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"Focus!"
The fist striking the wooden post, wrapped in leather.
"Focus!!"
A kick, the shin striking the wrapped wooden post.
"Focus!!!"
He spins, back-fist striking the wrapped wooden post.
It splinters...
Sweat pours down the clean shaved scalp, across the lightly scarred countenance of Vaticus Gakur. Heavy breathing. He had pushed himself, again, training nearly an entire day without sleep. "From can't see..." he said to himself, "...to can't see." Crouching then, he executed a back-flip. When his feet strike the pole, it dislodges from the ground and lands a handful of feet away. Vaticus, of course, lands perfectly on his feet.
"It is...all about balance, young Fist." He remembers the words of the Master, dead eyes staring into the distance. "Balance..." he says with a snort, and spits, as if the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. "A...measured response, he always said. Heh." His eyes turned to the Heavens as the Valley provided yet another soaking, but cooling, rain. "Old Man, if you could only see me now. I've taught them vengeance..."
Sliding to his knees, he settled his legs in the crossed fashion, readying himself for meditation. His eyes closed, as he sat in the shade of the trees, which barely protected him from the deluge-like proportions of rain. "I imagine you are very proud of yourself, are you not?" The voice of his Master spoke to him. "And why wouldn't I be? Through fear, I've taught them a lesson of retribution." For a long moment, all is silent.
"Lies." He responds. "A convenient fantasy to justify the abuse of two poor women, who were bound and not even given the dignity of combat." Vaticus, eyes still closed, sneered. "A measured response will not suffice to quell the fool-hearted. Isn't that what you said, Master?" He was annoyed by this. "Those women were not simple, defenseless peasants. They were servitors of their God. Zealots."
The voice of the old man remained silent. "And as you taught me, Master, a zealot can not be made to break by means of honorable combat. A zealot must be broken, effectively and completely." There was much silence. "You have listened poorly and heard half-truths, Vaticus..." The voice sounded so disappointed. "I pray Hoar will lead you away from the vile path you tread. May the Way of Poetic Justice guide you home..."
When his mind returned from meditation to the present moment, hours had passed. The rain had stopped and the night sky spread out, across the land. The time of Shar and Selune. Vaticus stood and returned to cave in the side of the Schild Mountains to take his repose. Tomorrow, he would do more then simply train with wooden foes. Tomorrow, he promised himself, his foes would bleed when he struck them.
The fist striking the wooden post, wrapped in leather.
"Focus!!"
A kick, the shin striking the wrapped wooden post.
"Focus!!!"
He spins, back-fist striking the wrapped wooden post.
It splinters...
Sweat pours down the clean shaved scalp, across the lightly scarred countenance of Vaticus Gakur. Heavy breathing. He had pushed himself, again, training nearly an entire day without sleep. "From can't see..." he said to himself, "...to can't see." Crouching then, he executed a back-flip. When his feet strike the pole, it dislodges from the ground and lands a handful of feet away. Vaticus, of course, lands perfectly on his feet.
"It is...all about balance, young Fist." He remembers the words of the Master, dead eyes staring into the distance. "Balance..." he says with a snort, and spits, as if the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. "A...measured response, he always said. Heh." His eyes turned to the Heavens as the Valley provided yet another soaking, but cooling, rain. "Old Man, if you could only see me now. I've taught them vengeance..."
Sliding to his knees, he settled his legs in the crossed fashion, readying himself for meditation. His eyes closed, as he sat in the shade of the trees, which barely protected him from the deluge-like proportions of rain. "I imagine you are very proud of yourself, are you not?" The voice of his Master spoke to him. "And why wouldn't I be? Through fear, I've taught them a lesson of retribution." For a long moment, all is silent.
"Lies." He responds. "A convenient fantasy to justify the abuse of two poor women, who were bound and not even given the dignity of combat." Vaticus, eyes still closed, sneered. "A measured response will not suffice to quell the fool-hearted. Isn't that what you said, Master?" He was annoyed by this. "Those women were not simple, defenseless peasants. They were servitors of their God. Zealots."
The voice of the old man remained silent. "And as you taught me, Master, a zealot can not be made to break by means of honorable combat. A zealot must be broken, effectively and completely." There was much silence. "You have listened poorly and heard half-truths, Vaticus..." The voice sounded so disappointed. "I pray Hoar will lead you away from the vile path you tread. May the Way of Poetic Justice guide you home..."
When his mind returned from meditation to the present moment, hours had passed. The rain had stopped and the night sky spread out, across the land. The time of Shar and Selune. Vaticus stood and returned to cave in the side of the Schild Mountains to take his repose. Tomorrow, he would do more then simply train with wooden foes. Tomorrow, he promised himself, his foes would bleed when he struck them.