Task Name: The Fire Within
Tier: 1
NPC or PC: PC
Location: Karate Island
Crew, Team, or Personal: Personel
Description: A gang masquerading as a legit dojo known simply as the Dragons are planning on taking Master Crane's territory after hearing of his defeat. The dragons are known as a ruthless band of thugs with no honor. Even Master Crane would not deal with them because of their shrewd and ruthless tactics. Push the invading thugs out of the Crane territory and seure it for Mr. Miyagi.
Enemy Details: 6 tier 0 enemies and 1 tier 1 enemy
Boss: No
The clarity of the sound was piercing and, relentlessly, it had worn through the cushion of unconsciousness to stir the mind of the man beneath. It took a few minutes and the breaking of another droplet before the correct neurons fired to inform the mind that somewhere a tap was dripping. Granted that the sound could have had some other origin but in the past he had always been a family man and, even now, he associated that noise with fetching his tools to tighten the faucet. It would be shortly after he’d returned from his last tour, not the first night, that was not a night for thinking on chores, but in that first week. He would be lying in bed, the sound of that irritable noise letting him know nightfall was here and it was time to meet frank.
”Tap’s dripping again.” He would say, and his female companion for the night would inform him that it had been that way for the past two hours or so. ”I’ll get right on it in the morning.” He’d assure her and she wouldn’t reply because she knew that he would.
The memories kissed him sweetly and slipped cruelly away, dragging the fragments of slumber slowly with them. The pool of messages delivered by his senses began to trickle in through the ever growing gaps. The dryness in his mouth was first in the queue, a curious thing when all was considered. Had Qilin had precognition he might not have taken the time to suck saliva from his cheeks nor lick his lips. He was informed next of the prickling in his knees, and the cold breeze which whipped across them. It was an automatic response to try and draw them into the warmth that encompassed the rest of his body. Here, however, he encountered a problem in discovering his space was restricted, his back pressed against something smooth and solid, the balls of his feet in the same predicament. This was certainly not his bed. The wash of water as he tried to move only further confirmed this to him.