The Exemplar

[Shang Tsung]

In many ways, there was little that could adversely affect Shang Tsung. He’d gone from the peak of power and opulence to the depths of despair and poverty and back again a few times. For almost four decades, he had languished in the prisons of Shao Kahn.

As a result, Shang had very little reaction to the scant quarters provided to the flesh-and-blood members of Darkshire’s garrison. When you were forced to sleep standing up for three years, you stopped worrying about the size of your mattress of how fluffy your pillows were. Unfortunately, the other four members of his recruitment class did not share his indifference, and he was thus forced to listen to them complain incessantly about every minute detail of the small, closet-like room they shared. Shang consoled himself by thinking up ways to murder them.

When the call came to report to their stations, the sorcerer had to suppress a smile as he picked up his sword and shield and took the eastern corridor. He would be stationed with a separate group of individuals, so with any luck, they’d have less irritating things to complain about over the course of the day.

After a little under a minute of jogging down the stone corridor, Shang reached the reinforced wooden door that led up to the tower. Yanking it open, he slipped inside and made his way up the stone stairs and slipped the hatch that connected to the next level. This level contained not only the battlements and access to the roof of the tower, but also a small common room where weary guardsmen could nap.

The ‘lounge’ was empty, so Shang threw open the nearest wooden door and stepped out onto the outside platform that hugged the tower. Only two feet and a short little stone wall separated him from plunging a few dozen feet to either the streets of Darkshire or the empty stretch of land outside the aging walls. To someone who had enjoyed wine at the top of the Eiffel Tower, the view left much to be desired.