06-07-2017, 10:08 PM
Quote:DojoIt was like a homing beacon. Takezo wandered around for only a brief while before he discovered what looked to be a very... weird looking Dojo. As he entered, he took a deep breath through his nostrils. It smelled of sweat and dust. Maybe the first part was just him? It had been a few days since he bathed.
Either way, he enters the dojo, peering around at a number of mirrors along the walls. His clothing was still stained with blood, a small line even sprayed along his jaw, drying into his scruff. He huffed at it, caring little about how he looked at the moment. There would be more blood to come.
Takezo took a stance. With a quick motion, Takezo quickly withdrew his sword and slashed at the air. He watched the mirror in front of him, gauging his form. "Peh." He must be rusty. The draw felt too slow, almost sluggish.
He took the handle in both hands and slashed downwards. "One." His arms loosened. The blade rose and he slashed at the air again. "Two." A rhythm started to form. Up... Down... "Three." Up... Down... "Four." And so he counted.
His cuts varied slightly. For twenty counts, he would slash downwards. For twenty more he would slash upwards. Twenty after that, he would slash to the left, and after that twenty to the right. When this cycle was completed, he began it again. Top to bottom times twenty. Bottom to top times twenty. Right to left times twenty. Left to right times twenty.
Takezo watched his reflection. He judged the movements, criticized his own form and made corrections swiftly between strikes. They were so minute that perhaps no one might notice how his left hand was just an inch too high on the handle, or how his foot had slid an inch too far to the right.
The swift slashes sing as they cut through the air. The stench of sweat grew as the swordsman perspired. This was nice change from training in the mountains, not that he preferred one over the other. A rogue wild cat trying to gut you made excellent practice - and a meal - when in the wild.