*Artwork by Jukka Tahtinen
Chasing Dragons
Chasing Dragons
*Artwork by Jukka Tahtinen
Last edited by Rumple C on Tue Sep 24, 2013 10:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
Re: Chasing Dragons
2612 NY (Shou Reckoning)
When this is, that is.
From the arising of this comes the arising of that.
When this isn't, that isn't.
From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that.
...
Upon a world, upon a continent, in a poorly demarcated country largely notable for its mosquito infested jungle, was a great clearing. The clearing stretched for miles in each direction. For hundreds of years, thousands of men and women had laboured to remove trees, dig irrigation and great lakes, and raise temples to their gods. For most of them today was like any other day. The monks moved from area to area as their routines dictated. The faithful cooked rice in great troughs for the one meal of the day. The builders continued the labours of their parents. The great monastery was alive with life.
Today however WAS remarkable for one reason. For at the edges of that mosquito infested jungle crept a small bronze figure. A mixture of gray and tan. Of orc and man. Of evil and good. Though he knew nothing of either. To him, he just was.
With wide eyes and gaunt ribs he watched from the edge of the jungle at all the humans. More than all the birds in the trees, more than all the fish in the river. He puzzled at their clothes, and at the great stone things they made, and the noises they made with their mouths. Who were these strange people?
He watched until his stomach grew hungry, then slunk away again to eat some grubs.
...
He returned the next day, and the day after. Watching from the thick jungle. He moved to different areas, each showing new oddities. Then one day he saw people his own size. Children. They stood with legs crouched, and arms back, fists high at their sides. They stood like statues, while a taller one looked on. He watched, mesmerized. Were they sleeping? After a long time, the tall one spoke and they moved, running off to another area and out of his sight. He was hungry again, and retreated to eat soft leaves.
...
After many weeks of watching, he became older, and bolder, sneaking into the clearing at night, and walking to the great rice troughs. From there he picked at the small grains of rice left from the midday meal. He had never eaten anything like it. Soft and mushy without squirming like most maggots. He also found that the great stone buildings held the heat of the sun long after it went down, and he would lie against them, luxuriating in their warmth. These people must be gods he decided.
He thought long and hard on this one night, as he drifted off to sleep.
Against the stone building.
...
He awoke to dawn excited chittering. All around him were small children gods, pointing. He opened his eyes with panic, his heart fit to burst out his chest. A little god started to cry loudly. He scrambled to his feet, and ran. A larger boy god met him with a swinging arm at his chin height, and he knew sleep again.
...
He awoke again to deeper chittering. The larger gods this time. They loomed over him. He tried to scramble away again, but found himself yanked backwards by his hair. He struggled for a moment before a warning fist with two extended fingers was raised high above him. He froze in terror. His sudden lack of movement appeared to mollify the gods. They looked to each other and talked at length, pointing often to the jungle nearby. He imitated them, and also pointed to the jungle. They looked at him, then one another, then started talking again. He pointed again, but this had less effect the second time around. Deep inside his thick skull, and simple brain, a little surge of electricity passed between synapses, sending an idea to the decision part of his mind.
It was, up until this point in his life, his most insightful idea, ever.
He slowly stood to warning looks from the gods, and crouched his legs, drawing his fists high against his side, and his elbows back behind him. Perhaps he could fool them into thinking he was one of them.
It seemed to be working. Again they talked excitedly, though a few looked angry. He held the pose, imitating the smaller children gods he had seen earlier who stood like stones.
He stood.
Unmoving.
His thighs began to ache, but he put that pain aside.
Eventually a god moved next to him, and assumed the same pose.
The others left, shaking their heads.
The sun moved overhead, and neither of them moved from the painful position.
He dared to look sideways, and found the god unmoving. He turned his head back, congratulating himself on fooling the gods. He would just have to wait until this last one left, and he could escape back to the jungle.
The sun moved across the sky, sweat ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and his bowels opened, dropping waste between his feet.
When he started to snore, the monk next to him rose quietly from the horse stance and wondered at this strange bronze orc child. Clearly he had an unusual strength, being able to hold horse stance for a half day without moving, and remain thus while sleeping. Such a thing was unheard of among the humans. It was compelling enough that he would speak for him. He could not say what would happen the day after, but for today... for today the boy would be under his protection.
When this is, that is.
From the arising of this comes the arising of that.
When this isn't, that isn't.
From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that.
...
Upon a world, upon a continent, in a poorly demarcated country largely notable for its mosquito infested jungle, was a great clearing. The clearing stretched for miles in each direction. For hundreds of years, thousands of men and women had laboured to remove trees, dig irrigation and great lakes, and raise temples to their gods. For most of them today was like any other day. The monks moved from area to area as their routines dictated. The faithful cooked rice in great troughs for the one meal of the day. The builders continued the labours of their parents. The great monastery was alive with life.
