[Kyodai Utsuwa]

Three years ago…

Even after pledging themselves to the service of Jashin, it was unusual that Utsuwa was afforded an unfettered view of the sky. Not due to them being held against their will. Not any longer.

But stone, parchment, steel, blood, pain, penance, prayer, and ink. They were now Utsuwa’s home. Reading, contemplation, teaching, learning. But the limit approached. No matter the histories they pored over, the scriptures they committed to memory, the commentaries they penned… there was a limit to how far one could grasp Jashinism without perceiving the world's pain. To expose the truth of suffering beneath the façade of beauty.

But the limit was elusive. The plateau never quite leveled. Perhaps it never would. Perhaps they would make diminishing returns until Jashin determined their duty done, and welcomed them into blissful oblivion.

And yet; change. They had walked these streets before; their bare feet knew these stones. Disdainful and fearful looks were returned by a placid smile. Though their fingers were stained by ink, and not blood, and their short height and emaciated figure was hardly threatening, the iron ring hanging from their neck told most locals that they were to be avoided.

The Country of Law had won its name, and even devotees of Jashin seldom acted in broad daylight. The same laws that bound their hands also protected them. And thus, those who did not wish to learn of pain or death gave those wearing Jashin's mark a wide berth.

Willing converts were rare. And it was difficult to take the unwilling. Only those steeped in sorrow would lend an ear to their words. So charged as a Prophet of Jashin, Utsuwa meandered from izakaya to drinking hole. To seek souls mired in pain, so that they might find release.

They usually saw the same faces. Not many travelers ventured this far, and the nation's disconnect from the affairs of the Shinobi nations made it a fairly insular pocket of humanity.

"Welcome!” A familiar face greeted them, broad grin freezing in place. A middle aged man who had the laugh lines of someone who had drunk of life's merriment. The scars and pains of one that had tasted its pain. Utsuwa's fingers twitched, desiring to give relief, or at least education. But the time was not right. And they were unworthy to offer such bold displays of devotion. There was more work to be done, after all. The sun had not yet set, but the buzz of merriment tinged by alcohol had started to permeate the izakaya. "You again. Just… don't cause any trouble. All right?” The proprietor bid them, his body tense. Accepting a Jashinist was a bad idea. Refusing one was dangerous. At least by the reckoning of heathens.

Utsuwa nodded vaguely, treading dusty footprints as they entered the establishment proper. Red eyes alighted upon an unfamiliar silhouette. A servant in potentia? An offering? Another mere heathen, awaiting obviation?

Utsuwa drew close, observing the traveler with naked interest. Eyes wide, as their body swayed slightly from side to side. Utsuwa looked a beggar, a street urchin, or a destitute monk, and most of the locals either averted their gaze, or watched them warily, or otherwise fell beneath their notice.

Utsuwa paid them no heed, apparently fascinated with this new variable in their largely static existence.

"What drives thee hence, traveler?” Utsuwa said, innocent curiosity reflected in their tone and eyes.

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

Hoki no Kuni, 1021

     The Sunagakure Jounin sat, leg crossed, in a lazy hybrid of lying down and sitting up - one arm hooked around the back wall of his booth, the other in his lap holding the object of his attention - a tome that, like the near-dozen others piled on the table, he probably shouldn't possess. His almost-golden, sand colored eyes looked up at the stranger.

     He set the book, titled after some ancient Hoki no Kuni aphorism, on the table. "Booze, typically," he said with a laugh. "Why do you ask, stranger?" For one accustomed with Shinobi, it wouldn't be hard to pinpoint where he was from. Tanned skin, black-grey-tan uniform with flak jacket, which though old, bore the hourglass of the Sand.

     The Jounin inspected them - it wasn't often he was approached so brazenly, especially here in Law. Their clothes were rough and tattered, figure small and almost malnourished. Yet their attire was purposeful, the iron ring clearly signified something - and going by the averted eyes of the other patrons, he was the only one not in the know. "Who are you?" he questioned, peering up at their face.

     Some kind of official? Proprietor of some odd charity-library? Perhaps it would've been wise to just hide the tomes until he'd returned from his mission, but his curiosity and vices had led him to enjoy both the texts he'd liberated from some criminals and a good helping of sake at the same time, here in public, before he headed for the coast once more.

