Naruto: Crisis: Shinobi Fate


Sweat, Rice, and Hellfire. (Training, Private)


Posts : 248
Join date : 2015-12-02

Sweat, Rice, and Hellfire. (Training, Private)

Post by Saya on Sat Dec 12, 2015 4:30 am

Training for upgraded speed special characteristic.
Name: Super Speed
Rank: B
Type: Physical
Description: The user is definitely faster than most. They are also faster than one rank above their own. The anyone two levels higher than them can keep up with them. They can barely be seen by ninja of their own rank and one rank above. Just because they can see doesn't mean they can react, 40 Speed stat increase. Needs slightly faster than the average ninja speed.

It would soon be a fine day in Joki, but the sun had still yet to crest the horizon.  The last moments of night time black were giving way to the first hints of feint blue, but Saya was already hard at work.  She'd been here for an hour, enjoying the stillness and solitude of the witching hours as she prepared herself for a long day of working out.  She was still inside the city, situated near the academy but away from the areas the children tended to gather and play, or practice.  Tucked away as she was, she had only a small patch of open ground with well trampled and patchy grass and a few trees standing guard along the edges.  It wasn't much space, but it was enough for what she had in mind.

She lived a life of training, often times from sun up to sun down seeing her working with either her blades or her body with a continued need to attain as much perfection in her arts as she could muster.  Today it was a quest for speed, though yesterday was kendo, and tomorrow would be strength.  Each day she tended to focus on a single specific skill and work it to exhaustion.  Speed had always been a trial.  Saya was a naturally quick girl, with a fluid grace built into her limbs.  While this did give her a natural edge of much of the competition, it made focusing on her swiftness difficult, without over stressing her muscles to the point of building them up for strength.  

To find a health balance she adopted a tried and tested technique for working her muscles enough, but only enough to build up the tension in her muscles without increasing their bulk.  For a time she simply ran, miles upon miles twice each day in a wide circle around the city, but that had only taken her so far.  She had tried adding training weights to her jogs, however that had also only taken her only slightly further.  The past few weeks, however, she had combined two sorts of practice into a single day of hell, sore muscles, and a deep aching weariness that really let her know she'd been working that day.

In her small clearing she had been stretching, working life and flexibility into still sleepy muscles to prepare them for the effort ahead.  She had already had a mild breakfast of water and fruit, but she wouldn't stop working until the sun was midsky.  Even then her break would only be long enough for a lunch of rice balls and tried beef.  She would spend a few moments in both meditation and digestion, then get right back too it.  This was her way, her nindo.  Never give up.  She was die hard in the face of adversity, and found no joy in life greater than triumph over an obstacle which had stood previously as an imposing wall, and challenged her to over come it.

The key, as she discovered, was applying the excess weight granted from her training weights with a training schedule that was decidedly more acrobatic than simply long distance jogging.  The extra weight even made the otherwise simple act of stretching more difficult, fine control over her long and lithe limbs more difficult when so encumbered, hobbled even by almost her own body weight in excess.  She had 20 pounds around each ankle, sturdy leather shin guards overlaiden with simple iron bars found beneath the legs of her loose training pants.  Ten pounds hooked to each wrist, while a further 30 made up the vest she was wearing.  Simply walking with such weight brought with it it's own sort of exhaustion, but she took this quite another step further.

Her first steps were not horizontal, but vertical, a simple leap pushing both of her feet off the ground and sending her half way up the bare trunk of the nearest tree.  Chakra in her feet allowed her to stick for a moment, but no sooner had she landed than she was pushing off again and sending herself higher into the sky.  She lands atop a branch and it stretches and cracks nosily as it tries to settle with her weight.  Low in the tree the branches were thick, sturdy enough to support her even if they wailed with protest when she landed atop them.  She had never tested them to their limits, and before the weight can be too much she is off again, leaping across the small clearing to a lower branch of the birch just meters away.

Grains of wood strain beneath her weight, but again she is off. The third tree was closer to both of the other two, making only that first leap the longest, and most difficult.  From the third tree she leaps back to the lower branches of the first, and completes a single circuit.

One. Comes the first word she'd spoken since she began, though it would soon be followed by another.  She leaps the long distance between the two furthest trees, and barely gives the branch a moment to bend before moving on.  One after the other she leaps, completing a second run around the simple pattern of leaps.