Today however WAS remarkable for one reason. For at the edges of that mosquito infested jungle crept a small bronze figure. A mixture of gray and tan. Of orc and man. Of evil and good. Though he knew nothing of either. To him, he just was.
With wide eyes and gaunt ribs he watched from the edge of the jungle at all the humans. More than all the birds in the trees, more than all the fish in the river. He puzzled at their clothes, and at the great stone things they made, and the noises they made with their mouths. Who were these strange people?
He watched until his stomach grew hungry, then slunk away again to eat some grubs.
...
He returned the next day, and the day after. Watching from the thick jungle. He moved to different areas, each showing new oddities. Then one day he saw people his own size. Children. They stood with legs crouched, and arms back, fists high at their sides. They stood like statues, while a taller one looked on. He watched, mesmerized. Were they sleeping? After a long time, the tall one spoke and they moved, running off to another area and out of his sight. He was hungry again, and retreated to eat soft leaves.
...
After many weeks of watching, he became older, and bolder, sneaking into the clearing at night, and walking to the great rice troughs. From there he picked at the small grains of rice left from the midday meal. He had never eaten anything like it. Soft and mushy without squirming like most maggots. He also found that the great stone buildings held the heat of the sun long after it went down, and he would lie against them, luxuriating in their warmth. These people must be gods he decided.
He thought long and hard on this one night, as he drifted off to sleep.
Against the stone building.
...
He awoke to dawn excited chittering. All around him were small children gods, pointing. He opened his eyes with panic, his heart fit to burst out his chest. A little god started to cry loudly. He scrambled to his feet, and ran. A larger boy god met him with a swinging arm at his chin height, and he knew sleep again.
...
He awoke again to deeper chittering. The larger gods this time. They loomed over him. He tried to scramble away again, but found himself yanked backwards by his hair. He struggled for a moment before a warning fist with two extended fingers was raised high above him. He froze in terror. His sudden lack of movement appeared to mollify the gods. They looked to each other and talked at length, pointing often to the jungle nearby. He imitated them, and also pointed to the jungle. They looked at him, then one another, then started talking again. He pointed again, but this had less effect the second time around. Deep inside his thick skull, and simple brain, a little surge of electricity passed between synapses, sending an idea to the decision part of his mind.
It was, up until this point in his life, his most insightful idea, ever.
He slowly stood to warning looks from the gods, and crouched his legs, drawing his fists high against his side, and his elbows back behind him. Perhaps he could fool them into thinking he was one of them.
It seemed to be working. Again they talked excitedly, though a few looked angry. He held the pose, imitating the smaller children gods he had seen earlier who stood like stones.
He stood.
Unmoving.
His thighs began to ache, but he put that pain aside.
Eventually a god moved next to him, and assumed the same pose.
The others left, shaking their heads.
The sun moved overhead, and neither of them moved from the painful position.
He dared to look sideways, and found the god unmoving. He turned his head back, congratulating himself on fooling the gods. He would just have to wait until this last one left, and he could escape back to the jungle.
The sun moved across the sky, sweat ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and his bowels opened, dropping waste between his feet.
When he started to snore, the monk next to him rose quietly from the horse stance and wondered at this strange bronze orc child. Clearly he had an unusual strength, being able to hold horse stance for a half day without moving, and remain thus while sleeping. Such a thing was unheard of among the humans. It was compelling enough that he would speak for him. He could not say what would happen the day after, but for today... for today the boy would be under his protection.
Last edited by Rumple C on Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:06 pm, edited 2 times in total.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
-
Twin Axes
- Dungeon Master
- Posts: 1327
- Joined: Tue Jan 31, 2006 5:43 am
- Location: The Frozen North
- Contact:
Re: Chasing Dragons
Cool.
"[T]he dwarvern people, are machine-like, and it is impossible to reason with a machine." - Susana
-
Brokenbone
- Chosen of Forumamus, God of Forums
- Posts: 5771
- Joined: Mon May 16, 2005 1:07 am
- Location: London, Ontario, Canada
Re: Chasing Dragons
Squatting orc style. Best use of poo in a library entry for awhile.
ALFA NWN2 PCs: Rhaggot of the Bruised-Eye, and Bamshogbo
ALFA NWN1 PC: Jacobim Foxmantle
ALFA NWN1 Dead PC: Jon Shieldjack
DMA Staff
ALFA NWN1 PC: Jacobim Foxmantle
ALFA NWN1 Dead PC: Jon Shieldjack
DMA Staff
Re: Chasing Dragons
(I'd also like to claim the last library use of poo, in drow prison with Sweetwater. Poo is my genre.)Brokenbone wrote:Squatting orc style. Best use of poo in a library entry for awhile.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
Re: Chasing Dragons
2612 NY (Shou Reckoning)
Insignificant, is the loss of relatives, wealth and fame
The loss of wisdom is the greatest loss
Insignificant is the increase of relatives, wealth and fame
The increase of wisdom is the highest gain
Therefore, you should train yourselves thus
"We will grow in the increase of wisdom"
Thus you should train yourselves.
