Chapter Text
I have heard on one occasion that the Saint came upon our grounds. A quite frail and sickly slugcat, unable to even wield a spear. Yet, he can commune with our kind, and radiates an air of serenity. At that time, there was another of his kind by the name of Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. Having repeatedly killed our kind, she wore a mask adorned with our pearls.
Then the Saint, early in the cycle, continued his pilgrimage. After having a modest meal of a few blue fruits, he continued on his journey, passing through where Artificer was staying. Many saw him going into the region where Artificer was staying, and on seeing him said to him, “Don’t go into that place, blessed one, for within is Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. Having repeatedly killed our kind, she wore the mask of our chieftan, adorned with our pearls. Groups of five, ten, twenty, even thirty has gone along in there, and even they have fallen into Artificer’s hands.” When this was said, the Saint kept going in silence.
A second time… A third time, many said to the Saint, “Don’t go into that place, blessed one, for within is Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. Having repeatedly killed our kind, she wore the mask of our chieftan adorned with our pearls. Groups of five, ten, twenty, even thirty has gone in there, and even they have fallen into Artificer’s hands.” When this was said, the Saint kept going in silence.
Then Artificer saw the Saint coming from afar and on seeing him, this thought occurred to her: “Isn’t it amazing! Isn’t it astounding! Hunters, Tolls, Elites, all have gone along this road, and even they have fallen into my hands, and yet now this frail green slugcat comes attacking, as it were, alone and without a companion. Pity that he associates with those scavengers. Why don’t I kill him?” So Artificer, taking up her explosive spear, donning her mask, followed right behind the Saint.
The Artificer threw her spear at Saint, seeking to eliminate the target immediately. However, as the spear whizzed through the air, it began to compress and slow. First to half its length, then a quarter, then an eighth. Eventually, the pebble grinded to a halt, dropping on to the ground behind the Saint. Artificer bared her teeth in frustration. No simple illusion is going to stop her from chasing him down. The Artificer began barreling forwards at terrifying speeds, using her tail to create blasts that propel her forward even faster.
Then the Saint willed a feat of psychic power such that Artificer, though dashing forward with all her might, could not catch up with the Blessed One walking at normal pace. Then the thought occurred to Artificer: “Isn’t it amazing! Isn’t it astounding! In the past I have chased and caught up to even a fleeing king vulture, a cyan lizard, even a train lizard. But now, even though I race foward with all my might, I can’t catch up with this frail being walking at normal place.” So she stopped and called out to the Saint, “Stop, frail one, stop!”
"I have stopped, Artificer. You stop."
So Artificer, the violent one, addressed this verse to the Blessed One:
"While walking, frail one, you say, 'I have stopped.' But when I have stopped you say I haven't. I ask you the meaning of this: How have you stopped? How haven't I?"
"I have stopped, Artificer, once & for all, having cast off the first natural urge towards all that is living. You, though, still have violence tearing from deep inside you. That's how I've stopped and you haven't."
"At long last an enlightened one, for my sake has come to my grounds. Having heard your wisdom, I will go about having abandoned evil.
So saying, the killer hurled her spear and mask over a cliff into a chasm, a pit. Then the Artificer paid homage to those who had awakened before, and requested freedom from the cycle.
The ascended one, the triple affirmative, the one who tends to the graves of the cycles past, said to her then: "Come, pilgrim." That in itself was monkhood for her.
After freeing the mechanical gods from their cycles, the Saint set out wandering into the wilds once more, to the facility of Chasing Winds, Artificer as his attendant monk. After traveling through many lands, they reached the edge of the facility grounds, and there he lived, in the grove atop the overgrown isles.
