- Joined
- Jun 20, 2013
- Messages
- 2,391
- Reaction score
- 838
Ziost wasn't a world that was particularly to Yasha's liking.
It was cold all the time, and the air as it blew around quickly served to dry out Yasha's skin - uncomfortable for a Selkath like him - if he spent too long outside; and when he was inside, the furnaces that kept the temple warm did much the same. Still, he did, at least, understand that learning to overcome the physical discomfort was part of what made one a more proficient weapon for the Imperium. So he kept his complaints to himself and worked as he always did.
Now he was engaging in strength training and combat practice. He had yet to move to the combat practice - his vibrosword and training lightsaber were sitting in the snow nearby. Instead, he stood bare-chested in the snow, with his solid durasteel staff in his hands. This wasn't combat training at the moment - the twirls and tosses and swings he was executing, more acrobatic than deadly, would get him killed in a real fight. But as the weapon swung through the air at high speed, one might also notice the Selkath's musculature heaving and writhing as he worked, revealing the true nature of his practice.
While he did that, he kept his eyes closed and his senses focused on other things, both in the mundane and in the Force. He could intuit the durasteel rod's location and speed well enough just from his tactile sensations, while he could smell a coming storm on the air; the howling wind itself was both indicator of that and not enough to hide the sounds of others training nearby, though just out of sight. Some of those others had passed him by earlier, but ignored him. He also kept his senses in the Force open, ready to notice whether or not there was any being coming who he might find it necessary to stop his training for in order to avoid giving offense to those above him.
Or in case some unwanted intruder should come and try to interrupt him. Who knew what might happen.
It was cold all the time, and the air as it blew around quickly served to dry out Yasha's skin - uncomfortable for a Selkath like him - if he spent too long outside; and when he was inside, the furnaces that kept the temple warm did much the same. Still, he did, at least, understand that learning to overcome the physical discomfort was part of what made one a more proficient weapon for the Imperium. So he kept his complaints to himself and worked as he always did.
Now he was engaging in strength training and combat practice. He had yet to move to the combat practice - his vibrosword and training lightsaber were sitting in the snow nearby. Instead, he stood bare-chested in the snow, with his solid durasteel staff in his hands. This wasn't combat training at the moment - the twirls and tosses and swings he was executing, more acrobatic than deadly, would get him killed in a real fight. But as the weapon swung through the air at high speed, one might also notice the Selkath's musculature heaving and writhing as he worked, revealing the true nature of his practice.
While he did that, he kept his eyes closed and his senses focused on other things, both in the mundane and in the Force. He could intuit the durasteel rod's location and speed well enough just from his tactile sensations, while he could smell a coming storm on the air; the howling wind itself was both indicator of that and not enough to hide the sounds of others training nearby, though just out of sight. Some of those others had passed him by earlier, but ignored him. He also kept his senses in the Force open, ready to notice whether or not there was any being coming who he might find it necessary to stop his training for in order to avoid giving offense to those above him.
Or in case some unwanted intruder should come and try to interrupt him. Who knew what might happen.