...
The great heat in the sky had come and gone many times over, and he had still not escaped. His plan to stay the gods vengeance had worked to well, for now they thought him one of them, and kept him close at all times. They chattered at him constantly, like birds. One sound they kept making, and he began to recognise and remember.
“Ang”.
His days were spent in imitation of the other child gods. He went were they went, and did what they did. They awoke before the heat did, and would wash themselves in the great still river that bore many pink flowers and green plate like plants that floated on the surface. He followed at a distance always, and watched them wide eyed. After rubbing themselves with mud, and washing it off (why?) then would put on the strange orange things, then go and stand like rocks until the heat warmed their bones. Then an elder god would come and chitter while the children watched. He could not understand why they did this. Why did they make noises with their eating holes? Because they were hungry?
He could only presume this was the case, because shortly after they would take the wood thing to the big hollow stone filled with rice, and fill their bowl. They ate in silence. Anyone who chattered at this time was struck by an elder god. He ate all his rice quickly. It was more food than he had known in the jungle, and the hollows in between his ribs soon began to fill. It was never enough though. Once he made the mistake of returning to the trough to fill his wood thing, and was struck across the face by an elder god. He fled back to the safety of the child gods. One patted him on the back, which caused him to flinch away. He did not understand how he had come to be here.
The afternoon saw them standing in rows again, and pushing their arms and legs out while making loud noises from their eating holes. He imitated them clumsily, and was too shy to make eating hole noises. No one seemed to notice at first.
One day though a elder god came and stood next to him, and grabbed his chin roughly, pulling his jaw down to look inside. “Yargh!” the elder god shouted, right in his face, before pulling his jaw down again. “Yargh!”.
“Aah?” the orc child croaked.
“Yargh!” the elder god corrected.
“Yaah?”
The elder god moved his head up and down in their fashion and left his side. The orc child wondered at this strange turn of events, even as he clumsily joined the shouts of the child gods.
As the great heat fled the gods would retreat to their caves and the warm stone within. Every night he would lie awake in wonderment until sleep took him. Some nights he would dream of being free again in the jungle.
He lived for those dreams.
Insignificant, is the loss of relatives, wealth and fame
The loss of wisdom is the greatest loss
Insignificant is the increase of relatives, wealth and fame
The increase of wisdom is the highest gain
Therefore, you should train yourselves thus
"We will grow in the increase of wisdom"
Thus you should train yourselves.
...
The great heat in the sky had come and gone many times over, and he had still not escaped. His plan to stay the gods vengeance had worked to well, for now they thought him one of them, and kept him close at all times. They chattered at him constantly, like birds. One sound they kept making, and he began to recognise and remember.
“Ang”.
His days were spent in imitation of the other child gods. He went were they went, and did what they did. They awoke before the heat did, and would wash themselves in the great still river that bore many pink flowers and green plate like plants that floated on the surface. He followed at a distance always, and watched them wide eyed. After rubbing themselves with mud, and washing it off (why?) then would put on the strange orange things, then go and stand like rocks until the heat warmed their bones. Then an elder god would come and chitter while the children watched. He could not understand why they did this. Why did they make noises with their eating holes? Because they were hungry?
He could only presume this was the case, because shortly after they would take the wood thing to the big hollow stone filled with rice, and fill their bowl. They ate in silence. Anyone who chattered at this time was struck by an elder god. He ate all his rice quickly. It was more food than he had known in the jungle, and the hollows in between his ribs soon began to fill. It was never enough though. Once he made the mistake of returning to the trough to fill his wood thing, and was struck across the face by an elder god. He fled back to the safety of the child gods. One patted him on the back, which caused him to flinch away. He did not understand how he had come to be here.
The afternoon saw them standing in rows again, and pushing their arms and legs out while making loud noises from their eating holes. He imitated them clumsily, and was too shy to make eating hole noises. No one seemed to notice at first.
One day though a elder god came and stood next to him, and grabbed his chin roughly, pulling his jaw down to look inside. “Yargh!” the elder god shouted, right in his face, before pulling his jaw down again. “Yargh!”.
“Aah?” the orc child croaked.
“Yargh!” the elder god corrected.
“Yaah?”
The elder god moved his head up and down in their fashion and left his side. The orc child wondered at this strange turn of events, even as he clumsily joined the shouts of the child gods.
As the great heat fled the gods would retreat to their caves and the warm stone within. Every night he would lie awake in wonderment until sleep took him. Some nights he would dream of being free again in the jungle.
He lived for those dreams.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
Re: Chasing Dragons
Perception defines reality.
Strength is itself, victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a perfect being.
...