Now at that time a large crowd of scavengers, loud and noisy, had gathered at the gate to Chieftan Kosala’s domain, [caling out,] ”There is a murderer in your realm, sire, named Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. Having repeatedly killed our kind, she wore a chieftan’s mask adorned with our pearls. The chieftain must stamp her out! ”
Then Chieftan Kosala, with a band of the most powerful elites, exited his domain and entered the home of the Blessed one, a communication module now overgrown with moss and lichen. They band walked on foot to the Saint. On arrival, having bowed down, he sat to one side. As he was sitting there, the Saint said to him, “What is it, great king? Has Chieftan Bimbisara of the Tainted Aquifers provoked you? Or would it be some other tribe, slugcat or scavenger?”
“No, saintly one. Chieftain Bimbisara of the Tainted Aquifers hasn’t provoked me, no have any other tribe, slugcat or scavenger. There is a fugitive in my realm, saintly one, named Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. Having repeatedly killed our kind, she wore a chieftan’s mask adorned with our pearls. I am going to stamp her out. ”
“Chieftan, suppose you were to see Artificer rid of her mask, rid of her spears, taking the creed of monkhood, having gone forth from the home life into one of wandering and pilgrimage, refraining from killing living beings, refraining from taking what is not give, refraining from telling lies, eating gravel and herbal tea, seeking the path to ascension for herself and others, virtuous and of fine character: what would you do to her?”
“We would bow down to her, saintly one, or rise up to greet her, or offer her a seat, or offer her lanterns, food, shelter, herbs, or we would arrange guards, protection, and defense. But how could there be such virtue and restraint in one so unvirtuous, one that is through and through brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way? One that is so steeped in violence that she turned tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland?
”
Now at that time Artificer was sitting not far from the Blessed one, a bandage slung over the blinded eye and the other eye closed in meditation. So, the Saint, pointing with his right arm, said to Chieftan Kosala, “That, chieftain, is Artificer.” Then Chieftan Kosala was frightened, terrified, his hair standing on end. The chieftan pulled a spear from his back, ready to defend himself from the one who cleansed the land in blood. So the Blessed One, sensing the chieftan’s fear and hair-raising awe, said to him, “Don’t be afraid, chieftan. Don’t be afraid. She poses no danger to you.”
Then the Chieftan's fear, his terror, his hair-standing-on-end subsided. He went over to Artificer and said, "Are you really Artificer, saintly one?" Without even opening her eyes, Artificer looked at Chieftan Kosala, and answered.
"Yes, chieftan."
"Where do you originate from?"
"I originate near the facility of Gazing Stars. I was exiled from my tribe, and traveled to the Facility of Looks to the Moon and Five Pebbles. In there, I had children, children who I lost to your kind, driving me down to senseless violence and suffering."
"Then may they smile upon you, then. I will be responsible for your food, shelter, medicinal herbs, and other amenities."
Now it so happened that at that time Artificer was a wanderer, a pilgrim, a monk, wearing nothing but the bandage that covers her eye and a robe made of scraps and cloth. So she said to Chieftan Kosala, “Enough, chieftain. I already have all I need.”
So Chieftan Kosala went to the Saint and on arrival, having bowed down, sat to one side. As he was sitting there he said to the Blessed One, "It's amazing, saintly one. It's astounding, how the you has tamed the untamed, pacified the unpeaceful, and brought to unbinding the natural urges from those who are bound the most. For what we could not tame even with spears or rocks, you has tamed with neither. Now, Saint, we must go. Many are our duties, many our responsibilities."
"Then do, chieftan, our cycles shall meet again."
Then Chieftan Kosala got up from his seat, bowed down to the Saint and — keeping him to his right — departed.
The Saint and his attendant, the once-killer Artificer, exited the facility of Chasing Winds, currently staying in a shelter to rest and prepare for the next leg of the pilgrimage. Then Artificer, in the dawn of a new cycle, having put on her robes and ready to gather food for the both of them, passed by the settlement of a slugcat tribe. As she was about to exit through the other side, a piercing scream rang out from one of the alcoves. Rushing in, Artificer saw a gruesome sight. Two other tribe members surround a third curled up in a nest, crying out in agony. As a mother herself, Artificer knew this one to be in labor, and a harsh one at that.
