"And stay away!" The school supervisor shouts.

"Not a problem! I have no reasson to come back anyway!" Girshu shouts back as he storms out of the Grand Mage Academy, not considerate of tiles he walks on. Long but superficial scratchmarks are left where his lowest arms claw their way forward, and a trail of condense is left in the wake of his frigid body. The supervisor merely shakes his head at the sight, turns around and walks back inside.

"What a loussy excusse for a sschool." Girshu mutters under his breath. The best cryomancer in the building was just barely as capable as Girshu himself, but he was completely unrecipient to hearing why his methods and gestures were all wrong. The arrogant fool kept insisting that Girshu had to learn his flawed techniques because 'he was the teacher here', instead of learning his clearly more superior techniques. Was it Girshu's fault that the teachings that this stupid human had been studying and teaching all his life were flawed on a basic level, requiring him to learn it all over again? Of course not.

Or the ordeal with the weapon enchanter. Girshu said he could embue a blade with frost, and he did. So what if the temperature difference caused the dagger to shatter the moment it was stabbed into someone hotblooded, breaking into a dozen razor-sharp missiles being flung around randomly? The damn thing is meant to kill people. It's a feature, not a design flaw. But even after an hour of heated discussion, the damn enchantment teacher still wouldn't see reason.

And then that little misunderstanding with the hothead. It was astounding how humans could get all uppity about a simple mutually agreed duel, only because some paper and a few incapable novice students were getting caught up in it. Nobody ever died from frostbite in their arms. And legs. And a bit on the head, though only superficially. Not to mention, the pyromancer challenged him first. Well, after Girshu proclaimed that all pyromancers should be eradicated, that their branch of magic was childish and evil, that fire as a whole was a pointless and destructive element, and a few more things in that regard. But it was a debate, listing completely factual arguments is the very point. But noooo~, the humans blamed him after the completely innocent duel ended with a miniature blizzard in the library. What was a library anyway? Books. Peh, Girshu never read those and he was more powerful than any so-called 'mage' in there.

No, this place was a scam. A joke. A place that might suffice to teach a toddler how to get their first cantrip, but a laughable excuse for an academy.

Not to mention the delusional idiocy of this whole city. A city that didn't worship any gods? Sure, plenty of those so-called deities were just humans pretending to be ones, but that didn't mean that all gods were false. Okami was a great wyrm, and if there's any tangible form for a god to take it would be a dragon.

Muttering complaints and profanities about this damned city, Girshu keeps wandering through the streets. More easily that he himself would like and would admit, he's disoriented and completely lost in the urban landscape. Looking around, he bumps into a solid stone wall. Cursing about this sudden moving wall getting in his way, Girshu rubs his nose and looks forward. Not at all considering himself at fault for not looking where he was going, he was about to throw a tirade despite there being no one to hear it.

For days the gargoyle had been wandering the wilds, with no plan in mind so much as a need to go. He knew not his destination, or if he even had one. Along the way he encountered a surprising number of people, many of whom didn’t seem fond of him. He was greeted with everything from annoyance at a mistake he’d been unaware he made, to outright aggression at the sight of such an odd beast.

One encounter was more unusual. Norby had been following the curve of the land, neglecting any roads in favor of wherever his steps carried him. In the low scar of a gorge he found a man, but one who did not react to his approach. The gargoyle called out in Irian, receiving no response. He tried a greeting in another tongue, though this one was only vaguely in his mind. Still nothing. Not even a shift in position. He stepped closer. The man clutched a sword in one hand, his arm limp and outstretched from his body. Closer inspection revealed a red bloom across the stranger’s chest, and two feathered sticks poking out from below a plate of metal. A foul stench hung in the air. Norby’s brow furrowed, and he hesitantly gave the man a nudge with his knuckles. Nothing. He was empty.

With a frown, the gargoyle murmured a phrase that he hardly recognized, but it slipped from his lips as easily as rain from a grey sky. Where he’d learned it he couldn’t say, but it felt like the right thing to say to someone empty.

For a few minutes more, he watched the stranger, jeweled eyes finally dipping to his weapon. Norby had no interest in making people empty, but everyone he had come across had been carrying a blade of some kind of another. If he carried one too, maybe they would know he wasn’t just a monster. Crouching, he mumbled thanks to the stranger, pulling the hilt from stiffened fingers. Using a length of leather he’d found on the person, he strapped the blade to his back, between his wings, then continued on his path.

