ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH wiped the snow off his brow. He squinted through the harsh storm of pure, freezing white. His journey up the mountain had not been easy, and for all he knew, it may not be worth it, but at this point, he had no choice. He could either continue up the steps to the Monastery of the Novelty, or die on them. Every movement fought the cold, his bones struggling not to freeze. Finally, he saw it. A massive, orange, wooden door. It blocked a hole which had been carved into the mountainside, long ago, sometime in the first era. He approached it. He screamed over the gale surrounding him. "HELLO! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" He banged on the door as hard as his near-frozen joints would allow. "PLEASE!" Then, at ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH's great surprise, the door began to open. It was so large that the mountain rumbled gently. He ran inside, throwing off his cloak and knapsack. The hall which he now kneeled in was enormous. The ceilings had ornate carvings of legends which ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH had heard as a boy. Magical balls of light lined the walls. They were so bright, that the entire hallway was illuminated by only a handful of them. ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH was in such awe that he didn't notice the cloaked man who stood before him.

"What be thine name?" said the cloaked man. ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH looked up at him. The hood covered his face so that he couldn't be seen. "I'm- I'm ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH," said the half-frozen traveler. "And what brings thee to the Monastery of the Novelty?" Said the hooded man. He spoke with power and assertion, but there was gentleness in his voice. "I'm here to ask a question, m'lord."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"I want to know why it is you do what you do. Why any of you put such effort into your craft."

The hooded man chuckled. "Come with me, ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH. I will show you why we do what we do." The hooded man took ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH's hand. He moved across the floor with such fluidity that he seemed to be floating. As they moved through the halls, they passed door after door. They eventually came to the end of the hall, where there was another door. They went inside to find a library with more books than a man could read in a life time. "What is this?" said ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH. "This is where all the works of those who follow the way of the novelty land. To be specific, this is the general wing. Follow me." They continued to walk past the shelves until they stopped at another door which had the letters S_W carved into the wood. The hooded man knocked on it. "Sir Shitty?" he called. "Sir Shitty? Are you there?" The hooded man turned to ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH. "He must not be in. I apologize. Please, come this way."

"Wait, that was the Shitty_Watercolour? Sir Shitty_Watercolour?" said ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH.

"Yes, it was. Or his room, rather. He's an adventurous one. But he's always welcome here. Oh, look. We're here." The hooded man stopped walking. He opened a door which lead into a room with even more shelves. It was the first small room ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH had seen since arriving at the monastery. There were some small steps which lead to a bed at the other end of the room. In one corner, there was display case with a book inside. It was several thousand pages thick with a shield divided into quadrants on the cover. In each quadrant, there was a narwhal, a set of judgmental eyes, and strips of bacon. The letters BOR were written at the bottom.

"Admins be praised. You're the keeper of the book, are you not?" said ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH.

"Yes. I am. I've brought you here to tell you why we do what we do," he said, pulling a key out of his cloak. He unlocked the display case and pulled out the book. He flipped to a page within a second, having memorized the entire book's contents over the years. He read aloud,

"THE WAY OF THE NOVELTY IS NOT THE WAY OF THE LIGHT-HEARTED AND FEEBLE-MINDED. IT IS A WAY FRAUGHT WITH PERIL AND DOUBT. MANY CHOOSE NOT FOLLOW IT, AS THEY SEE IT AS THE WASTE OF A LIFE. WHAT THEY DO NOT KNOW IS THAT THE WAY OF THE NOVELTY IS NOT CHOSEN BY MEN. THE MEN ARE CHOSEN BY THE WAY OF THE NOVELTY. IT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT CAN BE CONTROLLED. IT IS AN URGE WITHOUT COMPARISON. A LIFESTYLE. A TALENT. THE WORKS OF THE PRIESTS OF THE NOVELTY ARE MORE THAN WORKS. THEY ARE THEIR CHILDREN. THE MANIFESTATION OF THEIR TALENT. A GIFT FROM THE ADMINS TO THE PRIESTS, AND THE PRIESTS TO THE WORLD. THIS IS THE WAY OF THE NOVLETY."

-ORIGINAL_MAMMOTH's Journey to the Monastery, Fourth Plane of Reality, at Mount Novelty's Peak in the province of /r/funny, Sixteenth year of the Second Era.