Chasing Dragons

Member created stories, poems, & other creative work.
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kid
Dungeon Master
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Joined: Mon Aug 03, 2009 11:08 am

Re: Chasing Dragons

Post by kid »

Awesome.
<paazin>: internet relationships are really a great idea
Rumple C
Bard
Posts: 3561
Joined: Thu Jul 22, 2004 9:38 pm
Location: The ceiling.

Re: Chasing Dragons

Post by Rumple C »

Win one, Lose one.

The dance of battle is always played to the same impatient rhythm. What begins in a surge of violent motion is always reduced to the perfectly still.

...

All around Ang were the familiar sounds of the jungle. The hoots of the tree dwellers, the cackles of the laughing birds, and the rustles and hisses of the great lizards. They were somewhat comforting, yet despite all the life around him, Ang felt very alone. This was the first time in decades where he had not been in the company of his brother monks. No one to pinch his toes to wake him, no one to cook his rice, no one to honour him with their training. Instead he walked the rarely used overgrown path that snaked its way north towards the lands of the Lung. The jungle growth had begun to reclaim the path. Saw edged plants dragged and snagged at his robes, and he soon removed them, tying them to his walking staff above his gourd and monks bowl.

He shuffled along the path, dimly thinking about dragon spirits. The jungle thickened, as did the humid air. The jungle spirits perhaps, trying to keep him from brother dragon. He pressed on grimly, determined to free the temple from its curse. Tree dwellers witnessed his passing, but thought nothing of it.

Night soon fell, Ang unwrapping and tying his robes into a passable hammock between two trees. He slept uneasily and woke to discover insects crawling over him. He flicked them off with muttered apologies.

...

Many more days came and passed, and many footsteps were taken. He drank from the fast flowing rivers, ignoring the stagnant waters. When he hungered he would lift leaves and roots to his nose, inhaling deeply. His nose told him what was good, and what would bring the waste waters.

Eventually the jungle began to thin into plains. The bright sun making him squint and turning his skin to a deeper shade of bronze. Now the sky was visible, he started to follow the dragon star west. At night he prayed to the spirits of the land, and to the heavens themselves. He prayed for the temple, for his brother monks who were under some sort of malaise, and for strength to beat the dragon spirit until it withdrew its curse.

Every morning he would wake feeling refreshed and for the first time since he left, he began to walk with purpose. The dragon star lay low on the horizon, and would take a journey of seven million steps he judged. This was a good thing, for seven million was considered a fortuitous number. Legends often began with the pious worthy monk/spirit/god travelling this far to right a great wrong.

Some weeks into his journey west he came across a rice field. Tiered mud walls held great still pools from which sparse rice stalks grew. Ang grew heartened. Perhaps he would find more monks here. Surely they would offer him some of this rice. He began to circle the fields, looking for the farmers.

“Aaaaiiiieeeee!” came the shriek!

Ang looked up from the path he was picking. A golden skinned woman was pointing at him. In paddies further way figures became visible as they stood up from their labours. They too pointed and shouted. Women retreated, while men picked up their rice sticks and gathered together. Ang untied his robe from around his staff, and put it on.

They must have mistaken him for a pervert he decided, rather than a monk.

The farmers advanced en masse, calling at him to leave with strange accents. “I am Brother Ang, of the Huang temple!” he called out.

They waved their sticks in his direction, calling out that he was a liar and a pervert, and should move on if he didn’t want a severe beating. Ang sighed and circle away from the fields and pushed on west. His mood soured a little. He had really been hoping to meet some fellow monks.

He kept his robes on.

...

A few days later the fields changed to hills, and he came across a small track which he followed into a village. The market was in full swing. Rickety carts held hollowed out round of wood from which great cleavers dissected fly strewn meat. Hawkers called out their wares, men carried great sacks on backs long bent into curves. And had never seen anything like it. He wandered into the middle of the open squared market, staring.

Then they noticed him.

“Aaaaiiieeee!” came a womans cry, followed by a shattering noise as she dropped the clay pot full of water on the cobbles. Crack! Sploosh!

The market fell into a deathly silence all of a sudden as they stopped what they were doing to stare at him. From somewhere a baby began to wail. Ang looked around uneasily. Perhaps they had never seen a monk before?

Two men dashed off from one end of the market. No one moved, and Ang wondered if some kind of evil spirit now hovered over the square. Men and women began to back away from him, to the perceived safety of carts and alleys and the edge of the square. They put down their wares or loads, and slowly reached for cleavers or stout sticks, or loose cobbles. Then the noise started. An excited march from some streets away, movement with purpose. Men talking excitedly. From out of the streets streamed an arrowhead of men, headed by a well built man in long robes. Behind him were perhaps a dozen younger men and boys, in sweat drenched loose clothing. They advanced until the man stood not three steps from Ang, and he demanded “Explain yourself, spirit”.