He was older now, if not smarter, and had some appreciation of his place in the world. Indeed, now he had a name, and understood such. His name was Ang, and he followed the Path of Enlightenment. Whatever that was. The Path meant that every day they did the same thing. To find the Way. Whatever that was. Every day they would recite the blessed teachings of the path which had been revealed first in the Hungtse River provinces, blasted by red lightning into the sheer granite of the Cliffs of Tanghai. Since then the Path had spread throughout the east, and had even become the state religion of Shou Lung.
They inscriptions read...
Honor that which has gone before you. For the past is eternal.
Honor and respect your Elders and the Ancestors.
Show honor in word, thought, action and deed.
Speak not false words, nor engage in false deeds, for these are rightness under heaven.
Do honor to he who rules you, for the world is the Mirror of Heaven, and the Son of Heaven is the mirror of the Celestial One. Be obedient to your lord.
Engage in no base thing, nor commit murder, for to strike another in the name of anger is not rightness under heaven.
Do honor to those you must rule, for under the eye of Heaven, they are your equals. Be fair to those you rule.
Know that all things are One under Heaven, even the lowliest of creatures.
Such were the words prescribed by the celestial bureaucracy. Unbeknown to Ang, “wise” men who had spread the path had taken it upon themselves to expand the rules for the good of all. Indeed, the Path of Enlightenment followed by the monastery where Ang now learnt was either broader or narrower depending upon your definition. Monks, Wu Jen, and Shugenja were (in addition) now extolled to...
Eat not the flesh of the dead for that is the way of the dog, the lowest of animals.
Father a man for each that you kill, in this way the balance is maintained.
Plant a tree for each that you cut down, lest heaven (which the world is but a reflection of) run out of paper.
Such was the wisdom of the east. For only by following the Path could one find the Way. Everyone at the monastery knew they also wanted to be enlightened, so they studied and learnt with a zeal. Naturally Ang followed suit, and after many beatings could recite the tenants of the faith word for word. He did not always grasp the meaning or philosophy behind the words, but at least the beatings stopped.
Thus would their minds be trained and hardened daily by lessons upon the virtues of following the Path of Enlightenment.
To house such a well trained mind in a weak pale body was considered a sin, so daily would they train their bodies into a reflection of their minds. They would stand still as statues in meditations, learning to ignore the cries of their muscles, and the clamor of their bellies. They would balance upon their heads until gentle gusts of wind toppled them, bringing relief to faces swollen with blood.
And they would learn to fight, for the world was a wonderful and dangerous place.
They fought in the style known as Northern Fist, which emphasised heavy attacks to vital areas of the opponent’s body. And had learn many painful lessons about how to steal a mans breath, or incapacitate him with a well placed blow to the temples, chop to the neck, or stomp to the groin. For all his shortcomings in truly understanding the Path of Enlightenment beyond superficial recitations, in fighting he excelled. His natural size, strength, and resilience making him both a prime student, and a prime target for teachers who did not appreciate his sub-human nature.
He had endured a broken elbow, a dislocated shoulder, knee, and jaw. Two eye strikes. Uncountable punches to the 3rd chakra. Suffocation, auto-suffocation, and more than one count of food poisoning. Though he knew it not, the only reason he still lived was concern for the tenant “You must father a man for each that you kill”. Few were willing to brave the wrath of heaven, and their was uncertainty about wether a human child would replace an orc. The alternative meaning they would have to convince a gray orc woman to take their vital seed.
There was no tenant against beating Ang to a gray orc mush though, and today saw such a lesson being administered under the guide of fending off multiple opponents.
He had done well at first, dropping one junior student with a long punch to the temple, then another with an elbow to the chin. Four others then piled on top of him, and he went down in a flurry of strikes. After a minute of being beaten the lesson was over. As Ang weakly crawled back to the edge of the training circle, touching his split lip with a bleeding tongue he remembered one thing above all.
How the elder gods continued to honor him with all this additional training.
Strength is itself, victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a perfect being.
...
He was older now, if not smarter, and had some appreciation of his place in the world. Indeed, now he had a name, and understood such. His name was Ang, and he followed the Path of Enlightenment. Whatever that was. The Path meant that every day they did the same thing. To find the Way. Whatever that was. Every day they would recite the blessed teachings of the path which had been revealed first in the Hungtse River provinces, blasted by red lightning into the sheer granite of the Cliffs of Tanghai. Since then the Path had spread throughout the east, and had even become the state religion of Shou Lung.
They inscriptions read...
Honor that which has gone before you. For the past is eternal.
Honor and respect your Elders and the Ancestors.
Show honor in word, thought, action and deed.
Speak not false words, nor engage in false deeds, for these are rightness under heaven.
Do honor to he who rules you, for the world is the Mirror of Heaven, and the Son of Heaven is the mirror of the Celestial One. Be obedient to your lord.
Engage in no base thing, nor commit murder, for to strike another in the name of anger is not rightness under heaven.
Do honor to those you must rule, for under the eye of Heaven, they are your equals. Be fair to those you rule.
