82nd Winter, 513 A.V.
Weakness. As the season came to a close, Venser had begun to reach the conclusion that in his seclusion in the city of Ravok, in his obsession with the craft of Zapatl and his philosophies of Transformation, he was slowly poisoning himself with the complacency that came with weakness. He had broken his ribs earlier in the season simply due to the fact that he was weak. Despite his knowledge of the manipulation of djed, he was allowing himself to remain... weak. Disgusting. Complacency was the chain that led to stagnation, and stagnation led to the damnation of the mind, body and soul. I will not let myself fade away. I will not allow myself to die while a pulse still beats in this body. No... Strength is what I need.
In more ways than one.
Just as the body required attention to musculature in order to nourish and grow, the soul did, as well. Djed's manipulation required to be trained, just as the muscles did. And Venser was going to do both. To kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.The sun had long descended from pitch-black sky, the rising moon illuminating the Docks in its ivory splendor, the dead night allowing the Fluxist a sense of privacy that simply did not exist in the city. It was here that he decided that he would begin the building of the physical form, the strengthening of body and soul of paramount importance. One must not only transform mentally through the workings of the world, but physically, emotionally, and spiritually through personal effort and desire.
The wooden walkways of the pier were damp, the cold piercing through the man's body. He had chosen to remove his shirt during the effort, knowing that sweat would dampen and render the garment useless as he returned home in the cool winds of night. Ravok was blessed, for whatever reason, with a perfectly hospitable climate, but that made the cold, weak as it may be, all the more uncomfortable. Then do something about it, jackass. You're here for a reason, so get started. Venser nodded, resolution clear within his crystalline eyes as he pushed away from the wooden poles and rope that prevented one from falling straight-away into the waters of the lake. He turned around, his arms bent and raised to shoulder level as he simply... allowed himself to fall forward to the ground.
His palms opened his his body free fell, the young man tightening the thin musculature of his pectorals as hands were dealt the brunt of the impact with the ground. Immediately, the Fluxist felt the burn on his triceps, eyes opening wide and muscles screaming their agony as the resistance tormented the fibers. He persevered against the pain, controlling it, siphoning it into his own self-motivation. So weak that you can't even withstand an impact, Venser? How do you expect to continue on? the Flux is DANGEROUS. You have to be strong to withstand it. Persevere or DIE...
NO! He refused to allow himself to fade in the wake of the slightest of obstacles, the Rush twin pushing his body upwards with his arms, his chest searing, then the sensation fading as the effort transitioned from pectoral muscles and into the triceps. Success. There was little satisfaction in the motion, seeing as it should have been easy, yet Venser knew his physical strength to be undeveloped. He had been raised apart from that sort of encouragement, and had never actively pursued it himself.
The Rush twin repeated the cyclic motion of compressing his pectorals and then triceps, finishing a slow set of ten 'push-ups'. In the course of the action, blood had rushed to his skull, his face red with exertion, physical strain forcing lactic acid through the affected muscles, slowing his movements. The physical body withstands little. But I am not limited to just what the body can accomplish on its own...
The next trial was as difficult as the first, the body held in its suspension as Venser's eyes closed again. He envisioned the sensation of the pathways in his arms opening, the man sucking in a deep breath as he forced the djed from the soul itself and into the limbs. His legs, as a result, felt slightly weaker, but he was not using them. It mattered little to him, and the Fluxist did his utmost to limit the movement of djed pulling as little as possible to prevent the horrors of overgiving, a sensation he was... intimately familiar with.
Power. He felt the strength return to his limbs, his features slowly turning to a grin as his eyes flew open again, Venser pulling himself close to the ground before pushing forward with all of his might. The burst pushed him upwards, several feet separating his chest and the ground, giving the young man just enough time to stretch his right leg forward. Essentially, Venser had brought himself from being on his stomach to a kneeling posture in a shaky motion.
It's understandable. One does not push themselves to a standing position from the ground without... practice... I did my best, at the very least.
The Fluxist arranged himself into a seated, cross-legged position, allowing himself a moment of rest and meditation before moving on to the next sequence.
