[b][u]Toast to The Dead | Mountains over Dojoville[/u][/b] [i]Here’s a toast to the dead If you don’t drink, smoke to the head For the freedom fighters killed by the feds For those who died hard in the streets soaking in red And died slow asleep in a dream choking in bed Here’s a toast to the dead for my enemies that are gone I’m not a coward so, celebrating that would be wrong I pray to God that your soul will come back again So I can see you in the next life and finish it then A toast to the dead for criminals, burning in hell I wonder how many presidents are burning as well -Immortal Technique[/i] "C'mon, you can do better than that," the older man said with a slight smile. "Again." Their [i]bokkens[/i] crashed into one another as the young man whirled around with an angry fire in his eyes. The boy's opponent saw this flare of anger and tapped into it, noticing the boy's rushed footwork and shooting a paint round into his knee. A newer splash of red cracked open on the younger man's leg, his elder's wooden sword soon creating a painted red streak across his thigh and chest in a swift one-two motion, partially breaking apart the wooden sword that he parried. It was almost as if he had no time to react. "Unfair, Lael. You caught me off guard," the boy sighed as he stopped his advance and stepped a few paces back, readying himself for another sparring match once more. His body was covered in dozens of red splotches from their private training session. Lael had insisted that they slow their training down, but at the same time he was excited due to his new pupil's passion for learning. Though he had yet to know what drove his student's pursuit. Lines and circular splatters of crimson were painted on the young man's fencing jacket, even staining his training pistol's holster a faded vermillion. "Lucien, you get too angry. Such emotion is a powerful driving force, but you cannot let that fire of yours get any more out of control," Lael chuckled in spite of the younger Lucien's skeptical face. "It was a simple miscalculation on my part. I should've been watching your gun hand and disabled it with my own-" "No, it isn't that, my boy. Listen to me: imagine your skill as a piece of metal used by the smiths to create a weapon. Whatever determination you have, use it as fire to temper the blade," the thickly accented Lael explained as he began to circle Lucien, wooden blade raised in one hand and the other poised to draw his sidearm. Lucien began to pace around his opponent as well, weakly raising his sword in two hands. His entire body ached after being bombarded by paint bullets and the blunt force of wooden blades - but he would not rest until he fully mastered the Tribals' Wanderer Discipline. "Stop that shaking, watch your feet. Spaced out just like - yes, good, good. Control that fires of yours - our hunters use only the finest of weapons to hunt down the abominations." With a [i]clack![/i] the two wooden swords collided once before sounding off again, sending red paint flying both ways. During their trade, Lael quickly drew his sidearm and prepared to fire it point-blank, but his draw was interrupted by a step inwards followed by an elbow strike to the solar plexus from Lucien. Gasping for air, Lael attempted to retreat whilst being pressured by Lucien's blade every step of the way. With two slashes from Lucien came three more shots from his sidearm, every attack connecting and leaving a nasty welt beneath a splatter of paint. He moved like a shadow of death itself, so fast it was like he merely phased through each blow Lael tried to send towards him. "I concede!" Lael coughed while laughing. Lucien's blade slammed across his left knee, sending him to one as he was surprised. Two more shots were planted in his collarbone, one placed soon after on his cheek - dangerously close to his eye. Any higher and he would've gone blind. The storm of red paint continued as Lael attempted to defend himself, more in shock at his student's ferocity. He was dumbfounded until he saw something that unnerved him in Lucien's eyes. That fire from before was now a fully-fledged inferno within his pupils, a light that only a madman would use. "Lucien, enough!" he said as his student's sword came flying towards his windpipe, stopped just in time. Silence reigned for what seemed to be hours contained in heartbeat. That look of madness in the young Lucien's eyes dimmed as he suddenly realized what he had done. Immediately dropping his weapons and offering a hand, he began to apologize, "Dear God, I'm so sorry Lael. I didn't mean to -" "No, lad. It's quite alright," Lael said with a slight laugh to hide his creeping fear. "It's my own fault for not being able to keep up. Would you like at that, eh? The student standing over the master with a blade at his throat. Spectacular!" A fit of coughing overcame Lael as Lucien helped him up. There was something hidden deep within his pupil, Lael knew that. But what it was would terrify him to his core if he knew right then and there. So he laughed it off instead, denying his own wariness, "Good Lord, boy. You fight a damn demon yourself." ~~~ It was early morning. Tesuto was nowhere in sight, so Lucien decided to train. After all, the nightmares of the night before still plagued him. Reliving his memories with the Tribals were bittersweet more than anything. It had been a few days from his arrival at the Dojo. After the two massacres at the hands of the alleged "Venom" mercenaries (as Ronin called them), he already had his hands full in this strange new place. So what better an exercise than training to keep his mind in order? Beneath the shade of a large tree he began to spar an imaginary opponent, whirling back in a deadly tornado of faux gunshots and slashes into the air. Any onlooker wouldn't see the single tear falling down his face as he remembered the exact same moves his mentor taught him, soon lost within the many beads of sweat. [spoiler]Closed to Pants, open to critique.[/spoiler]