His travels were uninterrupted for only a few miles before he came upon a stampede of water rushing along through the land. Words bounced around in his head for a few moments before “river” stuck out amongst the others. Norby stayed well back from the edge. He remembered when he had woken up, and the same panic he’d felt then tied a knot in his chest now at just the sight of so much water. He would walk on, but not so close that he might fall in.

The sun drooped down to the earth again, disappearing from sight to hide from the moon as it rose opposite. He walked on as they chased each other at a snail’s pace through the sky. When once again the sun rose, Norby could see a structure rising ahead. A massive building, miles across, but completely lacking a roof. The river ran directly through the wall after passing between a grin of iron teeth near the base. Norby would enter as well, but through the large gate instead. He stepped warily into line behind a horse-drawn wagon entering the city, but besides a few odd looks, he was not assaulted. Perhaps it was only people on the road who would attack.

Once inside the walls, the curious glances came less frequently. Many of the people here were very different in appearance from each other, and it gave the gargoyle comfort to know that everyone was out of place here, and therefore fit in perfectly. Still, questions rang in his mind. He needed answers, the most important of which was regarding the place he had come from. It had been a temple, that much he simply knew, but to what or whom he hadn’t the vaguest idea. The citizens he asked seemed to struggle with the very concept of what a temple was. “There’s nothing like that here” was the most frequent answer he received.

Information would have to be gotten elsewhere. He could recall an image in his head. Information, but not spoken. It was kept on thin sheets bound together called… He struggled for a moment to remember. …Books! They were all kept together on shelves, in a big room, almost a smaller version of the temple itself. What was it called? Did he even have the knowledge he was trying to remember?

In his distraction, he failed to notice a figure approaching just as preoccupied. The pair collided, both bumping to a stop and staring at the other. This person looked more like a creature than a man, but despite extra arms and a reptilian appearance, they stood upright like anyone else Norby had met. The flustered gargoyle blinked stupidly a moment. He felt like there was something he was supposed to say, but he couldn’t think of it, so he spat out the first thing on his mind. “Book temple?” he asked, defaulting to Common for the foreign-looking stranger. “There are questions, I need a book temple.” His clarification, though certainly his best effort, was not likely to be very helpful. Still he could hope. Maybe this strange person would be able to help.

Girshu rubs his nose, which itched enough from the collision to be sore but not to bruise. His eyes furiously darted upwards to the wall he ran into, ready to unleash a tirade upon anyone who might be even vaguely responsible for him running into it.

As Girshu looks up however, the wall looks back at him. It had the same dumbfound emptiness that all these humans and other illiterates had upon seeing him, though it lacked the judgemental element. Girshu studies the construct, looking over the dirty exterior and the sword that was haphazardly fashioned to his back with some leather. This thing looked neglected. The only parts of him that weren't, were his amethyst eyes. It was quite impressive that no one had tried to pry those from the construct's eyes, whether before or after destroying it. They were quite imposing and brilliant, after all.

A shame they were used for a geomancy construct, though. One could make quite a dashing ice construct with those things, and be more fashionably correct. Stone required natural colours, like emerald or jade. Well, it was probably a matter of what was available. Or the mage who created this thing had no sense of fashion.

"Book temple?" The gargoyle suddenly said in a broken common with a strong Irian accent, his dialect no less terrible than nine out of ten citizens around here. "There are questions, I need a book temple."

The gargoyle grew silent, waiting for a response. Girshu wasn't sure how to give one, however. Slowly, he bends in closer and then slides a bit to the left to study the gargoyle closer. How peculiar. A golem was no easy feat to create for any magus, not to mention expensive, so it was quite astounding that someone would let one deteriorate like this. Or let a gargoyle with such expensive eyes roam freely through the city. If there was anyone paranoid of thieves and not believing in the good of men, it were mages.

Then there was the construct's strange behaviour. It asked a question, meaning its master must've given him an assignment that would allow for such a thing. The way he asked however, was most baffling.

"Book temple, you ssay? Don't you have a sspecific name, like Tar Eissalae or the Grand Magess' library?" Girshu asks. Realising a good follow-up question to deduce the potential gap in the construct's memories, he asks; "How long ago did your masster assk you to find thiss placse?"

It was most perplexing, the more Girshu thought about it the stranger it became. The golem forgot the specific name of the place he was supposed to find, but tries to describe it by its purpose? No construct should do the former, or be able of the latter. They weren't sentient, nor smart enough to perform complex mental exercises like taking an absolute persistent and translating it to vaguer terms. They were just slabs of anorganic matter given a shallow sense of life and thinking, the most basic form of a minion. If they forgot the name of their destination by deterioration or damage, they should've forgotten the whole assignment.

