Post by Blackwater on Nov 8, 2013 21:06:48 GMT -5
Steam suffused the insulated tent masking all those present in a stuffy, white smog that poured into the skin and cleansed the body of the day’s exhaustion and filth. Beyond the steam-tent’s shelter the afternoon sun gloried in the sky, its zenith already passed and the worst of its humid heat languished as the cooling evening winds approaching from the Northern seas began to provide much appreciated relief. Hands cupped in his lap, Tang shifted uncomfortably as he remembered how naked he’d been when the young girl had ushered him through a doorway that lead beyond the Warlord’s mansion and into what he assumed would have been the outer region facing towards the mountain valley. Instead he immediately found himself nearly choked to death and during his fit of coughing the rumble of more than a few grown men filled the room with a low hum.
Regret immediately followed an attempt to break the silence of the setting as yet another inhale of evaporated water filled his lungs leaving the boy spluttering and gasping for air while the others chuckled at what they perceived to be ineptitude on his part. Of course it had been a tradition of the island to conduct meetings within a steam-tent. In a sense by stripping one’s clothing and allowing them the opportunity to soak in such a peace-inducing state it was a method that preserved the sanctity of honesty and forthrightness since a man needn’t lie when everything that he was had already been bared to those he was meeting with. Even so Tang had never heard of anyone—even in his younger days—meeting with the ruling Warlord in such a setting. The uneasiness which had been born from a girl younger than him examining him so intimately began to shift towards the purpose of this meeting; the Warlord never met with anyone unless it was to demand something of them. It was this relation that established the order within the Western District where martial artists ruled with power and viciousness.
“It would seem that all who have been summoned are finally present so I shall begin the meeting as was planned.”
There was no mistaking the power and authority that was in that voice. Only a man certain of his standing amongst his peers presumed to begin a meeting without first seeking the approval of others: the Warlord himself was lurking somewhere in the folds of the mist. Tang had suspected it, but proof of his assumptions only served to add to the tension tightening in a knot in his throat; if only he’d not been so homesick he might have avoided being involved in some nefarious plot to rule the land. Shaking his head under the invisibility granted by the steam, he cleared his mind of regrets and distractions. Now was not the time for pointless hopes—he needed to make sure that his home was not ruined by the ambitions of this tyrant. J
“For some time now we’ve been trying to solve a longstanding…problem. At first it seemed minute and we paid little mind to it, but now that our dojos have been attacked and our women taken from us we must address the matter. You all know of which issue I speak, yes?”
Again the intoning of the words demanded immediate response and it got just that. Amazement spread across the only recently estranged Tang as he heard the grunts and verbal agreements coming from all around, some as near to him as a hand stretch away. Likely there were over twenty men sitting in the room with him; the largest gathering of island sensei that had been assembled in memory. Careful to breath slowly before speaking Tang added his contribution to the conversation, “I’m afraid I have no knowledge of what is being discussed here. I would appreciate being brought to speed if it would so please my Lord.”
It may have been too much time spent with Jack Dancer, a man who reviled any semblance of authority, but when Tang spoke he felt a distinct dislike for having to use express his thoughts respectfully to someone he thought very little of. Impulse and conviction had always been his guide, but in Karate Island, temperance in response was literally beaten into the spirited youth who believed themselves the heroes of some great tale. Only fools failed to learn their lesson after suffering at the hands of an unforgiving warrior who required, not asked, for their submission.
“Of course, of course. Forgive me for not introducing you to the Consulate, Long-dono. Though you hardly need introduction as the son of Masahashi Long, do you? Gentleman please welcome the newest member of our Council; Tang Long of the 72 Demons”
Swallowing hard on the title bestowed upon him, the youth whose name had been elevated merely by association of the most violent clan head the island had seen in some time squirmed beneath the feigned acceptance of the old men surrounding him. A few hand reached in his direction, clapping on the shoulder, clasping his hand in greeting, but the false sincerity was evident in every interaction. Nobody here was happy to have such a large threat resurface when the power structure was finally shifting to favorable positions. Masahashi Long and his band of killers had been many things, but their belief in the old codes of warrior conduct where unnegotiable. In fact their enforcement of these unspoken laws had been the reason they were titled ‘Demons’. Any denizen, no matter their social standing, was subject to the adherence of the warrior code that was comprised of Bushi honor, Taoist philosophy, and Masahashi Long tyranny. In this way the Unrivaled Tiger controlled a hive’s nest of power hungry men with fear.
