Laoying Zhang time

As Laoying Zhang's eyes slowly come into focus, a strange scene presents itself.  He kneels in a room of dark wood, a silk cushion protecting his legs.  A raised platform in front of him holds a similar cushion, with another pair of legs.  Trying to raise his head to see the rest of the person opposite, he meets with an unnatural resistance.  It is as if he is paralyzed, his whole body stiff and unresponsive.  His head does not raise, his eyes do not move, his legs do not twitch, his mouth refuses to open.  Even his heartbeat stays stubbornly calm, beating away a steady rhythm.


Just as Zhang confirms his body immobile, a sudden blast and the sound of screams draw his attention.  Before Zhang realizes it, his neck and head have snapped around to look in the direction of the blast.  The movement brings with it a heavy vertigo as his eyes and head move not only in a manner unbidden by their owner, but far faster than any human muscles should move.  A deep chuckling reaches Zhang's ears, and it takes a moment for him to realize that he is the source.

"...I suppose that's that then. Kahhhhhhh, It was a good idea."

Zhang's head turns again, this time allowing him to view his company in full.  It is a man indeed, though this one old, covered in a crown and beard composed of...feathers?  Tiny, to be sure, but feathers.  A pair of black wings emerge from the man's back, wrapping around him like a cloak as he strokes his beard with a taloned hand.  Zhang feels himself bow briefly.

"It seems they will come soon" Zhang hears himself say, though it is in a voice he hardly recognizes.

"Yes, but so weakened,...our allies will drive them back before they do this mountain any harm."

"So our home is safe?"

"...For now.  There is a reason I have called you here, though you are the youngest.  Kekehe, perhaps BECAUSE."

"Yes, lord?"

The old, feathered man shakes his head.

"It seems our time is up.  Most of us are dying, and the fortunes say many more will before the swords are sheathed again.  This clan, our family, is dead."

He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a blade.  Short, elegantly formed and with a simple hilt, the man places the tanto on a smaller silk cushion at the base of his platoform and slides it across.  It comes to a stop against Zhang's kneecap, his head once again shifting to follow its movement.  Up close, Zhang can see the sheath is inlaid with a massive piece of amber, within which sits a single black feather in perfect suspension of animation.

"Fall, then winter.  I wonder what comes afterwards?"

Zhang feels his face stretch into a smile.  "If the mountain will have me?"

"Scraaahahaha! Methinks ol' Sen has little choice.  Spring is for the young.  All the others are dead, and I, well, my wingjoints are so swollen these things are good for little more than warmth."

As Zhang watches, a pair of taloned hands reach out in front of him.  One siezes the Tanto, drawing it reverently from its sheath.  The other  Pulls apart his Kimono, exposing his muscled chest.  The blade is held pressing against his body, the steel seeming unnaturally warm.  A moment's hesitation.

Winter chills the blood
A butterfly's wings fall still
What flowers might bloom?

Sudden pain, then a swirl of autumnal leaves obscure Zhang's vision as a mad chanting rises up.  Zhang finds himself viewing the world as if from on high, then very close.  He skims boulders, kicks up spray accross ponds, bursts through cloud and bush as if they were the same, all the while a mad song plays.  Finally, he feels himself come to a sudden stop in a place that seems far too familiar.  Looking into the sky, he catches sight of a majestic eagle, heading due east and dancing through the sky with the music.  As Zhang watches in awe, it folds its wings and dives, feathers clipping Zhang's ear as it brushes past.  As it does, Zhang swears it whispers to him.

"Akasta Lake"