Editing Tak Backstory

It was a pale, non-descript morning, the kind that Tak liked the least.  He had woken with a slight sense of foreboding, which often happened when things were calm, and he had little to do.  The night before the Master had praised his re-working of Ranarmagen (a poem of rebirth), saying his brushwork was worthy of the best the monastery had to offer.  He even tapped his shoulder appreciatively. So, why then, was he anxious?  Tak shook off the night, and stood (naked) in his room, looking out of the open shoji across the small zen garden to the dojo.  A bird – perhaps a goldfinch – briefly stared at him from his perch on the inactive fountain. It looked sad that no water flowed there; perhaps he was thirsty. Tak understood and it seemed they shared a moment of regret before the bird took flight. 
 
He had spent his entire life in this monastery.  He knew nothing else, and it wasn’t until recently that he began to wonder about the world beyond Fontainver.  He knew the stories and the dangers – of course he did – but there was something ‘missing’.  He also knew of the wars in the stories but had never experienced the heart-pumping fear of meeting an enemy in mortal combat.  Was that it? Was that what was missing: adrenaline? The serge he felt at high tide when the wind held up the waves prolonging the anticipation of them coming crashing to the shore.
“Tak san,” an acolyte called from the next room, “Higura-sama wishes to take morning tea with you.”

“Hai, domo Malin-san,” Tak responded with little thought.  The Master of the West Wind chose students to mentor frequently. He found it quite prosaic; like much of his work and study here, things came naturally.  Higura, he was told, was his saviour. Nearly seventeen years ago, Tak’s parents had answered Lady Yishmay’s call in the final years of the Great War.  They had boarded a ship here at Fontainver just as the Sahaugin came from the sea.  Of course, the castle sortied but it was too late to save those on bard – except Tak. 

The monastery, founded by the Great Master Hintzu, had taken in many orphans during those years. Grand Master Yo-sama believed that was what had saved them.  The training given by the few in the monastery who understood the different ways had built a significant force. Tak had not fought in the defence of the great Sea Elf castle because the battles were over not long after he was found.  It was true, Fontainver proved too strong a light, a beacon of hope, for the waves of darkness that crashed on its stone ramparts. In many ways he was relieved, but occasionally he felt regret that he could not avenge his parents. Now he thought about it, perhaps that was what drove him to excel in all the tasks he was given – no matter how mundane.  

But today, he was distracted, something was niggling the back of his mind. He did not relish the prospect of hours of servitude, calligraphy, and reading.  Eyes drawn again to the fountain near the dojo, he suddenly envied that bird’s freedom.  A gust of wind swirled into the room and he smelled the sea.  His heart leapt and he closed his eyes imagining for a moment the constant movement of water.  Water that had come from other lands and was moved by powerful forces, held up by the wind before smashing into rock and shore.  Moving stone at its whim.  Oh, to go where he pleased…

No, his honour is sacrosanct; he will do his duty always. He got dressed quickly and methodically as always – his clothes laid out precisely on the floor. A bell gently tolled in the city announcing the first hour of a new dawn. What was it? What was in his mind to distract him so? He walked to the open shoji and looked as the sun rose over the parapet beyond the garden.  He could not see the sea from is room, so had often taken to walking the eastern walls at first light – even in the worst weather. The monastery knew his kin, for they were driven from the sea in the final war and had been welcomed here.
There were others too, even some from Everinstar though no-one had ventured across the ocean for a long time now. Fontainver had suffered the final assault of the arch-demon demogorgon’s forces but had withstood, thanks to a powerful repelling force consisting of all free nations. Some good came from that battle: the castle was saved and has become a focal-point for trade – a safe haven in an otherwise lawless land.

He took a deep breath and walked across his room, slid open the shoji and carried on down the hall; his bare feet relishing the feeling of the hard, polished wooden floor. He was assailed by the smell of lavender that permeated those halls of wood and paper.  Turning abruptly to hid right, he knocked on the shoji panel, before touching the carved, downward-facing tiger that adorned portals of importance.  This was Higura’s office, meeting place, tea-room.   

“Hai!” The Master’s voice was raised but retained its gentle calming presence.

“It is Tak, Sama, you wished to see me?”

“Ah, yes, good Tak, please come in; I have tea for you.” Higura was now old, Tak imagined he was in his sixties, but was not frail.  Years of exercise had kept his muscles taught, his posture upright and his mind clear. Dressed the same as Tak in a plain cream cotton kimono, bald, clean shaven and with alert green eyes, the only difference in their appearance was their age.

“Domo arigatu, sama,” Tak said, bowing low as he entered. The Master was sat, cross legged, facing him.  A sea-green cushion was placed in front of him and a low, small table divided seating positions. On the table was an ornate tea pot and two, white and blue, porcelain bowl-like cups. As Tak folded his legs and lowered himself onto the cushion, the Master poured the tea.

“My son, we have received some troubling news,” he began in an unusually low tone, “a dark force has begun to mass to the south. It might be that the chaos that has kept the many terrors of this world apart, has recognised the power of law. Something has drawn ‘things’ together…” he paused to reflect on his own words, and to concentrate of the ritual pouring.
“Wakiri mashi ta, Sama,” Tak understood; taking the offered cup he bowed again and sipped before turning it through 180 degrees and offering it back. As is polite the Master held up a hand and shook his head gently, before pouring his own. “Domo,” Tak acknowledged the honour he had been given.
“I want you to investigate, Tak, my son.”
“Hai, Sama” the young monk could hardly contain his excitement. “How far must I travel?”
“Ah, to the ends of the earth, son, to stop chaos, to bring law and order and improve the lives of all folk that reside on the Prime and elsewhere.” The Master smiled, knowing he had not answered the question.
“Yes, Sama” was all Tak could say. That was their mantra after all: calm the raging seas so that men could reap its bounty.
“You must prepare yourself for a long journey, my son; it is likely to be your first great trial. Do not forget what we have told you, the lessons you have learnt and, most especially the strength gained through order.”