Kyodai Utsuwa | 251 words

[Kyodai Utsuwa]

"Alcohol to drown thy sorrows? All the heathen art bedfellows with suffering, after all." It wasn't entirely clear if the question was rhetorical or not, as Utsuwa continued to ask the other questions posed to them. Their tone and expression were curious and innocent, no malice, fear or apprehension in either. "I ask to learn. Art there better reasons to ask?" Understanding the suffering of others, and the ways they were blind to it, was critical in bringing understanding of Jashin to others. It took more than mere physical anguish, it took a certain breaking of will. To prune away ego, to let Jashin's will flow through them. Not a simple task.

Utsuwa stared nakedly at the man's attire, head cocked in wonder. They had not seen garments such as these, but they could guess at their meaning. Even one as cloistered as they knew at least a little of the defilers of natural law, these Shinobi. Beyond that, they could not say, and did not know.

"Pray, forgive my discourtesy," They said after a time, dipping their head in greeting and apology both. "My name is of no consequence, yet thou mayest call me Utsuwa. A vessel unworthy of the bounty of blessings bestowed unto me by his beneficence, Jashin-sama. To lead all to either enlightenment, else obviation." They straightened, and brushed sharpened fingernails over the medallion hanging from their neck. A gesture that clearly had some manner of meaning, even if only to them. "I study, am studied, teach, and learn by his grace, at yonder temple." They gestured vaguely, not enough to betray a specific location. The Jashinists were not an entirely secretive cult - the strictures of their faith prevented that - but they were not exactly in the habit of welcoming the uninitiated without escort. Nor with the freedom to leave at their leisure.

"Thou'rt a stranger to these lands, art thou not? I hath had few and fewer chances to speak with those such as thee. The heathens, heretics, blasphemers, far from the reach of my cloister." Utsuwa blinked, clasping hands behind their back and leaned forward. Their eyes remained trained on his face, apparently disinterested in the books he was reading, at least for now. "If thou'rt willing to indulge my curiosity, I shalt indulge thine in turn." They tilted their head. "'Tis custom to offer a name if one is demanded, is it not?"

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     Time and purpose were enough to drown my sorrows, he thought to himself. This person was a little odd - their speech antiquated and their mannerisms dulled, almost. Kiyoshi merely watched in return as they explained themself. Their statement on heathens was close to the mark, in his mind, though he suspected finding a fellow adherent of Bishamon here was highly unlikely.

     Kiyoshi smiled lightly at their introduction, bowed his head. "Ōshi Kazuya," he said. "of Kaze no Kuni." It was hardly a lie - he'd gone by the name for a few years now, mostly in the writing of his books, but he used it personally now and again. "Very few are worthy of any kind of blessing, by the way." he retorted with a chuckle.

     "A Shinobi," he continued while he waved them to take a seat across the booth and shoved his books to the side. "of Sunagakure - driven here to exact Justice, in the form of death, by the order of the Kazekage and the will of Bishamon on behalf of the Daimyou." Kiyoshi said, matching their religiosity with his own.

     He leaned back into his booth, facing Utsuwa. "A stranger in a strange land, I suppose, though not as strange as you. A priest of Jashin, was it?" he said with a slight joking one. "Me, a heretic? I've not acted unjustly."

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[Kyodai Utsuwa]

"Unworthy as we are, Jashin-sama offers his blessings to all, Ōshi-dono. Faithful and faithless. Willing and unwilling. Full willing am I to grant unto thee a blessing, or give proof to the blessing nestled within mine bosom. Thou must needs but ask." The unspoken invitation was accepted, the small and slight Utsuwa's lack of height and stature magnified by the contrast between the two. They listened carefully, a rapt and captive audience.

"Invokest thou a deity, and yet thou'rt Shinobi? Wherefore doth thee ally thyself with those perverters of sacred law?" Despite the zealous words, and the conviction that clearly fueled them, Utsuwa was clearly more curious than offended. "A puzzle most vexing. Yet mayhaps thy god's demands art not as all-encompassing as the vast-yet-scrutable Jashin-sama." The name of the god was distantly familiar, but, in all honesty, Utsuwa paid little heed to the other, lesser gods. Now face to face with one of his faithful - or at least one that paid homage - interest was stoked. What lies leavened the bread of Bishamon?

