Upon the yellow training mats, which are stained with blood, placed at one meter intervals where five foot high wooden pillars. Wound around the top of the pillars is Razor Wire. It is pulled tight, drawing a line straight down the Centre. At half meter intervals there is a wooden panel, studded with metal, positioned to the right and left of the wire.
A figure stands on the yellow Mats lining the hard floor, to the side of the contraption. The figure stands shirtless. His body athletic, finally trimmed body covered in a sheen of sweat which glistens in the light. His chest rises and falls as he draws in deep breaths, breathing heavily. He looks upwards and utters a soft prayer while clenching and opening his hands. With each tight clench more blood trickles out of the lacerations on his hands. He shakes out his limbs and rolls his shoulders and neck before exhaling loudly. He walks back to the start of the this make shift obstacle course.
He attacks it. He slides forward down the central line. He dips his knees and hips, leaning left and right, weaving under the wire. As he straightens up his back occasionally scrapes against the Razor Wire, causing a strange verbal reaction, and as he weaves close to one of the Wooden Panels he delivers a blow with his left or right hand (depending on what side he is at) forcing his fists in to the studs. He does this quickly, efficiently and with the fluid grace of a well practised individual.
As he completed the Obstacle Course he simply stood still. Back straight. Looking upwards trying to control his breathing. Once his training regime is completed he walks around the cloister to allow his muscles to cool down and his wounds to stop bleeding. He slides his shirt back on and then sits cross legged on the floor. Moderating his breathing, focusing his attention inwards, reliving each cut to his flesh.
Last Edit: Aug 2, 2019 17:02:09 GMT -5 by Sioladuil
Why let the truth get in the way of a good yarn?
Duvaega Sormuzhik Elvewyn Cenocelin Ander Brightwood Sepoto Wasatho