Li Tun-ye (The Asian Asian)

[Li Tun-ye]

I figure that it's about time I finally post something on this site. (Sorry for the delay Bix)

What can be said about Li that hasn't been a cliche used in some bad Kung Fu movie (I actually intended upon that). Blended with out of game inspiration from Chinese cinema, kabuki, and Chinese Opera, Li Tun-ye is a teddy bear-toting, silk robe wearing, piano playing, elf lusting, stir frying coward with a distaste of pain and a love of napping; and yet there is a deeper side hidden away behind dramatics (as many characters in those films tend to have, though not nearly as exaggerated). Shifting from the comedy relief to the stoic loner to the angsty whiner and back again, I suppose you could sum up his character with one word: wierd.

Only a young man and fledginly apprentice when he first began to make a name for himself, Li discovered his love of music, performing, and shamelessly hitting on certain elves. Of course, everyone has their own facets and secrets. Underneath the dramatics and jokes, Li is plagued by the Seven Stars and their significance in his life (Chinese legend states that the Seven Stars govern over death ... and something about immenent death... I have to research it again); and also harbors a regret over the loss of his family and the loss of his love, An Lin-yao. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

More on Li when I find the time... anyway onto Dan.

I pride myself as the musician, poet, chef, and wimp (much like Li) as well as being known as the Asian Guy (which in retrospect is probably why I picked Mongorians ... that and the fact that I never need to worry about a costume.
As far as my position in this merry circle of friends, I am somewhat of the joker/oddball that's always there if you need an Asian (and everyone needs Asians).
Perhaps it was past expiriences with hardware that first taught me the ancient art of duct tape; regardless, I now strive for the constant improvement of my boffer making skills and I pride myself on making rather decorative (albeit odd) weapons.
I am also working on a brainchild novel based loosely upon the character of Li and several other members of my circle of friends. I'm probably going to have to change many of the concepts and names or suffer the wrath of copyrite infringements... sigh ...
And that's the story for now. I'll post more when I get the chance. (By the way, Li Tun-ye is the name of my Chinese great-grandfather who was apparently like my character and I guess myself as well. Sure hope my ancestors don't mind...)

[Li Tun-ye]

As A quirky writer, I feel that the only true way to express Li's character and history is through Li himself. So with a can of coke to aid me, I'll tell the story through Li's eyes and in his own words ... minus the annoying Jackie Chan accent.

And the Story of Li Continues (or begins rather .... damn):

No man is a story on his own. True, a man forges his own path and in that way he writes his story; but first and foremost, a man is the legacy of those that came before him - a continuation of thier story (though long since ended). That being said, my story does not begin with me, but with my father and his father...

Grandfather (Li Bailong as he was known) was a skilled artisan and proud fighter. In his younger days, he was a brash young man looking to carve his place in history with a blade in each hand and valor in his heart. He trained and perfected his trade, then spent his life traveling the realm to right wrongs and experience the thrill of the duel. It was this young man's dream to leave a legacy as a hero and valiant man. He dreamt of his name hanging on the hearts of the innocent and the dying words of the wicked; but as many come to find in their old age, the greatest legacy one can leave is his child. The days of adventures behind him, Grandfather retired to a quiet secluded village in Mongoria to raise his own legacy - a single baby boy left after the death of his wife.

Grandfather never spoke of his wife, nor did my father (Li Xiaolong) ever speak of his mother. For the most part, they only spoke of each other ... in less than flattering words. You see, upon noting my father's arcane abilities, he hoped to train him to be his successor - a skilled artisan such as himself. But my father had other things in mind and other dreams in his heart. The performers and entertainers that paraded the streets during the festivals filled his heart with wonder. The music that poured forth from talented voices and hands kept him captivated. To my Grandfather's shock, my father made up his mind to train in the bardcraft.

Despite objections and arguments, Grandfather relented and allowed my father to pursue his dream. With moderate approval, he congradulated his son upon his succession into the bard's guild. Grandfather spent his days training and toiling away in his forge while my father made a name for himself as a performer and musician - and soon caught the eye (and heart) of a fellow bard who by fate traveled into town. She was none as Niu Ai-shen, and she was a traveling bard with no family to care for her and no home except the stage ... that is until she met my father.