Idle wonderings, that may bear fruit, in time. "Indeed. A priest, prophet, missionary, and living martyr. By his grace." They smiled, and cocked their head in wonder at the next words. "A heretic thou may not be, true. Faith kept to a lesser and false god remaineth faith. But heretic? Infidel? These titles yet become thee. And yet Jashin-sama beckons and welcomes thee also." They cocked their head to the other side, pale hands resting atop the table, gradually leaning closer. "What matter, justice? Bringest thou death to those thee and thy betters hath deigned worthy. Grant thou release to thy enemies, and persist in thy fruitless suff'ring. And endless cycle of punishment, of pain, misery. All ends the selfsame way - death. All thy gains, thy justice, becometh dust and ash." If they were taller, Utsuwa may have been able to draw their face right next to Kazuya's. As it was, they had all but climbed atop the table.

"'Tis not injustice. 'Tis futility." They smiled, but their words did not have a ring of a taunt. It didn't sound smug, rather, it was simply assured. The kind of certainty found only in the zealot.

Now, what manner of response would they receive? What weapons did the heretic use to mete out their vaunted justice?

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     Kiyoshi smirked. "Everything is futile, then. All there is life and death."

     "As far as I'm concerned, there isn't anything after that. So all one can do is make the most of the time they have - enjoying justice, and pleasure. Prioritize your own time and happiness, your family's, your peoples, then everyone else's. That's justice - to live as life demands, to take what you deserve."

     His warping of justice, and seeming non-committance to it, may've answered why he did not dedicate himself fully to it like other adherents. Like everything else in his life, his first priority was his nation and village, then himself and his family, then everything else.

     The Jounin grabbed one of the tomes, flipped it open to a particular page on the first try. His sturdy, tan finger came to settle on a portrait of some long-dead and largely forgotten priest of Hoki no Kuni. Whether they'd come from Utsuwa's order or not, he didn't know.

     "History is full of poor fools," he chuckled. "who lived for something larger than themselves - and died for it. Hung from a tree, forgotten by all. And this martyr is one of 'the lucky ones'."

     "'Cause someone bothered to write about him," he laughed before taking a gulp of his drink. "but this book, and you, and I, and everyone who'll have ever read it, will pass into dust. Why spend life sacrificing?"

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[Kyodai Utsuwa]

"'Tis rare that others deign to engage mine thoughts," Utsuwa said, a little surprised. They were used to unnerving others, making them uncomfortable, or simply boring them. But the shinobi was not just listening, he was engaging. It was... refreshing. They didn't agree with a word Ōshi said, but they were novel thoughts. Thoughts they wouldn't find in their scrolls, nor in the minds of most other Jashinists. "I am not certain that many would accept thy notion of justice. Rings of hedonism and avarice, truly," Utsuwa at least considered the notion. Ambition, family, the notion of national loyalty; did they even remember what it was like to possess those things? "It appears that thou laboureth under another misapprehension. Death is not some terrible end, nor a fate to be avoided. That instinct, that fear of obviation, is the root of all the suffering in the world. I care not to be remembered - only to have played my role in bringing the cycle of pain to an end." They glanced at the martyr in the book. In perfect honesty, the dead were of little interest to Utsuwa. If their words and deed had no knowledge in them, it was their duty to appreciate the beauty of their death, then to continue their mission.

"I care little for justice, thine or the masses'. Life begets suffering without fail. The most righteous of men, bereft the blessings of the true divine, suffers, and sows suff'ring. Therefore, it must needs either be extinguished, else sublimated. That is its purpose: to end, or bring others' to an end." Utsuwa leaned back in their seat, smiling widely. They may have looked and sounded like a learned, if unusual, scholar, were they not far too small for the furniture.

"Dost thou not suffer? Wilt thy last moments not be haunted by pain? Regret? Grief? Jashin-sama can cleanse thee of these fears." It seemed that Utsuwa was still insistent on proselytizing, trying to find some chink in Ōshi's convictions, to either tempt him with the relief from suffering, or to inspire him into service. But even they did not seem confident that it would work.

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     Kiyoshi laughed. "You live your life to die, and to help others to die?" Absurd, he thought while grinning. "Sounds like your ideology was made by a hurt man, who decided the best use of his miserable life was to hurt others. He couldn't have just died alone?"