Know that all things are One under Heaven, even the lowliest of creatures.
Such were the words prescribed by the celestial bureaucracy. Unbeknown to Ang, “wise” men who had spread the path had taken it upon themselves to expand the rules for the good of all. Indeed, the Path of Enlightenment followed by the monastery where Ang now learnt was either broader or narrower depending upon your definition. Monks, Wu Jen, and Shugenja were (in addition) now extolled to...
Eat not the flesh of the dead for that is the way of the dog, the lowest of animals.
Father a man for each that you kill, in this way the balance is maintained.
Plant a tree for each that you cut down, lest heaven (which the world is but a reflection of) run out of paper.
Such was the wisdom of the east. For only by following the Path could one find the Way. Everyone at the monastery knew they also wanted to be enlightened, so they studied and learnt with a zeal. Naturally Ang followed suit, and after many beatings could recite the tenants of the faith word for word. He did not always grasp the meaning or philosophy behind the words, but at least the beatings stopped.
Thus would their minds be trained and hardened daily by lessons upon the virtues of following the Path of Enlightenment.
To house such a well trained mind in a weak pale body was considered a sin, so daily would they train their bodies into a reflection of their minds. They would stand still as statues in meditations, learning to ignore the cries of their muscles, and the clamor of their bellies. They would balance upon their heads until gentle gusts of wind toppled them, bringing relief to faces swollen with blood.
And they would learn to fight, for the world was a wonderful and dangerous place.
They fought in the style known as Northern Fist, which emphasised heavy attacks to vital areas of the opponent’s body. And had learn many painful lessons about how to steal a mans breath, or incapacitate him with a well placed blow to the temples, chop to the neck, or stomp to the groin. For all his shortcomings in truly understanding the Path of Enlightenment beyond superficial recitations, in fighting he excelled. His natural size, strength, and resilience making him both a prime student, and a prime target for teachers who did not appreciate his sub-human nature.
He had endured a broken elbow, a dislocated shoulder, knee, and jaw. Two eye strikes. Uncountable punches to the 3rd chakra. Suffocation, auto-suffocation, and more than one count of food poisoning. Though he knew it not, the only reason he still lived was concern for the tenant “You must father a man for each that you kill”. Few were willing to brave the wrath of heaven, and their was uncertainty about wether a human child would replace an orc. The alternative meaning they would have to convince a gray orc woman to take their vital seed.
There was no tenant against beating Ang to a gray orc mush though, and today saw such a lesson being administered under the guide of fending off multiple opponents.
He had done well at first, dropping one junior student with a long punch to the temple, then another with an elbow to the chin. Four others then piled on top of him, and he went down in a flurry of strikes. After a minute of being beaten the lesson was over. As Ang weakly crawled back to the edge of the training circle, touching his split lip with a bleeding tongue he remembered one thing above all.
How the elder gods continued to honor him with all this additional training.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
Re: Chasing Dragons
The Will of Heaven.
Meeting is only the beginning of separation.
...
Lin Cho adjusted his ceremonial robes, and shifted slightly on his cushion. Three years ago he had been dragged from his horse by brigands, and broken his coccyx in the process. It bothered him in humid climates, or when there was a storm coming. Alas, the monastery where he now visited as the imperial representative sat within a very humid jungle, and Lin Cho felt it keenly. A young monk brought him a steaming tea cup, upon a simple wooden platter. Etiquette would have demanded a jade platter, but Lin Cho let the slight pass unnoticed. The people of the jungle lands were, after all, uncivilized.
At least the tea was the right color.
He swept back his long sleeve, to reveal a arm criss-crossed with the scars of a dozen battles. He had been quite the general until the unfortunate accident which left him unable to ride. No longer able to lead, but unwilling to retire, he was carried ever where by palanquin now, on the business of the emperor of Shou Lung.
“What do you think of our North Fist techniques?” asked the abbot seated to his right. Jolted from his own discomfort and musings he pretended to appreciate the monks training below them, feigning a look of interest. He had always considered North Fist to be an inferior art, especially to his own White Tiger style. The monks leapt and jumped, and punched at the air. He inwardly yawned, until a flash of bronze caught his eye. The abbot caught his look of surprise.
“That is brother Ang, he found us as a child”. Lin Cho nodded politely and hid his disgust at the orc.
“He follows the Path?” Lin Cho asked, a slightly dangerous tone in his voice. It would seem all that he had heard of this place was right.
The abbot nodded and replied “In all fairness I cannot say that he is a scholar, not by any means, but he is very devout”.
“Yargh!” came the shouts from those training. Lin Cho could not pick the orc voice from the monks below. He inwardly shrugged and simply added another black mark against this monastery on the tally in his mind.