Ang blinked at him with imbecilic eyes. “I am Brother Ang of the Huang Temple, and I travel west following the dragon star” he explained, expecting that clear up the obvious misunderstanding. An excited murmer started amongst the onlookers. They were silenced by a wave from the well built man. He was observed critically by the man.

“If that is true, then you must know the thirty five spirits of the lesser heaven” said the man with a smug smile. Ang nodded. The man looked at him, as though waiting for something. After a long moment he spoke. “Well?”

“Well, what?” asked Ang, confused.

“Name them!” demanded the man.

Ang began to recite their names by rote. “Mien Bo, Master of ropes, Bie Tza, Divine Eater, Bombastic Ma, Stable Hand, Wo Ai..”

He was cut off by the man. “Any jungle spirit might know that, if you are truly of the Huang temple, then you must know North Fist!”. Ang nodded again. “Then you must fight me!” declared the man rolling up his sleeves.

“Why?” asked Ang, wondering at what the confusing turn of events.

“To prove you are a monk, not a jungle spirit who has stolen monks robes!”.

Ang thought about that for a moment, and conceded how the unenlightened might make such a mistake.

“Very well”.

The students behind the Master formed into a large semi circle, and the crowd at the edge of the square surged forward to see the fight. Ang and the Master were soon surrounded by a large circle of excited men and woman who cheered on the Master.

“You can do it!”

“Break his face!”

“Use the Tiger Fist!”


Ang knew the Tiger Fist technique. It wasn’t a popular move amongst his temple, for it was easily countered with the Double Long strike. He kept that in the back of his mind as they raised palm to fist in the ritual which signaled the fight was to begin. The crowd dropped into silence as the man shuffled forward, his open hands held high in the classic style known as “Eight Skies”. Ang simply raised his great hands, and slid one leg foward. He traced a semi circle in front of himself with his toe, and cocked his leg, before dropping down with an explosive woosh of breath. “YAAARGGHH!”

The Master stepped back suddenly, startled perhaps by the change in Angs demeanor. He glanced to the crowd uneasily then advanced again on the monster. And the fight began in earnest. The master was good, Ang weathering an initial flurry on his forearms and shoulders, responding with a few open palmed strikes of his own. They backed off each other, the master nodding a little to himself. He changed stance again. This time crouching low with arms spread wide. Not a style Ang was familiar with. He kicked out, uncertainly, missing as the master weaved, and almost having his knee broken with a quick punch which glanced off to the side. Ang hopped back, rubbing his leg, the master grinning.

Very well then.

Ang clapped his hands together, then hissed ominously, closing his hands into fists. The crowd murmured again. Ang advanced with bad intentions, and the fight was joined. They exchanged blows, Ang accepting two for every one that he gave out. His blows landing harder, his strength and bulk knocking the smaller man around. The fight was eventually decided when the master threw a Tiger fist, leaving himself open for reprisal.

Time crystallized to a point.

Ang had been here before. Back at the temple. Hundreds, thousands of times. The opening was there. Eyes open, legs rooted to the ground like the Tang Mountains. He inhaled, gathering his chi. Drawing power from the ground beneath him, power from the legs, the waist, moving through his chakras, gathering in his shoulders, which exploded forth into his fists with the force of a river in full angry flood...

Both of Angs fists connected at once, one fist under the floating rib, the other in the arm pit, he held back from making it a lethal strike, but released the chi gathered in his fists so it was sure to debilitate. The master fell back on his side, writhing as his meridians recovered from the shock. “Double Long Strike counters Tiger Fist” confirmed Ang to no one in particular.

The master wheezed as he was helped to his feet by his students. Ang bowed slightly, one fist to his palm, suddenly realizing how sore he was. The Master returned the salute, declaring that this was indeed a monk, not a jungle spirit. The crowd shifted back a bit, people starting to return to their livelihoods, glancing at Ang often and talking excitedly of the fight.

He really needed someone running ahead of him telling everyone he was a monk, not a spirit, he decided. Unfortunately everyone he asked in the village that afternoon declined, though he was offered many bowls of rice, as was customary. He had to turn down one prospective student, with an apologetic smile, explaining that he had to beat an apology out of a dragon spirit far to the west.

Pride is considered one of the great failings. As he walked west from the village that evening, his stomach full, he had to admonish himself not to think the words “Huang Temple North Fist is number one!”.

The mental battle proved harder (if less bruising and painful) than the one back in the village.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
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Joos
Frost Giant
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Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2004 8:05 am
Location: Melbourne, Oz

Re: Chasing Dragons

Post by Joos »

Hey, it's been over two weeks without updates. Get to it, slacker.
Rumple C
Bard
Posts: 3561
Joined: Thu Jul 22, 2004 9:38 pm
Location: The ceiling.

Re: Chasing Dragons

Post by Rumple C »

Ang punched a guy in the face.
12.August.2015: Never forget.
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