     "Not everyone is so eager to abandon this world, or to blame their misfortunes on the base nature of the universe." Kiyoshi took another sip of his drink, swiveled the book back to himself and lazily flipped a few pages. "So, what? The grand plan is to kill everyone? And when everyone is dead, no one will suffer? Perhaps suffering is something you create in your own mind."

     "The world gives to each their own trials and tragedies, but it is always within you to decide how you react. No one can take that from you. Even at knifepoint, at the end of the plank, you and you along control your reactions and emotions. Decide not to be hurt, and you haven't been."

     The Jounin flagged down an employee, ordered some meat buns. "Life is not suffering, but a gift. Or more accurately, a test. You and yours failed that test, and now, what? Decided to throw a fit and crumple the sheets of the other students?"

Kyodai Utsuwa | 236 words

[Kyodai Utsuwa]

"Again, laboureth thou beneath the yoke of misconception," Utsuwa waved off the laughter and the snide grin. Their tone wasn't annoyed, as they were clearly trying to emulate the tone and timbre of a patient and wise teacher. "'Twas not the artifice of men, but of a god. Beneficent and absolute. An all-consuming eschatology beyond the politicking of men and the works of sorcery." Men spread the teachings. Wrote the scripture. Formed doctrine and practice. But the core of the faith, its mission, its blessings? They were divine. Transcendent.

They hoped that fervour, that surety came through their elated smile and wide, eyes. But there were other ways to give evidence to their claims, but... They glanced briefly to the proprietor of the establishment. There were other laws to follow. Unfortunate.

"'Tis not that we seek to die. I seek not even to kill. 'Tis merely that life hath no lasting purpose, naught of lasting worth, save for spending it in service to Jashin-sama. Though I freely admit that there are those who I call brother and sister that strive to offer the world made a red, dead ruin unto our god." Utsuwa shrugged, clearly thinking little of the distinction. Living or dead, the world was Jashin's right. Utsuwa planned to win hearts and minds, to seduce the suffering with succor, and plant suffering in the ignorant. Others planned to kill every nonbeliever. To paths. One summit.

They swayed in their seat, kicking their bare feet idly. "Decide not to be hurt? Pray tell, hast thou tasted the scourge? The whip? The brand? How much pain canst thou simply deny? How much loss? What would it take to drive thee to despair? To madness? Thy pain? Thy children's? Thy lovers'? Comrades'?" They weren't rhetorical questions. Something in the gleam in their eye betrayed that Utsuwa was very interested in learning that answer the only way it really could. It had been some time since they had helped lead another into Jashin's service.

"Life is indeed a gift - but selfishly taken in whole for the self guarantees naught but pain. But offer up a portion of it unto Jashin-sama, and thou shalt have life! Life bereft of pain, regret, suff'ring. We seek not to see thee fail, but to see thee succeed. Else to see thy suffering ended."

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     He merely laughed again. "And how would you teach others to achieve this success? Lock them in a room, given them a whip, and turn them into a flagellant?"

     "Is it not success to merely be happy? Is your Jashin such a selfish god as to demand a tithe of everyone, even non-believers? Else they be cursed with suffering?" Kiyoshi waved Utsuwa off dismissively. "I highly doubt your sect has all the secrets to doing away with misery. The rest of the world seems to do fine without - we don't wallow in it."

     "I've no need of your god to stave off suffering - I can do that myself, just fine. Humans aren't as powerless as your god would tell you. Besides," he said with a laugh. "at the end of the day, you serve Bishamon all the same - as does everyone, without knowing it. Most do it poorly, but all work towards their own idea of Justice. For you, that's serving Jashin - but your loyalties are misplaced."

     "You spend your time wondering about inflicting pain and suffering on others, acting like some kind of fool who eschews this world for some vague glory in the next. If there is, it's controlled by something bigger than you or me or Jashin or Bishamon - but I'd wager they would value a long, fulfilled life of Justice to... Whatever it is your cult does."

Kyodai Utsuwa | 231 words

[Kyodai Utsuwa]

"Physical pain, past the point of reason, to the point where one would sacrifice most anything - one's life, one's will, one's soul - to bring about its cessation... 'tis educational, not coercive. To give evidence to the sheer horror and pain this world promiseth each and every soul." Jashinists used torture. Utsuwa had been a participant, on both sides of the lash, the brand, the knife. But it was to edify, to educate. To show them exactly how dark and terrible the world was without Jashin's guidance.

