“No, you are not.” The Grandmaster looked out over the rim of his cup, thick steam rolling in the arid chill of the dojo, for the morning was always welcomed with the taste of mint. His dark, old eyes met Ryu’s, cataloguing the details that made the nervous young man before him. Questions, which begged answers to deliver him peace in the wake of what has left him wanting. Sub-Zero held out the palm of his hand, both invitation and directive for Ryu to sit.
“And it is not strange…” The winds outside of the compound seemed to pick up at that, doors rattling against the element.
“The ghosts of the Lin Kuei… They were stolen from us” By none other than Quan Chi, who had taken generously to the partnership between the Lin Kuei and Netherrealm and stolen into the ancient, rundown part of their sacred temples and ate his fill of their departed. It had been something of a coming of age ritual for the Lin Kuei’s children to listen to the rumored whispers of spirits dwelling in their domain with their friends, trying to prove themselves cold in the face of fear. To crush it underfoot with the assertion that they were a people unafraid. Kuai Liang was no exception to this, taking Tomas one winter night to the place where the spirits lie. They had both been sufficiently humbled, sprinting out into the fresh snow stumbling biting back their frightened yells.
“Our clan encountered a time that demanded change for our survival. Grandmasters traded honor for profit, tradition for trade. We lost much to the exchange, and much more under the noses of our leaders as Netherrealm’s denizens entered our domain and took their fill of us.” The cup in his hand crackled, ice crystals gathering about the tip and turning his tea undrinkable. The ware went to the table, and his eyes, now white, to the young man’s face.
“Why do you ask? I see there is something on your mind, and offer my ear to your burden.”