Girshu looks over the creature again. It certainly was weathered, it could be old. Very old. If his age exceeded decades, he might well have forgotten his objective. Perhaps it happened slowly enough that he could've asked people about it, who then translated the name they knew not into a concept? Perhaps, a golem could remember additional descriptions of their assignment, even if it wasn't given by their master.

As Norby watched, the strange-looking person before him leaned closer, shuffling around to one side and searching for something the gargoyle could not perceive. It was certainly a different approach than he’d gotten from most, and decidedly less threatening. In the end, he didn’t mind, and stood politely for the creature to examine as closely as he wished. It was no harm after all.

Glittering purple eyes followed the stranger curiously. His ox-like ears perked up to do the same upon hearing an answer to his question, though it wasn’t the direction he had been hoping for. The offered names bounced around in his tilted head, trying to find some image to latch on to, but neither one took hold anywhere, or even jogged a related memory. Nothing familiar, but the stranger wasn’t finished confusing the construct just yet.

The gargoyle’s brow furrowed. Master? The word was familiar, though not in a way that tied it directly to him. It felt more like something he had overhead, like a distant conversation that had somehow gained his attention centuries ago. Perhaps another link to the unusual building where he had awoken. “No master,” he finally answered, reining back his drifting wonderings. “My questions. Book temple to answer.” For a brief moment, he debated whether or not this stranger even seemed interested in helping him. Then again, he was yet to be attacked, and this person was the first to actually speak with him beyond being dismissive. Perhaps only those who were different enough in appearance would speak with each other.

Giving the strange creature a curious once-over, he lifted one hand, pointing vaguely. “What is it?” Norby questioned. Despite the potentially offensive wording of his inquiry, there was no trace of hostility in his tone, nor was there disdain. The way he spoke was simply the result of a limited understanding of the language he was speaking. Most certainly, he didn’t even know that calling someone an “it” was rude. His curiosity continued to get the better of his judgement anyway. Never before had he seen a creature as unique as this, in either his brief journey or his snapshot memories. Certain aspects of the stranger were reptilian, not unlike some of his own features, but the multitude of arms set them apart from any others he had met, and it could be discerned from conversation that they were a good deal more intelligent. The latter of those traits had Norby convinced: this person could help.

The gargoyle appeared confused by Girshu's questions, and processing a response very slowly. “No master. My questions. Book temple to answer.” He then replied.

Girshu sighed. Even he knew that arguing with a stubborn automatron was about as fruitful as planting seeds in salted ground. It seemed to have questions, but not the knowledge on how to have them answered. Perhaps he even forgot the questions in the first place, only remembering the location he had to go to for their answer. But, the gargoyle had not yet claimed his questions to be a secret of his master or not to be shared for other reasons.

The gargoyle then suddenly points at Girshu. "What is it?"

Girshu looked at his finger, where it was pointing towards, and then back at the gargoyle's face. After letting the question sink in for just a second more, Girshu tucks the fabric and answers; "Thiss iss a cloak."

"Unlesss you were referring to me, in whicsh casse you sshouldn't usse the word 'it' ass your pronoun of choicse. I'm a frosst ssalamander." Girshu says with a sigh. Talking to automatrons could be like talking to a child, though without the hyperactive impulsiveness and disgusting body fluids they were leaking without shame or noticing. So they were much better than children, who'd touch him without asking permission. And then their parents would get angry that the little buggers would have frostbitten fingers from touching him, as if it were his fault that they left their kids unsupervised near strangers. But Girshu's mind was drifting off topic.

"Anyway, what are thesse quesstionss you want ansswered? Becausse ssearching for the ansswer without knowing your quesstion is like ssearching blindly for ssomething that hangss too high for you to reach. Perhapss I can tell you who you need to ask your quesstionss to, or where you may find them. Though ussually, one can find the ansswer to their quesstionss closse to where they got thesse quesstions in the firsst placse."

Girshu looks at the gargoyle again, trying to gain some answers from its appearance. Perhaps there was something like a signet underneath the mud, or other answers to the questions that surrounded this golem. Against his better judgement and the value of his time, Girshu had gotten somewhat interested in the mystery that surrounded this creature. It's not like he had anything better to do, anyway.