The Monk Who Sold His Fireball

Sargon sits cross-legged in a corner of the main foyer, on a small straw mat on the ground. In place of his normal attire he wears canvas pants with a heavy jacket that opens slightly to one side of center. Both are white, loose-fitting and cinched with a red cloth belt. His shoes and other belongings are nowhere to be seen.

Given the current situation, a casual, peaceful walk through the city proper seems more likely than not to be anything but. The ridge overlooking the city, however, is far less travelled once past the parade of deceased being ushered to and from the temple on it. Her steps bring Aya to the monastery, a convenient location containing others, but not teeming with them. Preferably, said others are not the sort to be regurgitating gelatinous creaturs of contagion.

Sargon turns his head slowly at Aya's entrance. A complex series of expressions flash across his face. First is perhaps surprise. His gaze moves away from Aya and his eyes lower to the ground in front of himself then and slowly what might be disappointment creeps into them - though he's clearly not looking at Aya at this point. This in turn is soon replaced by resignation. And followed just as quickly by what might be determination.

Aya notes the seated man, though doesn't interrupt the presumed meditation. Presumed until he turns his attention towards. Following his sequence of expressions and shifted eyes, one snowy brow lifts. "Am I intruding upon your inner calm?"

Sargon chuckles. "Don't know if I'd call it intruding," he replies. He turns his head back to look at her again. "Or calm, for that matter." He leans back and puts palms flat on the ground behind him, so that his arms brace his upper body in lieu of a seatback. "I spent years in a place like this. Only with more shoutings and beatings. And I never had trouble with focus and calm before. So I know it's not you that's disturbing my 'inner calm'. Truth is, I haven't been able to focus for days. Weeks even."

"The city is hardly calm, and fear might be as contagious as this plague," Aya shares. "It shouldn't be surprising that calm, peace, and any number of other pleasant states are currently in short supply." A hand gestures vagule about. "Even here, which seems, thankfully, far less affected."

"Agreed." Sargon pulls his knees up, pushes off with one hand as he's also twisting at the waist and gets his feet under him to stands up, one smooth continuous motion. When he reaches down to pick up his mat there's a faint peeling sound as it separates from the ground - he must have been sitting there for quite some time. "I'm Sargon, the Bronze. What brings you here?"

Aya nods an acknowledgement to his introduction. "A need for distance, shade, and slightly less dust and dirt than the wilderness tends to offer."

Sargon chuckles again. "Well...agreed. Again. I learned this technique not too long ago that helps me with that, though. Wizards call it 'Prestidigitation'." He pauses and then continues with a touch more thoughtful to his tone, "I guess that could be another thing that's different about me. Another reason I can't seem to achieve the discipline used to came so easy when I was growing up."

One corner of Aya's mouth quirks upwards. "Consorting with wizards? Yes, I believe that would have a terrible affect on one's discipline. Most of them seem not much above gobbers with siege weapons; they know what lever to pull, and generally where to point it, but understand little about the explosions that ensue, other than that they do."

Sargon bursts out laughing. The sound echoes ever so slightly in the foyer and the rooms behind. Possibly a lack of soft furnishings to absorb the sound, leaving it to bounce off of stone walls with hard angles. "Yes, that is a good point," he says agreeably. Then he grows serious once more. "I wonder if that's what I've been doing. Sorcery is a..." he pauses and thinks of how to phrase his thoughts. "A source of power. But it is different than one's ki. It comes faster sometimes. And somehow requires -less- study and focus, than when focusing your ki. For all that wizards spend so much time studying." He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

Aya's countenance returns to a flat expression. "There are few oddities, tragedies, or disasters NOT attributable to a magi seeking power in some fashion." Her other brow lifts at his latter words. "Ah. You have some lineage of power, I presume? I know little of those who inherit such, and am undecided on whether they tend towards more or less control than the librarians."

Sargon wrinkles his brow now in thought. "Lineage of power? Could be..." He adds slowly, "I'd thought maybe that arcane sorcery was something that anyone could do, if they had the time and the discipline and were willing to study. But maybe not." He shrugs. Then he considers again. "Maybe it's in the blood. The lineage." He peers at Aya consideringly. "You seem to have a lot of knowledge about this sort of thing..."

Aya rolls one shoulder. "Only of a general nature, and only enough to be wary of such individuals. I presumed that you referred to those with a ... natural talent for magic, rather than the choice to study it."

"What I mean is, I don't think there's anyone that couldn't become a wizard or a sorcerer, just because they are missing something in their blood or spirit, or they lack some mystic spark. It's an Art." He gestures around them. "Though that might be from my experience in monasteries like this. Not everyone who tries, is accepted to study in a place like this. But it's not because of their heritage..."

Aya ahs softly and nods. "I suppose so. The Arts learned here would be more martial, I'd assumed... though I expect that one could train another to do just about anything: it's simply a matter of motivation."

"Exactly," Sargon draws out the word to subtly emphasize it. Then: "Well, I'm sure being surrounded by others who have trained and mastered a technique helps. It's why I'm here," he adds. "I don't come here regularly. And I somehow managed not to stray too far from what I learned of focusing my Ki." He pauses and then holds up a hand, waggling it in the classis 'so-so' gesture. "But I need to advance now along that path, and not just stay in one place."

"Is this where you previously trained?" Aya inquires. "And which path is it you follow, now?"

Sargon says, "Here? No. It was north of here. An Oruch monastery." He glances at her and says, "More shoutings and beatings, remember?" There's a small smile in his face and something almost...affectionate in his tone though at the memories. "Since coming here, to Alexandria, I've been studying the arcane. But when I was younger...I didn't just learn fighting styles. I learned to control my breathing, to regulate my need for food and sleep. And I was told of many other things I could accomplish if I learned to focus my ki. Strengthen my skin and muscles to resist harm. Channel elemental fire." He watches Aya as he lists each technique for signs she recognizes any of them. "Heal myself when injured."