Post by Munemasa Iroka on Sept 28, 2022 22:28:13 GMT -5
It was quite early in the day; the dawn was yet to break, and the birds had probably just begun to stir in their nests. It was that time of the day when all seemed to be still, but there appeared to be some sort of expectation of nature, waiting for the sun to rise. The crepuscular creatures had returned to their dens, or were doing so, lending to the stillness. The wind blew softly, and the moon's light, though visible, already seemed to be greying in the atmosphere that came before the sun's rays became visible on the horizon. In that moment between night and day, in that stillness of the atmosphere, a lone figure stood in one of Seireitei's general training grounds.
Iroka stood silently, facing the dummies before her. Mostly made of wood and straw, a good number of them possessed marks, scars and signs of damage, which had been inflicted by Shinigami training their arts. If any looked new, it was only because some overzealous tyke had destroyed what had originally stood in its place, requiring the broken dummy to need a replacement. And while people were generally encouraged not to go too far in damaging the structures, no one was really reprimanded if they destroyed a dummy. It was, after all, why the dummies existed: to be broken.
There was a part of Iroka that felt a bit bad for hitting the dummies. Her parent, after all, had made it clear that she had little more worth than them. Originally designed as what was supposed to be a prototype dispensable fighting machine for Seireitei, Iroka had been discovered by the Gotei 13 when word of her parent's unethical actions reached their ears. So far, she had been treated like every other Shinigami, like a person. But still, it was difficult to overlook the words that came from the person that mattered most to her. Iroka was not indispensable. She actually even held less worth than a normal Shinigami, according to her parent, and as such, she needed to prove that she was worthy to exist by being useful, which was why she was here.
Combat was not something Iroka fancied, but as a Shinigami, it was necessary to practice it, because even though she was in a Division which was not combat-oriented, that did not mean she would live out all her days without seeing battle. The Shinigami exhaled, her breath misting in the cold pre-morning air, as she sank into a ready stance. Graceful enough, she supposed, but not excellent enough to be called masterful. Hopefully she would get there in time. Opening her clenched fist, she thrust outward at one of the dummies, hitting it with a palm strike and exhaling again as she did. It was all about form and repetition. She already had combat knowledge 'installed' into her mind. That did not mean her body was capable of utilizing it. But with time, her body would learn to perform what her mind already had knowledge of. She executed the same move, striking the dummy with more force this time.
Iroka stood silently, facing the dummies before her. Mostly made of wood and straw, a good number of them possessed marks, scars and signs of damage, which had been inflicted by Shinigami training their arts. If any looked new, it was only because some overzealous tyke had destroyed what had originally stood in its place, requiring the broken dummy to need a replacement. And while people were generally encouraged not to go too far in damaging the structures, no one was really reprimanded if they destroyed a dummy. It was, after all, why the dummies existed: to be broken.
There was a part of Iroka that felt a bit bad for hitting the dummies. Her parent, after all, had made it clear that she had little more worth than them. Originally designed as what was supposed to be a prototype dispensable fighting machine for Seireitei, Iroka had been discovered by the Gotei 13 when word of her parent's unethical actions reached their ears. So far, she had been treated like every other Shinigami, like a person. But still, it was difficult to overlook the words that came from the person that mattered most to her. Iroka was not indispensable. She actually even held less worth than a normal Shinigami, according to her parent, and as such, she needed to prove that she was worthy to exist by being useful, which was why she was here.
Combat was not something Iroka fancied, but as a Shinigami, it was necessary to practice it, because even though she was in a Division which was not combat-oriented, that did not mean she would live out all her days without seeing battle. The Shinigami exhaled, her breath misting in the cold pre-morning air, as she sank into a ready stance. Graceful enough, she supposed, but not excellent enough to be called masterful. Hopefully she would get there in time. Opening her clenched fist, she thrust outward at one of the dummies, hitting it with a palm strike and exhaling again as she did. It was all about form and repetition. She already had combat knowledge 'installed' into her mind. That did not mean her body was capable of utilizing it. But with time, her body would learn to perform what her mind already had knowledge of. She executed the same move, striking the dummy with more force this time.