Lin Cho sipped politely then set aside his tea (inferior) and turned his attention back to the Abbot sitting next to him. “Brother Abbot Pho, I must thank you for the hospitality you have extended to myself. The emperor has heard of your devotion to the Path and is pleased, he sends his regards, and gifts”. Lin Cho reached into a voluminous sleeve and produced a scroll. He carefully untied the golden ribbon around it, and read aloud. “Ten chests of silver taels, five bolts of orange silk, a dozen ivory needles, one thousand bowls, and seven barrels of opiates”.
The abbot nodded politely then inquired “Ambassador Lin, forgive me, but i have never heard of these opiates before”.
Lin Cho nodded. “They are being used in the north as meditation aids, there are instruction on their proper use in the barrels”.
The abbot inclined his head politely. Lin Cho smiled ourwardly, smirked inwardly, then bowed his head in return, and turned to pick up his tea. Both turned their attention back to the monks practicing below.
The Will of Heaven had been done.
Meeting is only the beginning of separation.
...
Lin Cho adjusted his ceremonial robes, and shifted slightly on his cushion. Three years ago he had been dragged from his horse by brigands, and broken his coccyx in the process. It bothered him in humid climates, or when there was a storm coming. Alas, the monastery where he now visited as the imperial representative sat within a very humid jungle, and Lin Cho felt it keenly. A young monk brought him a steaming tea cup, upon a simple wooden platter. Etiquette would have demanded a jade platter, but Lin Cho let the slight pass unnoticed. The people of the jungle lands were, after all, uncivilized.
At least the tea was the right color.
He swept back his long sleeve, to reveal a arm criss-crossed with the scars of a dozen battles. He had been quite the general until the unfortunate accident which left him unable to ride. No longer able to lead, but unwilling to retire, he was carried ever where by palanquin now, on the business of the emperor of Shou Lung.
“What do you think of our North Fist techniques?” asked the abbot seated to his right. Jolted from his own discomfort and musings he pretended to appreciate the monks training below them, feigning a look of interest. He had always considered North Fist to be an inferior art, especially to his own White Tiger style. The monks leapt and jumped, and punched at the air. He inwardly yawned, until a flash of bronze caught his eye. The abbot caught his look of surprise.
“That is brother Ang, he found us as a child”. Lin Cho nodded politely and hid his disgust at the orc.
“He follows the Path?” Lin Cho asked, a slightly dangerous tone in his voice. It would seem all that he had heard of this place was right.
The abbot nodded and replied “In all fairness I cannot say that he is a scholar, not by any means, but he is very devout”.
“Yargh!” came the shouts from those training. Lin Cho could not pick the orc voice from the monks below. He inwardly shrugged and simply added another black mark against this monastery on the tally in his mind.
Lin Cho sipped politely then set aside his tea (inferior) and turned his attention back to the Abbot sitting next to him. “Brother Abbot Pho, I must thank you for the hospitality you have extended to myself. The emperor has heard of your devotion to the Path and is pleased, he sends his regards, and gifts”. Lin Cho reached into a voluminous sleeve and produced a scroll. He carefully untied the golden ribbon around it, and read aloud. “Ten chests of silver taels, five bolts of orange silk, a dozen ivory needles, one thousand bowls, and seven barrels of opiates”.
The abbot nodded politely then inquired “Ambassador Lin, forgive me, but i have never heard of these opiates before”.
Lin Cho nodded. “They are being used in the north as meditation aids, there are instruction on their proper use in the barrels”.
The abbot inclined his head politely. Lin Cho smiled ourwardly, smirked inwardly, then bowed his head in return, and turned to pick up his tea. Both turned their attention back to the monks practicing below.
The Will of Heaven had been done.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
Re: Chasing Dragons
This story is very good. Please keep it up.
Re: Chasing Dragons
It is.
And as a preemptive strike... (and my good deed for the day)
Shut up Galadron.
And as a preemptive strike... (and my good deed for the day)
Shut up Galadron.
<paazin>: internet relationships are really a great idea
Re: Chasing Dragons
Hey there kid, what happened to you? you used to be "half" decent, and go fuck yourself.
Good stories above, keep it up!
Rumple you're an awesome writer, cheers.
-G
Good stories above, keep it up!
Rumple you're an awesome writer, cheers.-G
-
JonnyJerny
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Re: Chasing Dragons
yikes shots fired
[22:46] <Ronan_> I once stabbed a man in Reno just to watch him bleed.
Re: Chasing Dragons
Blowing in circles.
Strong and healthy, who thinks of sickness until it strikes like lightning?
Preoccupied with the world, who thinks of death, until it arrives like thunder?
..
Ang sat in the lotus position at his masters feet. His large legs made this awkward, but years of training meant that he was remarkably flexible, despite his bulky frame. He waited. And waited some more. Above him, his master stirred in his meditation box. Groggily his master woke, rubbed his eyes, and smacked his dry mouth a few times. He seemed oblivious to Ang as he fumbled with shaky hands for something tucked behind him.
“Master” Ang spoke softly.
