Post by Rensou Hiruen on Dec 5, 2011 20:03:34 GMT -5
The Pit, they called this place. . .foreboding were the walls within this place, for they were unwashed and unpainted; they were, however, stained with blood from the top to the bottom. Cheap equipment ranging from weights to heavy clothing were scattered about, and pikes drove into the ground hefted Saiyan skulls high into the sky. The center of the circular establishment was clearly drawn with white chalk across the caked, dried mud twenty feet stood upon.
Hunni managed or owned nine of the Saiyan here, and the last was his newest employee. In truth, the businessman had not wished to hire Rensou Hiruen, but he had been convinced by a burning ball of ki aimed for his face. Hushed whispers and mumbling could be heard from the assembled gladiators whom had split off into groups of favored companions, but not a word was heard from Rensou as he surveyed the charges before him.
". . .blessed by the war-goddess, Riane," Rensou overheard, and nearly laughed at the idea that a fictional Saiyan goddess from the days of old watched over him.
"They say he's unstoppable, unkillable," another advised to his fellow warriors, and Rensou smirked at the words. In his own arrogant mentality, that was fact and not rumor.
". . .he's no champion. If -I- had been selected for the Grand Pri--" but that murmur was halted as the Lord of Saru Arena exploded across the sand and grounded the bearded warrior with a backhand that silenced everyone present.
Mouths dropped and eyes lit up with curiosity as Rensou extended his hand down to the fallen Saiyan, who grasped it and was brought to his feet. Feigning complacence, the brash fighter turned his body into a hook a right hook that caught Rensou unaware. The Saiyan stumbled backwards as the fact registered in the offenders mind that he had just struck such a man. Still the onlookers stared, and the Gladiator had squared up into a loose fighting stance.
However, Rensou shot out a stream of saliva tinged with red and stared at the tense man with a smile emblazoned 'pon his scarred features, and he began to speak rather than fight. A rare showing from the Saiyan, indeed.
"Respect," he grinned to the nine fighters before him, allowing a pause to apply emphasis to the word. "To each other, you will give it. From one another, you will recieve it, but. . ." he continued as he paced before them, meeting eyes with his legion as a tiny trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. "It is nothing if you do not respect yourself!" and with that his voice had risen, the men staring at him in awe.
The pacing of the last Hiruen halted before the warrior whom he had struck, the one whom had drawn blood in return. "Your name?" he questioned as he stepped closer to the fighter, sizing him up. Rensou already approved of this one, but he would not be crossed again.
"Laiz, of family Hurogi, sir!" Laiz cried as his flexed his bicep and brought his forearm before his chest, diagonally, with a taut fist. The Vegetan salute.
Laiz Hurogi was short of stature, but lined with hardened muscle and a robust midsection. The Saiyan was not obese by any means, but he was certainly healthy.
"You'll face me, the rest of you. . .watch, and take note. Laiz, like myself, is a member of a dying breed. A fighting Saiyan in a city full of fat, lazy, politician scum!" to this the eight other warriors gave a cry of celebration as they circled the two combatants whom landed in the center of the white circle with a click of boot upon clay and a wisp of dust.
Laiz slipped readily into the tense stance he had adopted earlier, and Rensou assumed his own with feet apart and fists wide and leveled with his stone hewn chin. Noting the eagerness of the pupil, Rensou unfurled two gloved fingers and motioned him onward.
With an explosion of orange aura and a cloud of dust behind him, Laiz closed the distance between he and Rensou and swung with a fully drawn arm: a wide looping hook that carried power but faltered in speed. Even the expression of the gladiator was tight across his face, and it was evident this man would need a lesson in form.
The teacher delivered. His fluid stance allowed a sidestep to the right, the matching side the attack had been delivered from. This effectively established two advantages for Rensou, and spelled disaster for Laiz, whom would soon note his errors as his momentum carried him past his opponent and sensei, allowing Rensou the time to spin his body and propel it backward all at once. Laiz had begun to attempt another wide punch, anger rising at his wide miss, however, as his arm reached the firing point a lifted leg had slammed a dusty boot 'cross his jaw.
Laiz tumbled to the dirt the second time, and Rensou stepped over him with disappointment evident upon his face, glaring downward as his throat issued speech, "Striking with full strength is only effective against the weak, you must set up your strikes, either with speedy attacks. . .or, as I have shown, through counter attacking." With the fallen Saiyan below him, Rensou began to charge a Tsuruha between bowled palms. "Once a powerful strike had downed or stunned an opponent, you issue the coup-de-grace! TSURUHA!"
Laiz closed his eyes, and waited. . .but death never came. Rensou had readjusted his aim at the last moment and fired his beam harmlessly into the air. Once again, the assembled gladiators were shocked. Before Rensou Hiruen, their last trainer had been a cruel Saiyan, more masochist than master. Weakness was punished by strength.
"The first lesson was the respect, and you've seen the fruitlessness of overextension. It goes hand in hand with respect," Rensou extended his hand again to Laiz and helped him to his feet. "The second lesson is comradery. Never will you kill a gladiator from this stable, always will you strive to help him."
