I came to the Storied Temple on my knees.

Trees, filled with flitting shadows and the chatter of monkeys, formed an emerald arch over the Pilgrim's Pathway. My wet-safe wicker basket, tied tightly around my waist and shoulders, creaked as I crawled through the mud.

Several times I heard a plap sound as something fell in the mud around me. It took me a while to realize the sound was not from falling rain, but from hard-shelled insects, dislodged from the trees above.

My knees were aching, and my hands were so caked with mud that I could barely lift them, but at last I saw the stony pillars of the Storied Temple rising like teeth from the forest floor.

The Eloquists were waiting for me. There were six of them, hooded in purple-grey robes, lined up on the crumbling steps of their temple. Slithering pillars of incense rose behind the Eloquists, and the closer I got, the more my nose burned with the acrid scent.

I hoisted my knee up onto the first stone step, and called out to them, "I've come a long way, in search of your help. I need you to show me how to write better stories!"

"You don't know what you need."

One of the Eloquists threw back his hood, revealing a haughty sneer on a wizened face. He was bald, and his skin was pale for a jungle-dweller.

"I admit," I shouted, daring to crawl up another step, "I am young, and my journey has only just begun. But I am filled with ideas, and I am willing to learn. If only you would tell me how-"

"Ideas?" the right-most Eloquist removed her hood, and spat. She, too, was ancient and hairless, "Ideas are worth nothing. You lack the true passion. You are not worth our time."

The central Eloquist, who stood taller than the others, turned away from me, and shuffled back toward the Temple.

"Wait!" I called out, "I want to write! Teach me, please!"

"You will never be more than a passing thought," one of them hissed, and turned away from me.

Sweat sprang out on my forehead. It felt as if the air had grown too thick to breathe.

One by one, they shuffled back to their Temple. The closing of the great stone doors was like a nail driving into my heart.

But I was not alone. Above me, the trees clattered and the branches shook. A long-armed beast cackled as it descended to the lower branches. It danced out on a low-hanging branch, and tapped my head with one of it's lanky arms.

"Go away!" I barked, "What do you want?"

The beast bared it's teeth in a vicious smile, and pointed at the temple.

"I can't!" I shouted, swatting ineffectively at the brave monkey, "Leave me alone!"

The monkey nodded it's golden head and snuffled, almost as if it was laughing. It swung away from me, and landed on the side of the temple. Slapping the stone with an open palm, it beckoned me closer.

That's when I saw it - a gaping, black hole, like the den of some unknown animal that had burrowed deep under the temple's stony haunches. It was so thickly-matted with vines and other leafy debris, that it would have been invisible if the golden-faced monkey hadn't pointed it out to me.

If the Eloquists could abandon me so easily, then why couldn't I abandon their idiotic traditions. For the first time in hours, I stood up. My knees screamed in pain, and my legs wobbled, but I stood up.

I took one last look at the stone doors of the Storied Temple, and headed towards the secret entrance.

More incoming!