Only Khan could orchestrate such a complete disappearance of his forces. Crime in the city returned to normal, the presence of Mongol warriors and naljorpas faded into the shadows of Chinatown, and all seemed quiet. There had been no more probing or plotting from Khan, so it seemed.
(
A new presence makes itself known within the city. )
Events are not unfolding quite as he remembers them, and the little differences are worrying. He was not completely without aid, when this conflict came in his past, however.
The mental voice that reaches out to him is not wholly unexpected. It's been a very long time since anyone called him by that name, however ( ... )
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The younger man almost cringed at the development. From their own encounters, he knew that his mind would likely read different from that of the Old Tiger, and that caused a moment of hesitation. If Khan didn't learn the game, the tulku would.
What made matters worse, is he knew that Marpa had likely made himself known through a telepathic connection. If they switched places, while Marpa wouldn't invade his mind as Khan would, he couldn't be certain he wouldn't betray the situation to the tulku. His help was sorely needed as well.
There was a hissed breath as he punched a reluctant message back. Too much was happening that felt like he was losing control of the situation. He couldn't deny the tulku, the man would make his own efforts if he wasn't included, but that was a dangerous proposition.
Still...
We'll need him.
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Like Khan, Marpa also had the ability to project his mind to a location and see what was there. The presence, however protected, made it difficult, but he felt darkness, close walls.
A simply inquisitive sensation filled the area, it was the equivalent of a polite knock that could be ignored, or welcomed.
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His impatience just may carry over the text. The subtle, inquisitive presence is loud and clear to his senses. Hunched in the alley over a dimly glowing screen, he feels a surge of restlessness. The priests of his world are gone, dead or hidden away from the world in an effort to preserve what invasion and continued political pressure seeks to obliterate. In his own world he has grown used to the sense of isolation, resigned to the knowledge that he will never have such teachers to turn to again.
The sudden opportunity has opened a sense of yearning long ago locked away. The fruitless search for Khan's activities has left him every day feeling old and tired, worn down by a worry of failure. Marpa Tulku and the aid he can bring is the breath of days he thought long past.
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Go. Notify me of your meeting, I will meet you there.
There are a few details the younger Shadow will have to work out before he can arrive via PINpoint.
((Skipping Marpa this round.))
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There is something less wary of his telepathy this time, and it also bears an unexpected air of confident skill as it is carefully shielded and concealed from any possibility of Khan's catching on.
I can come to you. We have much to discuss.
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While it does not change his meditative state, the tulku can't help a very human reaction as he opens his eyes, focusing on the presence he is receiving. Even masters can at times be skeptical of some of their pupils' potential, but this skill was more indicative of more years than The Shadow had been provided so far in life to hone his mind.
Very well. He sends an image of the place he is in, and the address for good measure. Shall I have tea prepared?
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Inside sits the Tulku. It is not the room he was previously in, but he has decided to meet The Shadow, and lead him to his private chamber.
The man is likely in his 60s at this point, but he still manages to look about half as the candle in his hand flickers dimly, and he motions for The Shadow to follow him.
"It has been some time..." His low voice hardly carries, even in the silence as he approaches the door to his room. In this part of the hall, the scent of familiar incense from the mountains is on the air.
There has been no probing or mental inspection from the man, as of yet.
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He approaches the light warily, but his tension seems to slip away the moment he hears the familiar murmur. There is no verbal reply, but he follows without reservation, almost lightheaded from the flood of memory that scent brings. The intensity of his own reaction surprises him, so that he does not dare to speak but focuses instead on keeping his mind composed.
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"Join me." He sits upon a cushion and fills the two cups of tea. Politely, he waits for The Shadow to join him, watching the black form with gentle eyes. In the dim lighting there is little for him to see besides blackness.
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"The situation is complicated. Forgive me, please, but I'm not sure how to begin..." His tone is humbly respectful, and more open than his telepathy has been.
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"You could start by looking me in the eye." It's gentle, and yet it still carries the weight of a teacher talking to their student. "I came because I was not certain you would be able to match Khan's power..."
His mind reaches out, concerned as he tries to get a sense of the feelings The Shadow is experiencing. He is trying to hide something from the tulku.
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"I am not the man you know. Not quite." The quiet sigh makes a faint rattle in his chest, and he lifts his head to gaze into the Tulku's eyes. There is a disguise, of course, as there always is, but the disguise he wears is perhaps more true than the scarred visage beneath. His gaze is calm and lacks the piercing aspect most who face him are used to, but it still glimmers with the intensity of the restless mind that lies behind those eyes.
His is the face of an old man, grim and scarred and battered by his life. He is far from broken, but he is undeniably worn down, and drained from his recent work. The Shadow waits, for judgment or questioning, with the air of a man who has learned patience well.
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His eyes narrow when he sees the old man before him, however, and he sips at the tea without taking his eyes off of him.
"Where is the man I know?" It's very nearly a demand.
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The reaction is less welcoming than he hoped for, but any disappointment he feels is very carefully stifled away. He removes his gloves, showing slightly gnarled hands and the girasol ring loose on an aged finger. Made very slightly uncertain by what seems a form of disapproval, he does not reach for the other cup of tea. He does not know how long it will take his alternate to arrive, but he's passed along the address. This seat, and the tea, were intended for the younger man, and now he feels very much an intruder. "I apologize for the temporary... deception," That word comes hard, but it's an honest attempt at seeing the Tulku's perspective, something he has always struggled with. "I wanted to explain in person. The Shadow you know has been working to avert a coming world war, and has reluctantly allowed me to work here in dealing with Shiwan Khan."
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