Author Topic: The West's Return  (Read 31 times)

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Offline rainshadowck

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The West's Return
« on: May 07, 2019, 02:03:14 AM »
for Riddler

Shortly after the first step toward justice for the West, Chtahzus’aak moved in the shadows with Brael through Central and straight into Chinatown.  It had been too long since he visited with Lan Bao, and he found himself missing the peace and strength of her presence.  Besides, they had business to discuss.  Zeus still was very much in the dark in regards to the Witch, and he hoped that the Kuei-Jin had luck in making contact with her.  He was feeling rather optimistic after securing the district and everything seemed to be heading in the right direction.  Eager to speak with Lan Bao, he hoped her reaction would be favorable.

After slipping through the front gates of the outer wall of the Temple, he sent Brael a wordless message that he could wander the gardens or stay posted at the entrance as he saw fit.  Zeus did not necessarily need him by his side when visiting with the Lady of Chinatown, they were on good standing. 

Chtahzus’aak stepped from the shadows, clad in a form-fitting black button-up rolled to the elbow, and dark grey slacks.  Securely in the crook of his arm was an ancient looking scroll that he held close to his body.  He took a leisurely pace into the garden, taking the time now to look at the landscape that he had briefly glimpsed in their first meeting.  The moonless night left the garden darker and more mysterious, deep and comforting with shadow.  Somewhere he was aware that his guard was down considerably, and there was the hint of inward cautioning against this that he easily ignored.

To any who approached, he would respectfully nod and request to see Lan Bao if the time was convenient.  He would go where directed or wait if instructed, but when finally in her presence he would greet her with a smile and a slight bow.

“A gift.”  Chtahzus’aak presented the scroll to her and unfurled it slowly to reveal a complex watercolor and ink painting of a dragon.  Its twisting form of blues and teals weaved between mountains and clouds above a body of water, flanked by delicate lettering of what he assumed were poems and the occasional flash of gold leafing in the scales.  This piece had been in his possession for a long time and he regarded it more as a work of art than anything else.  He hadn’t looked into its significance or meaning, but it was rather beautiful and he thought it a fitting gift.