Solo Teaching the Fox to Bite, Training Day

[Shouta]

4th Day of Winter, 512A.V. The force of it pulled on the wrist, straining muscles well used to pain. The chain glided through the air, unchallenged and majestic. Shouta flexed underneath the weapon, focusing his attention on the wooden adversary in front of him. Still and silent, his opponent was no where near as vicious as future offenders would be, but he would cut him down all the same. Shouta exhaled a burst of wind through pierced lips and ripped his fist out of the air. The weighted iron foxhead on the end of the chain swooped down upon the unsuspecting dummy. The maw of the beast connected with a splintering side and then fell to the ground. With a dissatisfied grunt he pulled his weapon back in. Seventy sixth time’s the charm then. The Kusarigama was a deadly tool in the hands of a master. But in Shouta’s hands it was more a test of patience. He had a long way to go before he could be called master. But this was the path to excellence. And he would not stray. For a lack of external distraction, Shouta had carried his practice dummies all the way into the Warfields and found a nook large enough to practice at. By the time he was situated, his shoulders burned a dull ache from the weight of the dummies and he was sweating despite the chilling bite of the day’s wind. But he had not let it affect his diligence in training. The walls around him were made of the same red stone that the buildings of Nyka were made, and he felt surrounded by earth. Alone in his corner. Alone with his thoughts. It was a sort of meditation for him. His practice was not only to hone his skills. For Shouta it was a therapy, a dance of tranquility that was often lost in the shuffling excitement of Nyka. There were no competitions and no challenges here. His only adversary was his own faults. And here he shaved them away ever so slowly. Resetting his form, The Small Fox stance, he refocused on the damnable dummy. His left hand held the chain above the shoulder, foot resting lightly upon the weight end of the kusarigama, Right hand held the kama out horizontally in front of his body. This was a basic starting stance that allowed for a few different opening moves with both the kama and weight. Shouta had been working on it for months now, and was just beginning to master it. He kicked out with his foot to the side at the same time as bringing his right hand down and twisting his torso violently. The weight lifted off the ground with his kick and was once again sent into the air to orbit his fist. Focus. The dummy was two lengths of chain away from him. One length of chain was the distance from his foot to shoulder. There were three lengths of chain in total. He had to time his release perfectly to make the ball hit in the precise place he wanted. The extent of range while in a strike was called a Lunge. Fox Lunges were a needed technique with the kusarigama. They served to damage, incapacitate, and disarm your enemy. While the much more difficult Crane Lunge was used to critically wound or kill. Shouta would not be at the level for a while yet. He needed to learn to stand before he could dance. Focus.

[Shouta]

Crack! The weight fell through the air, and before it his Shouta knew. The thing forced splinters from the dummy’s neck and a smile crept across his mouth. He become over excited and failed in the next attempt. He had done it. So what? He needed to imprint the form on his memory, his muscles. He needed to make excellence a habit, not a goal. He assumed the form again, and again. Soon his robe was wet with sweat and his eyes burned from the liquid dripping into his vision. Focus! This was his only purpose. This was his path. Blood, sweat, and tears were the footsteps he left behind. Perfection his destination. To strive for the impossible is either foolish or bravery. Which was he? A fool or brave. Perhaps a bit of both? After fifty years he still was too naive to tell. So he swung the weight again and again. A second hit. A third. A miss. A hit. It felt too much up to chance for him to be confident with it. He sat on the ground, facing away from the dummies and his weapon. As the Ethaefel sipped from his waterskin he reflected on his initiation. Avery had been a challenge. He had barely made it through that fight. But now he was a monk and Avery was not. He always had that trial to draw strength from. His experiences were what made him, the fire his soul was forged in. This test was just another fire, just another experience he would turn into a memory. Damn the challenge. Damn the failure. Damn the dummy. Doubt was for the faint hearted. He would hit the thing in the neck with his kusarigama and then hit it again. He would master this and move on. Shrugging off his doubt, renewed in his vigor, Shouta rearmed himself. Die wooden man. Small Fox form assumed, he began again. The weight flew through the air, creating a ominous humming for those who knew it’s harsh affect. Crack! Another small victory. But this time his arrogance did not grow. He kept it in check. Crack! Another. Still he did not waver in his focus. The sun was descending. It spread an orange light across the Warfields that gave it an eerily beautiful look exclusive to the Nykan twilight. Such blessing came daily, yet few chose to admire them. Though he was a son of Leth, he never denied Syna’s beauty. He had not seen another monk all day. He knew he was not the only one in the Warfields, many had their own areas they practiced in silent diligence. He loosed the weight at the dummy again, breathing out of his mouth. It hit the dummy in the neck, and finally he smiled. That was fifteen in a row. Uphis be praised. He had indeed blessed Shouta today.

[Shouta]

Tired, soiled, and content, Shouta rubbed his calluses. The kusarigama was not a forgiving tool to manipulate all day. Soon he would have to return and report for evening duties, but not yet. He decided to get some Crane practice in. Shouta wrapped the chain around his shoulders a few times and held the weight behind his waist, with the kama raised in front of his torso. He approached the battered dummy. Gripping the ebony handle with wet fingered, Shouta squeezed. He relaxed his entire body and glanced at the three spots he would strike at. He moved the blade to the dummy using his entire body. Feet planted the foundation, shoulder width apart. Abdoment and torso, legs and rigidly flexed arms provided the power. The blade was just the cutting edge, the blow came from his core. With a quick series of exhales through tight lips Shouta brought the kama across where the throat would be, then the abdomen, and finally the artery in the leg that would cause sure death. Then he did it again the opposite way. He felt the weight of the day disappearing. The soreness and the pain remained, but his mindset was subtly shifted. He set his weapon down and looked up. The night sky was cloaking Mizahar. Shouta smiled. He closed his eyes and let the change take him. When it was finished he was taller and more handsome than normally possible. The stressors of life and age did not effect his visage. He was now more than a mere mortal. He was a shadow of what once was a blessed being. But alas, he had fallen back. White horns now protruded from ashy black hair, and his porcelain skin shone with the light of the moon. It was really getting to be time to return. The Acolyte in charge of him would not be pleased if he shirked his duties. And that would lead to a beating he did not need. Shouta practiced the Crane strikes a few more times, just to imprint them further into his mind. Trying to increase his speed while maintaining the power level. He sighed and stared at the dummy for a moment. He was satisfied with the day overall. Who knows, perhaps he would have to use the Fox Lunge tonight! He picked up his dummies and turned heel to return to the Sharp Blade Headquarters. He had left some sweat and some blood behind in the Warfields, as many had before him. And he’d do it again the next day, and the day after. He’d continue to do it because he knew he had tasted perfection before, somewhere with Leth. Though he did not remember the flavor of it, he wanted it again. It nagged constantly at his mind. His had fallen but he felt like he was still falling.

[Balderdash]

Delicious rewards! Happy days and jubilation!

Skill	XP Awarded
Weapon: Kusarigama	3
Meditation	1
Bodybuilding	1

Lores: Practice (Eventually!) Makes Perfect, Kusarigama Technique: Fox Lunge, Kusarigama Technique: Crane Lunge

Items and Consequences: None.

A fun little training thread. The bodybuilding came from the tireless repetition!

If you have any questions or concerns about this grade, please PM me. A happy you is a happy Balderdash!