49th Of Summer, 513 AV, Seventh Bell, nearing nightfall, but still very bright.
Passion. Determination. Skill. Perseverance. Honor. Speed. Power.
This is what the secret ingredient of a fighter was, although every legendary fighter knew it, and there was only a few. Some in the making, some retired, but legendary fighters existed. Yes, there were many of them, and anyone could achieve a title. Anyone could slap on gloves, and punch someone or something, and self proclaim the title boxer or warrior. But only a few stuck with it, only a few saw the beauty and the honor in it, the passion behind your punch. There were good fighter, there were great brawlers, but above all there was legendary boxers. Boxing wasn't exactly something one would easily come across, it took all of your heart put into every punch, and that's exactly what was happening today.
Deep in the training grounds, on the oval cobblestone course, a young squire was honing his skills. Running on the course with his fist up high, his abdomen burning with work, he was on the right track. Kisetukai Yamehaka, running laps, it was a natural scene. Not only was he running but his patron was right besides him, yelling at him for encouragement, it was a gift. The course was simple, it was a huge oval that stretched a mile. K was to run along the sides lengthwise, and when he got to the middle of the turn, he would cut left to the inside of the oval. Running on grass, he would run straight into the oval's opposite side, and punch a bag which was conveniently located there. He was almost done though, having been at it all day, which was actually showing off.
Sweat pouring down his face, he jogged, his fist head high. He was moving at a decent speed, very slow, but way faster than walking. It was a lot of muscle to move around, he bounced with every step and through jabs every three seconds. Cutting insanely fast, he sprinted though the grass zone, until he made it back to course. Planting his feet directly in front of the dummy, he went to work. Lowering his body, leaning forward, he sent two right jabs flying forward to the "gut". Popping up with a swift speed left uppercut, his arm retracted and shifted, letting his right fly forward with a hook. A left hook soon blazed forward, and a step forward, as a right hook made it's way back too. Seemed he was enjoying himself.
"LAST LAP!" He heard his patron yell.
He turned quickly, shifting his muscle, and cutting right. Already off to a good start, he concentrated as he pushed it, running as fast as possible. His massive hands flying back and forth like tomahawks, he focused as he ran. Right! Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Right! Right! Right? Losing his footing, he tripped and fell, tumbling a bit as he tripped into the grass. Thankfully getting up without scratches, he heard his patron's praise. Tossing it aside, he was a bit angry at himself, although he said thank you. He walked off, seeing as his patron was getting ready to go home, he decided to at least speak to his master. "Ser Corben I'm gonna stick around and talk to you soon... I uh, I feel like I gotta train... Ya know?" He began walking towards the grass, sliding on his clothes, as he prepared to train.
His sweat soon leaving, after constant chimes flew by, he was prepared to do what he did best. Wooden scythe in his right hand, dark wooden shield wrapped on his left arm, he wanted to push it today. He had on his simple clothing, although still elegant and expensive, it was simple. His bright white cargo shorts, a new white cotton tee, white ankle socks and low top thin shoes. He wanted to go to a girls house after this, of course he wasn't gonna go clean himself. Freshening up was for females, not real men. He then decided to hurry up, after all in less than two bells it would be close to getting dark, which was never any good. He took his form, menacing right foot forward, it seemed unarmed combat helped armed combat. He then held his scythe at mid length, being optimistic and using it as a hook. Slashing down quickly, he retreated and covered his face with his shield, popping out and slashing once more.
Instantly growing tired of simple slashing in place, he spun of his back foot (left), and delivered a blind sided sweep and hook. Dropping his shield in the process, he quickly grew annoyed, and thought about what his master had told him. "You can never win a fight if your angry... For you have already loss before it started." He spoke as he remembered word for word. Dropping scythe, sitting with both weapons at his sides, he crossed his legs and assumed the position. "Breathe in... Breathe out.... Breathe in..." Soon his voice became low, until he was saying it mentally, thinking about how to calm himself. It was working, his heart rate was slowing down, but he needed to be more calm. Closing his eyes and resting his palms on the cool grass, he kept breathing slowly, thinking to himself. He was happy, happy to be alone. These training grounds were never this empty, and even when he came early that time, Fallon was there. So this must've been the key, don't come early, come late. Everyone was out, getting ready for bed, and doing gods knew what.
