The Mountain Hod
The wind howls and roars and speeds it’s way upward along the steep stone wall of the mountain Hod. The snows are thrown into the air and whipped around the peaks and crags of it’s two smaller companions, the mountains M’gar and Suilk. Then the snow, being stirred into frenzy by the maddening winds is thrown high into the air. It passes a splinter of stone that protrudes from Hod out into the sky a thousand feet above M’gar. Upon this splinter sits a monk. He is wrapped in robes with the hood pulled over his shaven head. He is meditating here, and training.
“Breath of the Ashen gate.”
He whispers, and his hand moves in the air. The snow melts from his robes and dries into the air with a hiss.
He stands, turns and faces the mountainside. This is his most powerful move, and the hardest he has yet to master. He plants his feet on the rock and drops into his stance. Shifting a foot on the precarious outcrop he launches into it, sailing high into the sky. His arms move in a complex motion before he thrusts them out in front of him and exhales.
“Breath of the Ashen Gate!”
He yells, and the snow on the mountain Hod melts. It pours down the mountainside in a great flood cracking off the splinter of stone and sending it crashing down into M’Gar breaking off of the smaller mountain a piece of rock the size of a small village.
The water falls onto the lower slopes of the mountain through the not yet melted snow, and it too melts. The mountain Hod sheds it’s winter skin. The water collects into a lake around the bottom of the mountain, deep enough to hide a sea dragon.
The monk lands lightly onto the lake, placing his hand carefully on the water so as not to break its surface. He walks to the shore of the new lake and greets his master with a bow.
“I have completed my training.” He says.
“Show me.” Replies his master.
So the younger monk closes his eyes and prepares to show his master that he has indeed mastered his art. He places his hands together and begins.
“Wind of a thousand Leaves.” He breathes and the wind stirs, sending a thousand and more leaves spiralling out of the forest. They weave through the air above the young monk in patterns too complex and too beautiful to behold without drawing a breath.
The Master draws a breath and smiles.
“The Million sword strikes of Mo Tai Ao!” Calls out the younger monk as he leaps into the air.
A sword flies to his hand as he ascends into the leaves, becoming part of the pattern. There is a blur, and the leaves fly apart, first shredded, then cut into even finer pieces as the younger monk completes his second technique.
The remains of the leaves fall neatly into the lake as the young monk falls to the lakeside, sword held ready.
“BREATH OF THE ASHEN GATE!” He booms, and shifts his foot. He moves his arms in a complex motion, weaving the sword back and forth at the lakeside. He then points at the lake and exhales.
Smoke rises from the lake, and bubbles begin to appear over its entirety as the water boils. Steam rises into the air in great clouds, obscuring the young monk’s vision.
He moves to the lake edge, pushing against the heat, and kneels at the water. Taking a cup from his robes he scoops out a cupful and takes it to his master.
The master studies the water with a careful eye before taking a sip.
“Very good, very good.” He says. “However you forgot milk and sugar.”
“Breath of the Ashen gate.”
He whispers, and his hand moves in the air. The snow melts from his robes and dries into the air with a hiss.
He stands, turns and faces the mountainside. This is his most powerful move, and the hardest he has yet to master. He plants his feet on the rock and drops into his stance. Shifting a foot on the precarious outcrop he launches into it, sailing high into the sky. His arms move in a complex motion before he thrusts them out in front of him and exhales.
“Breath of the Ashen Gate!”
He yells, and the snow on the mountain Hod melts. It pours down the mountainside in a great flood cracking off the splinter of stone and sending it crashing down into M’Gar breaking off of the smaller mountain a piece of rock the size of a small village.
The water falls onto the lower slopes of the mountain through the not yet melted snow, and it too melts. The mountain Hod sheds it’s winter skin. The water collects into a lake around the bottom of the mountain, deep enough to hide a sea dragon.
The monk lands lightly onto the lake, placing his hand carefully on the water so as not to break its surface. He walks to the shore of the new lake and greets his master with a bow.
“I have completed my training.” He says.
“Show me.” Replies his master.
So the younger monk closes his eyes and prepares to show his master that he has indeed mastered his art. He places his hands together and begins.
“Wind of a thousand Leaves.” He breathes and the wind stirs, sending a thousand and more leaves spiralling out of the forest. They weave through the air above the young monk in patterns too complex and too beautiful to behold without drawing a breath.
The Master draws a breath and smiles.
“The Million sword strikes of Mo Tai Ao!” Calls out the younger monk as he leaps into the air.
A sword flies to his hand as he ascends into the leaves, becoming part of the pattern. There is a blur, and the leaves fly apart, first shredded, then cut into even finer pieces as the younger monk completes his second technique.
The remains of the leaves fall neatly into the lake as the young monk falls to the lakeside, sword held ready.
“BREATH OF THE ASHEN GATE!” He booms, and shifts his foot. He moves his arms in a complex motion, weaving the sword back and forth at the lakeside. He then points at the lake and exhales.
Smoke rises from the lake, and bubbles begin to appear over its entirety as the water boils. Steam rises into the air in great clouds, obscuring the young monk’s vision.
He moves to the lake edge, pushing against the heat, and kneels at the water. Taking a cup from his robes he scoops out a cupful and takes it to his master.
The master studies the water with a careful eye before taking a sip.
“Very good, very good.” He says. “However you forgot milk and sugar.”