But Ōshi did not see that way. Could not. Did he need the lash as well? Were he as blind as they once were? "'Tis not out of avarice that Jashin-sama lays claim to us. 'Tis out of a broad eschatology, to see all freed from pain, forevermore. Benevolence." Their words were not connecting, deflecting off the corrupted world's way of thinking. Small wonder that they had to rely on pain to cut through the prejudices of the world, to peel back the complex shades of the world, to reveal that it was a swirling pit of pain and misery, with only one rope to cling to, to be pulled out of it.

"We seek not to merely 'stave off' suff'ring. We can, will, and have eradicated it in whole. Jashin-sama's blessing did not allay mine suff'ring. Jashin-sama obviated it. I can no longer suffer." They answered simply, ignoring the claims about Bishamon. Let him think what he wished of that false god. When true pain came to him, he would be embraced by Jashin one way or another. Whether in death, or in service.

"Glory is not my right. I am but a humble and unworthy vessel of Jashin-sama's will, in this life, and in oblivion. I hope not for a world beyond this one, only peaceful oblivion when time outruns mine soul." Utsuwa smiled placidly. "Passing strange, thou'rt. Most deign not to engage me with rhetoric, instead of with threats and violence. Would that I could educate thee properly, Ōshi-dono, but mine hands art bound. And I suspect that thou'rt not willing to accompany me thither unto our cloister, to receive such education."

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     Kiyoshi bent over laughing, then leaned back with a wide grin, shaking his head. "What a vile excuse for a religion. Did they teach you these nonsensical arguments, or were you born skilled at leaps of logic?" He closed the tome and, along with the others, scooped them up into a bag next to him and cinched it shut.

     "I'd stand to learn more from how wrong you are, rather than anything this Jashin might teach. I have little concern for your little cult of maniacs, so long as you steer clear of Kaze no Kuni - though, Bishamon knows, I'd be doing the rest of the world a favor to treat you like the others do."

     He stood, downed the rest of his drink in one huge gulp, wiped his mouth. With a brush of his hand over his black-and-tan uniform, he cleared some crumbs, then hoisted the bag over his shoulder. "But I've time to kill, still, and I'd see this temple of yours - might be old enough to be interesting. I'll give you a chance to teach me something, at this cloister. Though I think you'll find neither words nor blade will wound me like your Jashin might insist they would, even without the blessing of my own god."

     Kiyoshi gestured for Utsuwa to lead the way, if they were serious about bringing him to this place of worship.

Kyodai Utsuwa | 231 words

[Kyodai Utsuwa]

There was a flicker of disappointment that their words were not connecting. But it was to be expected - the corrupted and self-satisfied nature of the unbelievers made them in receptive. The wisdom of Jashin became foolishness in their ears. Their expression brightened after a moment. The same was true for Utsuwa once.

Perhaps Ōshi would accept the truth as well, if he was properly educated.

"I hath spent the mine second life entire studying scripture. Coming to understand pain, and the world's relationship to it. That thee can not yet draw the same conclusions as I speaks only of thy ignorance of the capacity for the mind, body and soul to suffer." Not every pain could be borne. Not every hurt mended. But words would not suffice. Ōshi would need to experience it.

The apparent acceptance of their invitation filled Utsuwa with glee. There were few - if any - in this nation that would accept the blessing of a Jashinist willingly. Such a rare opportunity could not be squandered. They quickly rose, and promptly invaded the shinobi's personal space."Then we may begin thy education, thy edification posthaste, Ōshi-dono!" They extended a small, ink-staindd hand. "Pray, surrender thy arms, the tools of thy foul magicks. One can only enter the cloister as Jashin-sama's own, else an acolyte in potential, or a yet-living sacrifice. Which wilt thee choose?"

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     Kiyoshi opened his vest, popped open scroll pockets. "I carry no weapons. Bishamon's protection is enough. Does your god not provide for you?" he laughed as he closed his pouches back up.

     A rabid bunch of zealots instilled little more than curiosity in him. Even if his barriers were not provided by Bishamon himself, they provided similar protection to what He gave to his faithful - why Kiyoshi had studied them in the first place. And he wouldn't be alive, save for Bishamon. Isn't that the same as a gift?