It was not easy going, this was some of the most strenuous exercise she had been able to come up with.  Even the beginning held a level of difficulty that she considered beyond her years, but she soldiered through them like a champ.  There were times when she fell, times when she stumbled, and times when she was forced to begin a new with a fresh count, but there had never been a time when she did not finish what she had set out for.  Ten circuits were completed in a single minute or so, each time she touched the first tree, the home tree, she quietly whispered the number that matched it.  After ten she leapt higher, both increasing the distance between the trees, and decreasing the strength of the branches she would be landing on.

The second tier of branches were narrow things, sturdy only for the few feet located closest to the trunk of each birch.  She couldn't linger on them long, forcing her to keep moving, to keep leaping from one tree to another, always racing against the sound of cracking branches and shuddering limbs.  Ten more times around and she climbed higher still.  At the top of the modest city trees the branches simply could not support her.  Unless her feet landed at the very base of the almost twig like stocks she would snap it in an instant.

Even close to the trunk she had to be careful, for more than a half second resting on the thin arm would sheer it off and put her at gravity's cruel mercy.  Reliably as sunrise it always dropped her, sending her toppling gracelessly down to land amid the grass and dust below her.  That had not happened for some time, however.  Instead she learned to keep her steps light, the moment of time spent pressing against the branch measured in blinks instead of seconds.

This torment, this muscular torture, went on past sunrise, constant and unending.  Bonfires lit in her thighs and calves, jagged spines of acid seared in her lower back and arms, but she wouldn't stop.  Like a priest reciting rote verses, the one through ten of her practice was unending.  Her voice filled with the strain of her action, her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, but she still forced herself to speak with each complete circuit.  It was her gratification, her own minor sliver of self indulgence, a silent congratulation for each time she made it through all three.

She needed the moral boost, for while it seems like hell at first, after the sun was up it only got worse.  Simple leaps, rapid and unceasing springing from tree to tree could be enough to drive anyone to enervated misery, buy the time Saya was approaching collapse she was only increasing the difficulty.

It might shock those watching her, but it was becoming habit already.  In spite of the pain, in spite of the strain on her body, in spite of even rational thought, she pressed her limits to within a thin hair's breadth of breaking.

After completing the tenth circuit among the highest branches she against descends to the lowest boughs.  She changes the pattern, however, and instead of leaping across the clearing she leaps down.  She twists her body as she decends, landing amid the dirt and rolling fluidly from standing and into a simple cartwheel.  It follows through to a handspring which sends her once more skywards, and once more treewards.  Her feet land against the trunk and power her off once more, gripping the branches above her and swinging herself upwards and across to the next tree in sequence.  She tucks her legs in and flips once in her travels, extending her feet just in time to land atop the second, somewhat stable limbs protruding proudly from the birch tree's trunk.  She was there for a flash, the blink of an eye passing before she hops easily down to the lowest, strongest branch of her home tree.

And so it grew worse, her pattern growing with complexity each time she completes ten circuits.  Cartwheels would soon lose a hand, allowing herself to contact the ground with only a single palm, then eventually give way completely to the arial, the sidewards flip with both hands avoiding the ground.  By the time she had progressed to using her chakra to only contact the bottom of the upper most branches, she was nearly spent.  There were 30 patterns, 10 circuits, and she repeated this grueling grind twice before lunch.  When at last it came time to break she looked as though she'd been swimming.  

Sweat dripped from every patch of exposed skin, and her training clothes clung to her, heavy and damp both above and below the weighted shin guards and vest.  Before she could think of lunch she had to stop.  She always ended up in the center of the clearing, staring skywards from her back.  She would be panting heavily, uncontrolled gasps trying to collect and rush as much oxygen as possible to her the aching inferno that used to be perfectly healthy muscles.  No other form of training she had come up with had ever exhausted her so completely, or left every single muscle in her body burning with the intense satisfaction of an accomplishment earned with the most dire of effort and determination.

For the next 90 minutes she'd rest.  She would eat two rice balls, some fruit, and some meat.  She'd practice her breathing, sit still, and give her body just enough time to rest to begin anew from the beginning.  She would stretch once more, limbering and lengthening her already stiffening and tightening muscles.  All the while she would fight an ironic smile, one that new what pain was coming, but welcomed the challenge that came silently behind it.  Then again, perhaps it was the name that made her smile.  The torments the exercise brought with it, the absolute fatigue and  indescribable ache helped her come up with the perfect name for this practice.  She summarized it perfectly, in only four words.

Thirty Circles of Hell.
NC. Webmaster

Posts : 246
Join date : 2013-06-12

Re: Sweat, Rice, and Hellfire. (Training, Private)

Post by NC. Webmaster on Sun Dec 13, 2015 3:25 am

Approved and 1,000 EXp

    Current date/time is Fri Dec 15, 2017 7:21 pm