His monk master finally seemed to notice him, though he did not seem pleased. He coughed harshly, then less than discretely spat a little blood into a orange cloth at his side. He stopped fumbling behind him.
“Ang, what are you doing here?” asked his master, slurring and speaking slowly.
“It is time for sutras” Ang looked upwards as he spoke, wondering why his Master was looking far more frail by the day.
His Master looked irritated as he leant back in his meditation box. He started fumbling behind himself again. “Recite then”. Ang felt relieved as the routine returned to an almost normal state, and began to recite the seven times seven holy sutras that dealt with monkly obligation. Above him his master nodded occasionally and brought forth a pipe which he lit from a small coal kept in a clay pot. Ang spoke on...
“... and beware meat and eggs and milk, for they lewd the flesh towards fornication...”
Above him, his master puffed, and a cloud of white smoke floated. It stung Angs highly sensitive nose with its acrid smoke. He snorted involuntarily then coughed, and looked up to his Master who had sighed contentedly with a misty eyed dreamy look. His Master slurred “You have mastered the seven times seven holy sutras, i can see that, now leave me be, i have dragons to chase”. Ang looked around for dragons, but saw none. Obedient as he was though, he unfolded his legs from the lotus position, gathered his robes about him, and rose to leave.
“Ang...” called his Masters voice softly. Ang turned and waited patiently. After a long minute he looked back into the small room. His Master had fallen asleep again, the pipe still smoking in his hand.
Ang walked out into the twilight, his eyes feeling far more comfortable as the sun gave way to its sister, the moon. He rubbed his eyes which were sore from the smoke in his Masters room. Slowly they adjusted to the gathering gloom, and colors began to turn to heat. Shades of red and blue showing warmth and cold, respectively. Here and there monks sprawled where they shouldn't. Weeds had begun to grow between cracks in the great stone pavements. The rice from the mid-day meal was still clumped in the great stone trough, despite the late hour. From the jungle a small tree dweller scampered on all fours, before joyfully jumping and cavorting in the rice, pushing it into his mouth until his cheeks bulged. A nearby monk lazily looked over, and halfheartedly waved it away.
The tree dweller met Angs gaze and locked eyes with him. Ang dimly wondered if it was a messenger from the heavens. If it was, then what was it trying to tell him by rubbing rice that should have been cleared hours ago, all over its belly? Ang pondered, but try as he might, he could pick no higher meaning from this most primitive of animals.
When it started humping the rice, he decided that it was probably just a tree dweller.
Strong and healthy, who thinks of sickness until it strikes like lightning?
Preoccupied with the world, who thinks of death, until it arrives like thunder?
..
Ang sat in the lotus position at his masters feet. His large legs made this awkward, but years of training meant that he was remarkably flexible, despite his bulky frame. He waited. And waited some more. Above him, his master stirred in his meditation box. Groggily his master woke, rubbed his eyes, and smacked his dry mouth a few times. He seemed oblivious to Ang as he fumbled with shaky hands for something tucked behind him.
“Master” Ang spoke softly.
His monk master finally seemed to notice him, though he did not seem pleased. He coughed harshly, then less than discretely spat a little blood into a orange cloth at his side. He stopped fumbling behind him.
“Ang, what are you doing here?” asked his master, slurring and speaking slowly.
“It is time for sutras” Ang looked upwards as he spoke, wondering why his Master was looking far more frail by the day.
His Master looked irritated as he leant back in his meditation box. He started fumbling behind himself again. “Recite then”. Ang felt relieved as the routine returned to an almost normal state, and began to recite the seven times seven holy sutras that dealt with monkly obligation. Above him his master nodded occasionally and brought forth a pipe which he lit from a small coal kept in a clay pot. Ang spoke on...
“... and beware meat and eggs and milk, for they lewd the flesh towards fornication...”
Above him, his master puffed, and a cloud of white smoke floated. It stung Angs highly sensitive nose with its acrid smoke. He snorted involuntarily then coughed, and looked up to his Master who had sighed contentedly with a misty eyed dreamy look. His Master slurred “You have mastered the seven times seven holy sutras, i can see that, now leave me be, i have dragons to chase”. Ang looked around for dragons, but saw none. Obedient as he was though, he unfolded his legs from the lotus position, gathered his robes about him, and rose to leave.
“Ang...” called his Masters voice softly. Ang turned and waited patiently. After a long minute he looked back into the small room. His Master had fallen asleep again, the pipe still smoking in his hand.
Ang walked out into the twilight, his eyes feeling far more comfortable as the sun gave way to its sister, the moon. He rubbed his eyes which were sore from the smoke in his Masters room. Slowly they adjusted to the gathering gloom, and colors began to turn to heat. Shades of red and blue showing warmth and cold, respectively. Here and there monks sprawled where they shouldn't. Weeds had begun to grow between cracks in the great stone pavements. The rice from the mid-day meal was still clumped in the great stone trough, despite the late hour. From the jungle a small tree dweller scampered on all fours, before joyfully jumping and cavorting in the rice, pushing it into his mouth until his cheeks bulged. A nearby monk lazily looked over, and halfheartedly waved it away.