This was bliss... Symbolic bliss.
Passion. Determination. Skill. Perseverance. Honor. Speed. Power.
This is what the secret ingredient of a fighter was, although every legendary fighter knew it, and there was only a few. Some in the making, some retired, but legendary fighters existed. Yes, there were many of them, and anyone could achieve a title. Anyone could slap on gloves, and punch someone or something, and self proclaim the title boxer or warrior. But only a few stuck with it, only a few saw the beauty and the honor in it, the passion behind your punch. There were good fighter, there were great brawlers, but above all there was legendary boxers. Boxing wasn't exactly something one would easily come across, it took all of your heart put into every punch, and that's exactly what was happening today.
Deep in the training grounds, on the oval cobblestone course, a young squire was honing his skills. Running on the course with his fist up high, his abdomen burning with work, he was on the right track. Kisetukai Yamehaka, running laps, it was a natural scene. Not only was he running but his patron was right besides him, yelling at him for encouragement, it was a gift. The course was simple, it was a huge oval that stretched a mile. K was to run along the sides lengthwise, and when he got to the middle of the turn, he would cut left to the inside of the oval. Running on grass, he would run straight into the oval's opposite side, and punch a bag which was conveniently located there. He was almost done though, having been at it all day, which was actually showing off.
Sweat pouring down his face, he jogged, his fist head high. He was moving at a decent speed, very slow, but way faster than walking. It was a lot of muscle to move around, he bounced with every step and through jabs every three seconds. Cutting insanely fast, he sprinted though the grass zone, until he made it back to course. Planting his feet directly in front of the dummy, he went to work. Lowering his body, leaning forward, he sent two right jabs flying forward to the "gut". Popping up with a swift speed left uppercut, his arm retracted and shifted, letting his right fly forward with a hook. A left hook soon blazed forward, and a step forward, as a right hook made it's way back too. Seemed he was enjoying himself.
"LAST LAP!" He heard his patron yell.
He turned quickly, shifting his muscle, and cutting right. Already off to a good start, he concentrated as he pushed it, running as fast as possible. His massive hands flying back and forth like tomahawks, he focused as he ran. Right! Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Right! Right! Right? Losing his footing, he tripped and fell, tumbling a bit as he tripped into the grass. Thankfully getting up without scratches, he heard his patron's praise. Tossing it aside, he was a bit angry at himself, although he said thank you. He walked off, seeing as his patron was getting ready to go home, he decided to at least speak to his master. "Ser Corben I'm gonna stick around and talk to you soon... I uh, I feel like I gotta train... Ya know?" He began walking towards the grass, sliding on his clothes, as he prepared to train.
His sweat soon leaving, after constant chimes flew by, he was prepared to do what he did best. Wooden scythe in his right hand, dark wooden shield wrapped on his left arm, he wanted to push it today. He had on his simple clothing, although still elegant and expensive, it was simple. His bright white cargo shorts, a new white cotton tee, white ankle socks and low top thin shoes. He wanted to go to a girls house after this, of course he wasn't gonna go clean himself. Freshening up was for females, not real men. He then decided to hurry up, after all in less than two bells it would be close to getting dark, which was never any good. He took his form, menacing right foot forward, it seemed unarmed combat helped armed combat. He then held his scythe at mid length, being optimistic and using it as a hook. Slashing down quickly, he retreated and covered his face with his shield, popping out and slashing once more.
Instantly growing tired of simple slashing in place, he spun of his back foot (left), and delivered a blind sided sweep and hook. Dropping his shield in the process, he quickly grew annoyed, and thought about what his master had told him. "You can never win a fight if your angry... For you have already loss before it started." He spoke as he remembered word for word. Dropping scythe, sitting with both weapons at his sides, he crossed his legs and assumed the position. "Breathe in... Breathe out.... Breathe in..." Soon his voice became low, until he was saying it mentally, thinking about how to calm himself. It was working, his heart rate was slowing down, but he needed to be more calm. Closing his eyes and resting his palms on the cool grass, he kept breathing slowly, thinking to himself. He was happy, happy to be alone. These training grounds were never this empty, and even when he came early that time, Fallon was there. So this must've been the key, don't come early, come late. Everyone was out, getting ready for bed, and doing gods knew what.
This was bliss... Symbolic bliss.
