I will not BREAK

Mido · 01-06-2012, 03:14 PM

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Word Count :: 529 Points::5 OOC:: Oh dear, she’s gone and upset him =0. I’m still getting used to this roleplaying idea, and am not sure when I’ve power played. If I’ve f*&% $& up let me know and I’ll fix it. 8D

Axelle really began taking instructional charge of the Dasa. He held on to his blade tightly, having her circling him silently made him mildly nervous, causing him to tense up again. She barked at him demanding he loosen up, she made him jump every time she abruptly commanded something of him, but the male breathed and obediently did as he was told. His teacher briefly spoke a little about the sword he held being like that of a Katana. He thought it was a Katana at first, but now he wondered if it might have been that of another breed of sword. She explained to the multicolored man that she would teach him what she knew for posture and movement. Probably the best place to start.

Before really getting started with him she asked what knowledge he had of sword fighting. Inside his mind he died laughing at her question. He had no training or instruction what so ever. But he recalled his past as a young boy, how all the pups would play samurai. It was one of the games the kids would play on a regular basis, and this was the only game they would let him join in on. It always seemed to be fun for the others to gang up on him, beating the hell out of him was something they really enjoyed. Do you want me to be honest? He asked, planning on letting her know anyway. I might know a couple strikes. I use to play samurai with the other kids, we used sticks, definitely not swords. They always had a tendency to use their sticks as a way to berate me. His gaze fell from his masters’. He had remembered the pity and pain he was put through, and what a cruel joke it was.

Axelle mentioned that he had to know something. She demanded he come at her. Holding the Katana in his hands his mind rapidly flashed back, feeding him images of the kids who always dealt him his pain and punishment. The memories, feelings and emotions surged like an uncontrollable tsunami. The waves of reminiscence washed over him engulfing him, he was drowning in them. He physically felt like he was choking, his hands shook around his blade and his arm muscles twitched heavily. These sword lessons were dredging up a hurtful past that turned into rage and hatred, not towards the kind woman Axelle, no, towards those who hurt him and belittled him. What felt like might come out as a cry was more of a yell. He quickly moved in on her, swinging his sword in a downward angled motion with power. He continued to swing away from the left, the right, from the ground up he continued without stopping, a yell escaping his mouth with each motion he made. The Dasa had lost his compsure entirely, striking and stabbing at her, but her skill was far too good in comparison, child’s play really, and he was the boy armed with a dangerous weapon who was throwing a fit. His tantrum made his breathing unstable. Raaahhhh! The huskadore yelled out of frustration.

Table by the Mentors!
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