The tree dweller met Angs gaze and locked eyes with him. Ang dimly wondered if it was a messenger from the heavens. If it was, then what was it trying to tell him by rubbing rice that should have been cleared hours ago, all over its belly? Ang pondered, but try as he might, he could pick no higher meaning from this most primitive of animals.
When it started humping the rice, he decided that it was probably just a tree dweller.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
Re: Chasing Dragons
The bough breaking
You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself
...
The monk lifted his saffron robes, and hurried up the stone stairs. Familiar steps greeted his sandaled feet with well worn hollows from countless conveyances. He paid them no heed however, far more immediate things occupied his mind. At the top of the stairs the monk ritually removed his sandals and ritually washed his feet. He took the prescribed seven steps to the entrance way, and stepped over the humility beam, humbling himself as he entered the temple proper. In front of him was a great statue of Kwan Ying, spirit of compassion.
The monk prostrated himself, then rose to light three sticks of incense with more urgency than was customary. Had there been any other monks there he would have earnt a sharp rebuke. There were not however, as most of the spiritual adherents of the Way spent their day making use of the meditation aids and sleeping. With the incense lit the monk moved to the right of the statue and took the corridor to the inner sanctum. Here he would find the abbot, the heavens willing.
And so it was.
Once again the monk prostrated himself in front of the abbot and waited to be recognised. “Amitahba” came the ritual greeting. The monk rose and returned it, then spoke, words spilling out of his mouth like a flood.
“Lord High Abbot, Junior Brother Ang is leaving! He says he must go and find the Dragon Spirit which has cursed the temple!”. The words came out excitedly. The Abbot regarded the monk with sadness and wisdom in his eyes.
“Then we shall let him go, fetch thirty silver taels for him, and bid him to follow the Dragon star.”
“But Abbot...” the monk trailed off realising his place.
“It is better he leaves, we have failed him. Perhaps he is right, and we have been cursed” muttered the Abbot moodily, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown “or we have cursed ourselves” he thought inwardly.
The monk nodded and prostrated himself once more. He looked up from the floor and spoke. “Abbot... what do you see in his future? Will he find the Dragon Spirit?”.
The Abbot reached over to his joss sticks, and tipped them into a small pile. He looked at them, wordlessly for a long moment before speaking. “Bid Ang know this. Beware the failings of fallible beings. Beware of viper spirit when the sun is at its peak. For you all things are possible, for you are enlightened, now go”. The monk nodded and rose and left in a swirl of orange and red.
The abbot sighed and looked back at the Joss sticks.
He hated lying.
You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself
...
The monk lifted his saffron robes, and hurried up the stone stairs. Familiar steps greeted his sandaled feet with well worn hollows from countless conveyances. He paid them no heed however, far more immediate things occupied his mind. At the top of the stairs the monk ritually removed his sandals and ritually washed his feet. He took the prescribed seven steps to the entrance way, and stepped over the humility beam, humbling himself as he entered the temple proper. In front of him was a great statue of Kwan Ying, spirit of compassion.
The monk prostrated himself, then rose to light three sticks of incense with more urgency than was customary. Had there been any other monks there he would have earnt a sharp rebuke. There were not however, as most of the spiritual adherents of the Way spent their day making use of the meditation aids and sleeping. With the incense lit the monk moved to the right of the statue and took the corridor to the inner sanctum. Here he would find the abbot, the heavens willing.
And so it was.
Once again the monk prostrated himself in front of the abbot and waited to be recognised. “Amitahba” came the ritual greeting. The monk rose and returned it, then spoke, words spilling out of his mouth like a flood.
“Lord High Abbot, Junior Brother Ang is leaving! He says he must go and find the Dragon Spirit which has cursed the temple!”. The words came out excitedly. The Abbot regarded the monk with sadness and wisdom in his eyes.
“Then we shall let him go, fetch thirty silver taels for him, and bid him to follow the Dragon star.”
“But Abbot...” the monk trailed off realising his place.
“It is better he leaves, we have failed him. Perhaps he is right, and we have been cursed” muttered the Abbot moodily, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown “or we have cursed ourselves” he thought inwardly.
The monk nodded and prostrated himself once more. He looked up from the floor and spoke. “Abbot... what do you see in his future? Will he find the Dragon Spirit?”.
The Abbot reached over to his joss sticks, and tipped them into a small pile. He looked at them, wordlessly for a long moment before speaking. “Bid Ang know this. Beware the failings of fallible beings. Beware of viper spirit when the sun is at its peak. For you all things are possible, for you are enlightened, now go”. The monk nodded and rose and left in a swirl of orange and red.
The abbot sighed and looked back at the Joss sticks.
He hated lying.
12.August.2015: Never forget.