Post by Achille on Aug 15, 2013 13:56:41 GMT -6
Achille was in his sanctuary.
Just as the Forge was the paradise of the Blacksmith, the Stables the home of the Beastmasters, so the Training Gyms were his area of expertise.
He threw himself forward, ducking beneath the outstretched blade of an imaginary swordsman, his hands relaxed, his body moving like a well-oiled machine. His abdominal muscles clenched, triceps extending as calloused hands snapped up, slamming the scarred palms into the stomach of his shadow enemy.
The right hand reached up, gripping air, and he pivoted, throwing himself forward onto one knee. His massive form curled over, right knee hitting the ground with a loud SLAM, head bowed.
This was his zen, his meditation.
He heard none of the other males in the gym, the middle of the room empty. Sweat dripped down his forehead, gathering in his eyebrows, leaking into his narrowed eyes. He didn't seem to notice.
His shirtless torso gleamed with the same sweat, his black training sweats sticking to his legs like a second-skin.
Achille was the only student in the center of the room, the others giving him plenty of room. It wasn't unusual for someone to get too close, and the Blade to confuse them for a shadow enemy.
He'd put seven people into the healer's hands, usually for broken bones and a couple of concussions.
No, the others knew to give the ferocious muscle-bound bull plenty of room.
He was ruthless in this mindset.
His temper was sharpened by experience and volatile heat, body already swinging around to throw himself into an agile roll.
Back onto his feet.
And more imaginary foes appeared.