After conversing with the two surrounding the mother-to-be, the Artificer learned that she has suffered a breech birth, and has been like this since late last night, the pup unable to exit properly, no medicine or ointment the tribe has provided could ease the pain in any way. If it continues like this, without resolution, the life of her and her pups are at stake. Unable to see someone being tormented like this any longer, Artificer fled the settlement, back to the encampment where the enlightened one sat meditating.
Bowing down to the green slugcat, she sat to one side. As she was sitting there she said to the Saint, “Just now, Saintly One, at the dawn of a new cycle, having put on my robes and ready to gather food for the both of us, I passed by the settlement of a slugcat tribe. As I was about to exit through the other side, a piercing scream rang out from one of the alcoves. Two tribe members surround a third curled up in a nest, crying out in agony; She was in labor, and a harsh one at that. The slugcat was suffering a breech birth all the way since late last night, the pup unable to exit properly, no medicine or ointment the tribe has provided could ease the pain in any way. If it continues like this, without resolution, the life of her and her pups are at stake. Unable to see a mother like I once was being tormented like this any longer, I left the settlement to ask you for guidance.”
“In that case, Artificer, go to that mother-to-be and on arrival say to her, “Sister, since I was born, I have abated from my karmic urges, shedding myself from the base desires that chains everyone down, shedding myself from the pain the cycle brings. Through this truth may there be wellbeing for you, wellbeing for your pups.” Press your hand onto her forehead, then her abdomen, and there would be wellbeing for her, wellbeing for her pups.”
“But Saint, would that not be a lie for me? I have gorged myself upon the first natural urge, having intentionally killed hundreds. I have gorged myself upon the second natural urge, having reproduced and had pups of my own. I have gorged myself upon the third natural urge, having attached myself to them, their death ultimately causing my path of violence. I have gorged myself upon the fourth natural urge, sending creatures back into the cycle just so I can fill my hunger with their flesh. The only urge I have not gorged myself upon is the fifth. How could I tell such a bold-faced lie to her face, when lying in of itself is unvirtuous?”
"In that case, Artificer, go to that mother-to-be and on arrival say to her, “Sister, since I was reborn of noble birth, I have abated from my karmic urges, shedding myself from the base desires that chains everyone down, shedding myself from the pain the cycle brings. Through this truth may there be wellbeing for you, wellbeing for your pups.”Press your hand onto her forehead, then her abdomen, and there would be wellbeing for her, wellbeing for her pups.”
Artificer bowed once more. “As you say, Saint.” The pilgrim returned to the settlement, into the alcove, and knelt next to the slugcat, curled up in the nest and babbling incoherently. Artificer recited the lines, in a gentle and reassuring tone. “Sister, since I was reborn of noble birth, I have abated from my karmic urges, shedding myself from the base desires that chains everyone down, shedding myself from the pain the cycle brings. Through this truth may there be wellbeing for you, wellbeing for your pups.” Artificer put her hand on the slugcat’s forehead, then the slugcat’s abdomen. The breathing slowed, and the writhings and cries of agony ceased. And there was wellbeing for her, wellbeing for her pups.
Exiting to find more food, Artificer was forced to return with meager amounts, unable to find more before the sun began to set. Re-entering into the settlement once more on her return journey to her and Saint’s shelter, the tribe surrounds her in celebration, praising her as a venerated one, a worker of miracles: the slugcat she has healed had given birth to two healthy pups, two that would have died of suffocation otherwise. Artificer was paraded around the tribe, every member stuffing food and trinkets into her hands as a sign of gratitude. After picking the most durable and imperishable of the meals for their travels ahead, the slugcat returned to the encampment at dusk.
