise for them, as well as a way for them to give back to the sect.”
“Give back?” asked Jin. He had always been curious, and appreciated finally having someone to answer all of his questions. Even if he was not going to be taught martial arts, having a master seemed like a good thing.
“When you live in the sect, you will be trained, will be taught secrets, and will be fed and clothed by the other members. It is a cooperative lifestyle, and everyone is called to serve the sect’s interests in exchange.”
“I see,” said Jin. It really was like the stories, he thought. A sect was like a family, but one composed only of members who wished to be a part of it. It was an idea that quite appealed to him.
Before long, the efficient work of the merchants and the martial artists was complete, and both the sledge and the remaining wares in the carts had been strapped down and prepared for travel. The disciples hoisted robes attached to the sledge’s end, ones Jin had failed to notice before, and turned to watch Yuenan expectantly. Their eyes stopped on Jin for several moments before, acting in unison, the pair clasped their hands together and nodded courteously to Yuenan.
“Greetings, Elder Ding.”
Yuenan returned the nod, and, noticing their curious gazed, he rested his hand on Jin’s shoulder.
“This is Jin Luo,” he explained. “If all goes well, he shall be my first disciple.”
The look in their eyes shifted, but Jin had no idea what it meant.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Yuenan smirked, turning his gaze towards the storm.
“From here,” he said, “we’ll have to walk.”
Jin felt his guts churn at the thought, his eyes unable to shift from the roiling clouds above. Walking through that entire storm, he thought? That seemed like an excellent way to catch a cold, or to be ambushed by a monster. Still, as his master and the two disciples began to march towards it, Jin followed after. Inside his chest, he felt the pit in his stomach grow larger.
As they reached closer to the unmoving storm, he realized that the ground was uneven, composed entirely with slicks of mud, between which small streams of water flowed around, slowly absorbing into the soil.
The edge of the Downpour began like any other rainstorm, with a light drizzle on the edges. Usually a herald of the coming rainfall, here it felt more like a gatekeeper, or a sign warning Jin to turn around, or his life would be in danger. Yuenan’s words back at the inn came back to him now: ‘there will be a lot more water in your future,’ the martial master had said. Was this what he had been referring to?
Jin hesitated, wary of stepping deeper into the storm. He hated the rain, hated the impact it made on his head and shoulders, and hated the way his clothes stuck to his body. He glanced at Yuenan, seeking some form of reassurance as the rain steadily grew in intensity, but all he could see was his master’s back, trudging alone ahead as if he could not be bothered to take care of Jin. Even the sledge had begun to pull ahead of him, slowly disappearing into the misty landscape.
Jin hesitated, tempted to turn back and beg the merchants to carry him back home. He wasn’t a martial artist, didn’t the old man know that? This was a dangerous place, one unsuited for mortals. It was not a place where Jin belonged. Master Yuenan was just like his father, he thought. Just like all adults.
Suddenly, Jin gritted his teeth. A well of strength he didn’t know he had surged, and gritted his teeth, pushing forward as if he were fighting against his own body. He took one step further, and then another, dragging himself into the Downpour. He would not be abandoned again. A martial artist was said to be strong and enduring, unyielding and bold.
Jin’s steps turned into a run, his short legs moving as fast as they could. He had always loved running. Though the mud caught on his boots, and the rain pounded down on him, occluding his sight, Jin kept at it, dashing into the darkened territory. His boot slipped into one of the small streams, and Jin tripped, slamming face first into the cold mud. It covered his face, washing into his robes to cover him. Jin hesitated, but he raised himself up again, attempting to return to his feet. His ankle hurt, but he could not stop. He needed to catch up to Master Yuenan. It was Jin’s own fault that he had fallen behind.
Suddenly, Juen smelled the scent of tea leaves, and he glanced over, spotting the hem of a white robe. Expectantly, his eyes darted upwards, and Jin saw a soft gaze in the worn, wrinkled eyes of his master.
“You did well, child,” Yuenan said, arm outstretched, as if offering to help Jin stand. “You did well.”
Jin couldn’t help it. Though he tried to control it, he felt tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes, and he cried, his salty tears blending into the falling freshwater of the storm. Warm arms surrounded him, comforting him as Jin’s emotions only continued to leak out, washing off into the runoff, and into the ground below.
Jin knew that he was wiping mud onto his master’s spotless white robes, and the thought made him cry even harder.
Inhabitants of the Downpour: [Historically, the Downpour was considered an impassable natural hazard, a place that one would avoid when traversing the Crucible. In several old novels, it was a place where a martial artist might go to hide from their enemies. It is not a territory most would desire, its sole valuable resources being the natural treasures that grow inside of the bodies of the fiends that live within. The harsh conditions and unusual power of those fiends however, cause such expeditions to be very difficult, a matter made more difficult by the sole Seiyal inhabitants of the region, the Downpour Sect, who claim ownership of the territory. From the day the sect was founded until the day it was destroyed, the Downpour Sect had been rumored to be undefeatable within their land.]