Now that man’s son had returned and many were displeased with the interruption that return presented to their plans. Though it may have been the lightheadedness of remaining in the steam too long, Tang felt the impression of many knives being sharpened for the purpose of impaling him in the back.
Regret immediately followed an attempt to break the silence of the setting as yet another inhale of evaporated water filled his lungs leaving the boy spluttering and gasping for air while the others chuckled at what they perceived to be ineptitude on his part. Of course it had been a tradition of the island to conduct meetings within a steam-tent. In a sense by stripping one’s clothing and allowing them the opportunity to soak in such a peace-inducing state it was a method that preserved the sanctity of honesty and forthrightness since a man needn’t lie when everything that he was had already been bared to those he was meeting with. Even so Tang had never heard of anyone—even in his younger days—meeting with the ruling Warlord in such a setting. The uneasiness which had been born from a girl younger than him examining him so intimately began to shift towards the purpose of this meeting; the Warlord never met with anyone unless it was to demand something of them. It was this relation that established the order within the Western District where martial artists ruled with power and viciousness.
“It would seem that all who have been summoned are finally present so I shall begin the meeting as was planned.”
There was no mistaking the power and authority that was in that voice. Only a man certain of his standing amongst his peers presumed to begin a meeting without first seeking the approval of others: the Warlord himself was lurking somewhere in the folds of the mist. Tang had suspected it, but proof of his assumptions only served to add to the tension tightening in a knot in his throat; if only he’d not been so homesick he might have avoided being involved in some nefarious plot to rule the land. Shaking his head under the invisibility granted by the steam, he cleared his mind of regrets and distractions. Now was not the time for pointless hopes—he needed to make sure that his home was not ruined by the ambitions of this tyrant. J
“For some time now we’ve been trying to solve a longstanding…problem. At first it seemed minute and we paid little mind to it, but now that our dojos have been attacked and our women taken from us we must address the matter. You all know of which issue I speak, yes?”
Again the intoning of the words demanded immediate response and it got just that. Amazement spread across the only recently estranged Tang as he heard the grunts and verbal agreements coming from all around, some as near to him as a hand stretch away. Likely there were over twenty men sitting in the room with him; the largest gathering of island sensei that had been assembled in memory. Careful to breath slowly before speaking Tang added his contribution to the conversation, “I’m afraid I have no knowledge of what is being discussed here. I would appreciate being brought to speed if it would so please my Lord.”
It may have been too much time spent with Jack Dancer, a man who reviled any semblance of authority, but when Tang spoke he felt a distinct dislike for having to use express his thoughts respectfully to someone he thought very little of. Impulse and conviction had always been his guide, but in Karate Island, temperance in response was literally beaten into the spirited youth who believed themselves the heroes of some great tale. Only fools failed to learn their lesson after suffering at the hands of an unforgiving warrior who required, not asked, for their submission.
“Of course, of course. Forgive me for not introducing you to the Consulate, Long-dono. Though you hardly need introduction as the son of Masahashi Long, do you? Gentleman please welcome the newest member of our Council; Tang Long of the 72 Demons”
Swallowing hard on the title bestowed upon him, the youth whose name had been elevated merely by association of the most violent clan head the island had seen in some time squirmed beneath the feigned acceptance of the old men surrounding him. A few hand reached in his direction, clapping on the shoulder, clasping his hand in greeting, but the false sincerity was evident in every interaction. Nobody here was happy to have such a large threat resurface when the power structure was finally shifting to favorable positions. Masahashi Long and his band of killers had been many things, but their belief in the old codes of warrior conduct where unnegotiable. In fact their enforcement of these unspoken laws had been the reason they were titled ‘Demons’. Any denizen, no matter their social standing, was subject to the adherence of the warrior code that was comprised of Bushi honor, Taoist philosophy, and Masahashi Long tyranny. In this way the Unrivaled Tiger controlled a hive’s nest of power hungry men with fear.
Now that man’s son had returned and many were displeased with the interruption that return presented to their plans. Though it may have been the lightheadedness of remaining in the steam too long, Tang felt the impression of many knives being sharpened for the purpose of impaling him in the back.