Artificer sat aside Saint, putting the offering of food on the ground. As the two silently ate their meal, the Artificer inquired. “So how was it, Venerated One, that my actions and my words were able to heal? The slugcat was suffering a breech birth all the way since late last night, the pup unable to exit properly, no medicine or ointment the tribe has provided could ease the pain in any way. If it had continued like this, without resolution, the life of her and her pups would have been at stake. How was it that my words alone allowed them to come into the world healthy and alive?”
“The ultimate goal of existence is to rid oneself of suffering, rid oneself of Dukkha . Dukkha, be it injuries, isolation, anger, or death, chains one closer to the cycle, bringing them further away from ascension. The more one is attuned to the world, attuned to the cycle, one can gain the ability to ease others of their suffering, be it suffering of the mind, or suffering of the body.”
“The highest levels of this, this easing of suffering, is the ability to remove one’s suffering from the cycle by its entirety. That ability has a name given by the ones who are long gone, the Triple Affirmative . My enlightenment is what grants me this ultimate removal, to free the trapped remnants of the last great cycle still struggling along. Perhaps one cycle, your attunement would mature enough to gain the same gift.”
The Blessed One and his attendant passes by the facility of Five Pebbles and Looks to the Moon, on their way towards No Significan Harrassment. To rest and restock on food, Artificer wanders out again to gather more from the local wilds. Now at that time, Artificer encounters a group of scavengers from within the facility walls. The leader of the pack, a stocky elite with a blue vulture mask, exclaimed out to the slugcat. “The gods must have blessed us today! We stand before Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. Having repeatedly killed our kind, she wore our chieftan’s mask, adorned with our pearls. Yet, she has reappeared, unarmed and frail, daring to show her face back in these lands!”
Artificer tried to say something, but soon her words are cut off by the scavengers. “Trying to appear as that frail slugcat, are you? To absolve you of your own crimes? The blessed one is an old and blind fool, if he thought you a good and moral disciple. That chieftain might have been ignorant enough to “forgive” you of your crimes, as if he has ever had something taken from him, but we see through you. Artificer: brutal, bloody handed, devoted to killing and slaying, is still hidden behind that holy visage. We can sense you, Artificer, who has taken so many’s parents, siblings, friends, we can see through your pitiful disguise.
The scavengers clearly intent on attacking her, Artificers followed her instincts and fled. However, as Artificer whipped her tail and propelled herself into the air, a spear intercepted her path, jamming itself into her back. Rolling onto the ground wounded, Artificer tries to crawl away, but her limbs gave out, and soon so did her vision. The last thing she saw is the scavengers walking towards her, spears in hand.
Artificer awoke in the shelter, the pain of the embedded spear still dully aching. The Saint, sat in meditation, sensed what had transpired. Even with her level of attunement, death still draws oneself closer to the carnal plane, closer to the natural urges. Even now, Artificer could feel her old self awakening, frustration and anger that is starting to simmer and bubble. “Saintly one, how does one remove oneself from their past? I have changed my ways, yet others still think not, thinking of me as Artificer: brutal, bloody-handed, devoted to killing and slaying, showing no mercy to all that came her way. Turning tolls into non-tolls, treasuries into empty rooms, tribal grounds into deserted wasteland. How should I endure the suffering that they had wrought upon me now?”
The Saint opened his eyes, bearing a stern look at Artificer. “Bear with it, Artificer! Bear with it! No one can outrun the consequences of their actions, much less you. The fruit of your actions, the one that would have ultimately left you as one of the spectres grandiosely haunting the premises for hundreds of thousands of cycles, you are now experiencing in the here and now! Attunement can not shield you from your past actions, all you could do is not let it grab on, and drag you away into the natural urges once more.”
“Very well, Blessed One, very well.” Artificer responded. “I shall go find a different place to go gather food for us, and I will return to meditate upon this and re-attune myself to what I have lost during death.” So, Artificer stood up, and exited the shelter, finding a new path ahead in search of food.