| "My Speaking" | My Thoughts |
8th of Summer 516AV
The grand oak's leaves rustled in the breeze, he could hear the tree but could not see it. Wrapped around him were the four foot tall walls that were built at the Training Grounds to resemble those of barrier walls for an enemy's fortress. Ball being three inches tall saw this walls from his perspective as massive castle walls. They were at least a foot thick and the weapons masters kept them in good shape to best resemble the difficult terrain the squires and knights would need to traverse in combat. Ball saw them as something else though...
The difficulty of his life, the lies and deceits of those unworthy. Those that climbed upon his small shoulders to better themselves, leaving him in the dirt to pick himself back up. They only taught him things when it benefited them most. Ball lifted his hands so they were place before him and the wall, trembling mitts of clay rippling with the sorrow and anger. The anger was winning slowly, but that wasn't hard to see for Ball. His hands balled into fists and he proceeded to pull both fists back to his body before throwing the first punch.
Fist connected with the stone and it shook the wall, but it didn't break. Ball growled and punched again, this time with his other fist. As one fist moved forward Ball pulled the other back away from the wall, once more placing it by his side ready to fire off again. The second fist connected hard, blasting away small chips of stone, mortar, and dust. Never again. Ball growled louder as he pulled the fist back and pushed out his other hand forward.
Anger was boiling over to a point of no control, his emotions tied to his control so tightly that the coupling ignited the floodgates of djed. Ball misinterpretted the djed rushing from his nexus outward to his fist as anger, anger boiled down to something he could use, strengthening the clay of his fist. In reality though it was the spark of his anger that directed the flow of his djed towards his forward moving hand. This djed increase forced the fist faster forward, forcing the pyken artist to falter and smash his hand into the wall. The wall groaned and shuddered before Ball was able to right himself and pull his fist from the crater it formed. Pieces of gravel tumbled from the dent and Ball punched outwardly again.
The grand oak's leaves rustled in the breeze, he could hear the tree but could not see it. Wrapped around him were the four foot tall walls that were built at the Training Grounds to resemble those of barrier walls for an enemy's fortress. Ball being three inches tall saw this walls from his perspective as massive castle walls. They were at least a foot thick and the weapons masters kept them in good shape to best resemble the difficult terrain the squires and knights would need to traverse in combat. Ball saw them as something else though...
The difficulty of his life, the lies and deceits of those unworthy. Those that climbed upon his small shoulders to better themselves, leaving him in the dirt to pick himself back up. They only taught him things when it benefited them most. Ball lifted his hands so they were place before him and the wall, trembling mitts of clay rippling with the sorrow and anger. The anger was winning slowly, but that wasn't hard to see for Ball. His hands balled into fists and he proceeded to pull both fists back to his body before throwing the first punch.
Fist connected with the stone and it shook the wall, but it didn't break. Ball growled and punched again, this time with his other fist. As one fist moved forward Ball pulled the other back away from the wall, once more placing it by his side ready to fire off again. The second fist connected hard, blasting away small chips of stone, mortar, and dust. Never again. Ball growled louder as he pulled the fist back and pushed out his other hand forward.
Anger was boiling over to a point of no control, his emotions tied to his control so tightly that the coupling ignited the floodgates of djed. Ball misinterpretted the djed rushing from his nexus outward to his fist as anger, anger boiled down to something he could use, strengthening the clay of his fist. In reality though it was the spark of his anger that directed the flow of his djed towards his forward moving hand. This djed increase forced the fist faster forward, forcing the pyken artist to falter and smash his hand into the wall. The wall groaned and shuddered before Ball was able to right himself and pull his fist from the crater it formed. Pieces of gravel tumbled from the dent and Ball punched outwardly again.
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