She and father fell in love, enraptured with one another's kindness and the beauty within their souls. Grandfather, being the strict and proud fellow he was, was aghast at the turn of events, but evetually softened at the sight of their love ... which I suppose must have reminded him of the love he was shared with Grandmother. With their union followed my birth, and from there the Li family began to make their name known throughout the small village they called home.

I admit, with both perants as bards it was obvious that my interests would be more toward the musical rather than the practical. In my younger days, they called me "Dreaming Li" as I spent my time singing and honing my voice, waiting the day I would venture off to the Opera schools of Mongoria to begin my studies as a bard.

Grandfather, by now a far more relaxed man, encouraged my training and pursuit of music so long as I learned to fight and defend myself. With a katana forged by his own hands, I learned the more violent arts of my people - the techniques my Grandfather honed during his days of adventures and duels. My mother by now was raising my brother Li Rong-ye and pregnant with my sister Li Ping-hui. She and father already taught the youngster simple instruments and he would perform with us to the delight of the village.

By now, I had (though I do not wish to boast) become quite well known in my village. Amid the days of songwriting and acting, I would bring smiles to my neighbors and would assist them in their troubles and tasks. I would find time to play and dance with the young children and spin tales of fairies and nymphs to their amusement. Under the instruction of my father and mother, my voice progressed; unable to carry the arcane properties yet, but still pleasing to the ears. My family was the spectacle of the festivals and I was their rising star. "Dreaming Li" was now known as "Shining Star" as they all expected great things of the tradesmen I would become.

The Day came when I embarked out into the world to begin my training and apprenticship as a bard. A traveling bard troupe (similar to the troupe that brought my mother) agreed to bring me to the burtling Mongorian cities and to the famed Opera School. They too were bringing a future apprentice who would train the arts of bardcraft. She was a young Mongorian such as myself, an orphan who knew no family save the troupe. Agreeing to watch over her, I accompanied them on the treck and became quite acquainted with my new friend ... An Lin-yao.

Well, the clock strikes late and that means I have to be going again. Just as we're getting to the good parts .... *sigh*. Ah well.

[Li Tun-ye]

A Slight Change of Pace....The Legend of the Yellow Dart (or Why Li isn't around for 9 months out of the year)

They say he can do anything. Theives and brigands have been beaten down by his hammer and host of exotic weapons. Many a corrupt tax collector has claimed he has folded into the shadows of night and made off with their "legitamate" earnings. Opium dealers have seen him leap from the rooftops late at night, a golden star blinking in the night.
They say he can't be a mere tradesman. From his voice, arrows have missed their mark and guards have been held back unable to advance on him. Yet his strength and power are imposing, wielding a shield and hammer into the fray. Some have claimed to see him make impossible shots with his bow only to halt the returning arrows in their flight with his voice.
The paupers and beggars whisper fairytales of his exploits. They say he is Mongorian or short stature and dark features. Yet some tell tales of his imposing (for mongorians) height and his ghostly pale skin. Still others claim to have seen blue markings hidden behind the mask on his face as well as the tell tale ears of the elvenkind. But all the stories agree when they speak of his noble heart and the kindness he shows to the poor and needy... and of the throwing weapons he brandishes into battle that have earned him the name The Yellow Dart.

And while the city prefects and the underworld of criminals claw for the man known as the Yellow Dart, none notice the once stately home on the edge of what was once a small fishing village. Like a single star in the clouded night, it sits amids the ruins and is echoed with the laughter of children who long since lost their families. An old Mongorian is called 'Grandfather' there and a few misfit tradesmen have supposedly spent time within the wall kissed with ivy and age.

***
Yeah I know the orphans thing was a little cheesy, but it seemed right and I remember some movie with a fighter caring for some kids; besides, I love kids. Anyhoo, so begin my overembellished rumors of why I'm never around. I'll get back to my regular story one day. Of course it's been 17 months since my last confession, i mean Introduction post.