     Further, he doubted it would come to much trouble - even if it did come to a fight. Kiyoshi doubted he was even the strongest in his village, but leveling a temple was well within his means. If push came to shove, he could simply fly away. That would likely be preferable. He had no reason to sully Sunagakure's good name in the eyes of the Daimyou of Hoki.

     "Lead the way, then." he said with a grin, as he tossed up a weak, invisible barrier - it covered the whole body, weak enough to not stop a concerted attack, but enough to give him warning. A little something he'd modeled after the Warriors. Could never be too safe.

     As they began to walk, he inquired about something. "Say, tell me a little about the history of this cult."

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[Kyodai Utsuwa]

"I wieldeth not any tools, for I am not worthy. Jashin-sama's grace is sufficient for a lowly vessel such as I." A humble response, given with a bright smile. The heathen was certainly proud. How lo.ng would it take for that pride to crumble, they wondered. What tool would it take? How much time? Falsehoods must needs be cast down before the truth could be erected in its place.

It didn't seem that Ōshi had chosen the path of a penitent, nor a sacrifice. Was he here to challenge the might of Jashin, or its adherents? To truly learn? Curiosity was sparked, and Utsuwa was resolved to learn. Even as they considered the tools that could pierce the protections of the shinobi's so-called god.

Utsuwa led the way as they were bid, bare feet trailing the familiar route back to the temple. They turned as they were spoken to, electing to walk backwards, hands clasped behind their back.
"There is much and more to say, for the deeds of Jashin-sama art great, as art the deeds of His devoted," They began, taking the tone of a lecturer or a priest. "In the roiling, primordial chaos of days past, Jashin-sama, a yet a nascent deity, saw wisdom as men and divinities alike raged 'gainst the bijuu. Focusing on the calamities these sacred-and-profane beasts wrought, neglecting their struggle against the enemy true: suff'ring. Treating symptoms, and poorly, instead of the root. Indeed - even in a world bereft of tailed beasts, is it not man's fate to suffer? Even gods may grieve and die." Utsuwa bumped a shoulder into a wall, and seemed not to notice, continuing their backwards stride, red eyes wide with devoted zeal as they taught. An abridged history, of course.

"And lo, did Jashin-sama devise a means to frustrate death and suff'ring entire. At great cost to His Divine self, did He grant this boon to His devoted. Thus mine forebears were charged with constructing the greatest temple of Jashin-sama, the seat of His power." Utsuwa paused, then tilted their head with a smile. "Not a place for thee, unless thou'rt willing to serve His Benevolence." Best to allay suspicions and dash hopes early. False hope was cruel. The only thing crueler was snatching it away. And Ōshi needed to suffer, in ways great and small.

"There, did Jashin-sama become a wellspring of power, shielding His faithful from pain, harm, and death, as we offereth up the divine spark within us in turn. But there are those who misuse the fragment of divinity. Taking it for themselves. Corrupting it, and making it profane. Evil. Foul. Unnatural. Ninjutsu, as thee and thine name it. With these dark and blasphemous arts were the bijuu sealed, leading to suffering and death to continue to wind 'round the hearts of men. Abandoning their struggle, losing themselves to their profanities, to the service of false and small-minded gods, ignorant of the true enemy that Jashin-sama wouldst slay for them, if they only offer their bodies in service." They had left out the evolution of theology, and the discussion of the Voices and Wraths that had interpreted and iterated upon the understanding of Jashin's will.

Utsuwa came to a halt before a simple wood and stone structure, the entrance to the courtyard marked with a torii. It wasn't large - a squat and humble temple, which could only house a handful of monks, and not many more worshippers. A humble cloister, indeed. Almost unremarkable, if one did not know the meaning of the triangle-and-circle mark on the tiles, and engraved on the arch of the torii. The wood was worn, and the stone clearly not freshly cut. The temple had been here for centuries. Utsuwa gestured to it all, throwing their arms wide.

"I would bid thee welcome, Ōshi-dono, but thou hath yet to answer mine query. Wilt thou pass through this gate as penitent, sacrifice, else a wayward soul in need of education? Pray but answer, and I and mine brethren shalt welcome thee with glad hearts. As will Jashin-sama."