Post by Bastille Amtrum on Sept 1, 2013 23:55:11 GMT -8
A knights work was never finished...at least this knight's.
Consolidating the personalities and becoming the warrior capable of using their own Qi was a lot easier said than done. Now, that wasn't to say she wasn't proud of the achievements she'd made- One of them being, namely, to be a well known fighter who did not use Qi in a sea of Qi users. She was also well known for being excessively skilled and precise-------this was due to her tireless training day in and day out. After all, and art form such as blade dancing or or the sword serenade was not something learned from watching Braveheart, Samurai films, or even fabulous action sequences in Lord of the Ring. In fact, Bastille really couldn't begin to name the horrible inaccuracies some of those movies had- like why certain swings with certain blades just didn't work in the physical world.
But that aside, the art was of mastering the blade and maintaining mastery- and before Bastille could master that rather giant blade she had imported from Spain in a giant and expensive effort- she would have to first master her first one and her strength.
So here she was.................punching things. Sounds funny because frankly it was. But learning strength took testing the strength. Bastille had broken her wrist a total of 27 times in order to make sure that it didn't work right. Now this was very useful when trying to keep your blade in your had in battle- but in punching things? Not so great.
Bastille had secluded herself from the surrounding world on the notion that ignoring anything major would keep her focused and them unprepared. Their run in with Barker had made certain her notions- she needed to great stronger...faster. No more distractions, if she was going to protect her daughters, she was going to need to be able to become someone worthy of wielding their status and conviction as a Knight.
So here she was, training, away from everyone. Clad in nothing but bandages, a beaten up t-shirt, and tight rock climbing pants she had come across in the rubble of a sports chalet. Her feet were bare and bleeding from the glass on the ground but she seemed determined to master the pain...as much as she was to teach a certain built dummy the meaning of agony regardless of its obviously missing pain receptors.
Consolidating the personalities and becoming the warrior capable of using their own Qi was a lot easier said than done. Now, that wasn't to say she wasn't proud of the achievements she'd made- One of them being, namely, to be a well known fighter who did not use Qi in a sea of Qi users. She was also well known for being excessively skilled and precise-------this was due to her tireless training day in and day out. After all, and art form such as blade dancing or or the sword serenade was not something learned from watching Braveheart, Samurai films, or even fabulous action sequences in Lord of the Ring. In fact, Bastille really couldn't begin to name the horrible inaccuracies some of those movies had- like why certain swings with certain blades just didn't work in the physical world.
But that aside, the art was of mastering the blade and maintaining mastery- and before Bastille could master that rather giant blade she had imported from Spain in a giant and expensive effort- she would have to first master her first one and her strength.
So here she was.................punching things. Sounds funny because frankly it was. But learning strength took testing the strength. Bastille had broken her wrist a total of 27 times in order to make sure that it didn't work right. Now this was very useful when trying to keep your blade in your had in battle- but in punching things? Not so great.
Bastille had secluded herself from the surrounding world on the notion that ignoring anything major would keep her focused and them unprepared. Their run in with Barker had made certain her notions- she needed to great stronger...faster. No more distractions, if she was going to protect her daughters, she was going to need to be able to become someone worthy of wielding their status and conviction as a Knight.
So here she was, training, away from everyone. Clad in nothing but bandages, a beaten up t-shirt, and tight rock climbing pants she had come across in the rubble of a sports chalet. Her feet were bare and bleeding from the glass on the ground but she seemed determined to master the pain...as much as she was to teach a certain built dummy the meaning of agony regardless of its obviously missing pain receptors.