Rensou Hiruen leaped high over the circled warriors, whom whirled to face him as his flip completed and he landed on his feet, his back to his men. "You will spar, one on one, for the next three hours. Do not wound each other, for your manager, Hunni, requires you at peak condition," as did Rensou Hiruen, these were fine warriors whom had been placed in his hands, and he would shape them into fighting machines. They would fill his pockets with zeni and pride.
Hunni managed or owned nine of the Saiyan here, and the last was his newest employee. In truth, the businessman had not wished to hire Rensou Hiruen, but he had been convinced by a burning ball of ki aimed for his face. Hushed whispers and mumbling could be heard from the assembled gladiators whom had split off into groups of favored companions, but not a word was heard from Rensou as he surveyed the charges before him.
". . .blessed by the war-goddess, Riane," Rensou overheard, and nearly laughed at the idea that a fictional Saiyan goddess from the days of old watched over him.
"They say he's unstoppable, unkillable," another advised to his fellow warriors, and Rensou smirked at the words. In his own arrogant mentality, that was fact and not rumor.
". . .he's no champion. If -I- had been selected for the Grand Pri--" but that murmur was halted as the Lord of Saru Arena exploded across the sand and grounded the bearded warrior with a backhand that silenced everyone present.
Mouths dropped and eyes lit up with curiosity as Rensou extended his hand down to the fallen Saiyan, who grasped it and was brought to his feet. Feigning complacence, the brash fighter turned his body into a hook a right hook that caught Rensou unaware. The Saiyan stumbled backwards as the fact registered in the offenders mind that he had just struck such a man. Still the onlookers stared, and the Gladiator had squared up into a loose fighting stance.
However, Rensou shot out a stream of saliva tinged with red and stared at the tense man with a smile emblazoned 'pon his scarred features, and he began to speak rather than fight. A rare showing from the Saiyan, indeed.
"Respect," he grinned to the nine fighters before him, allowing a pause to apply emphasis to the word. "To each other, you will give it. From one another, you will recieve it, but. . ." he continued as he paced before them, meeting eyes with his legion as a tiny trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. "It is nothing if you do not respect yourself!" and with that his voice had risen, the men staring at him in awe.
The pacing of the last Hiruen halted before the warrior whom he had struck, the one whom had drawn blood in return. "Your name?" he questioned as he stepped closer to the fighter, sizing him up. Rensou already approved of this one, but he would not be crossed again.
"Laiz, of family Hurogi, sir!" Laiz cried as his flexed his bicep and brought his forearm before his chest, diagonally, with a taut fist. The Vegetan salute.
Laiz Hurogi was short of stature, but lined with hardened muscle and a robust midsection. The Saiyan was not obese by any means, but he was certainly healthy.
"You'll face me, the rest of you. . .watch, and take note. Laiz, like myself, is a member of a dying breed. A fighting Saiyan in a city full of fat, lazy, politician scum!" to this the eight other warriors gave a cry of celebration as they circled the two combatants whom landed in the center of the white circle with a click of boot upon clay and a wisp of dust.
Laiz slipped readily into the tense stance he had adopted earlier, and Rensou assumed his own with feet apart and fists wide and leveled with his stone hewn chin. Noting the eagerness of the pupil, Rensou unfurled two gloved fingers and motioned him onward.
With an explosion of orange aura and a cloud of dust behind him, Laiz closed the distance between he and Rensou and swung with a fully drawn arm: a wide looping hook that carried power but faltered in speed. Even the expression of the gladiator was tight across his face, and it was evident this man would need a lesson in form.
The teacher delivered. His fluid stance allowed a sidestep to the right, the matching side the attack had been delivered from. This effectively established two advantages for Rensou, and spelled disaster for Laiz, whom would soon note his errors as his momentum carried him past his opponent and sensei, allowing Rensou the time to spin his body and propel it backward all at once. Laiz had begun to attempt another wide punch, anger rising at his wide miss, however, as his arm reached the firing point a lifted leg had slammed a dusty boot 'cross his jaw.
Laiz tumbled to the dirt the second time, and Rensou stepped over him with disappointment evident upon his face, glaring downward as his throat issued speech, "Striking with full strength is only effective against the weak, you must set up your strikes, either with speedy attacks. . .or, as I have shown, through counter attacking." With the fallen Saiyan below him, Rensou began to charge a Tsuruha between bowled palms. "Once a powerful strike had downed or stunned an opponent, you issue the coup-de-grace! TSURUHA!"
Laiz closed his eyes, and waited. . .but death never came. Rensou had readjusted his aim at the last moment and fired his beam harmlessly into the air. Once again, the assembled gladiators were shocked. Before Rensou Hiruen, their last trainer had been a cruel Saiyan, more masochist than master. Weakness was punished by strength.
"The first lesson was the respect, and you've seen the fruitlessness of overextension. It goes hand in hand with respect," Rensou extended his hand again to Laiz and helped him to his feet. "The second lesson is comradery. Never will you kill a gladiator from this stable, always will you strive to help him."
Rensou Hiruen leaped high over the circled warriors, whom whirled to face him as his flip completed and he landed on his feet, his back to his men. "You will spar, one on one, for the next three hours. Do not wound each other, for your manager, Hunni, requires you at peak condition," as did Rensou Hiruen, these were fine warriors whom had been placed in his hands, and he would shape them into fighting machines. They would fill his pockets with zeni and pride.
