016573 vs. BlackandBlueEyes: Slow Ride on the Easy Train
The day dawned humid and overcast, light drizzle permeating a dense fog which rolled across the island of Scara Brae like a vast gray sleeping bag, muffling the land. It moved slowly, ushered on by strong breezes blown in from the ocean. In heavily wooded areas the mist hung about, like a cloud of perfume near a highschool girls' locker room, imbuing everything with the salty smell of sea air.
The fog was nearly tangible, one could taste it in a lungful of breath. It was not an unpleasant taste; it brought to mind the sensation of licking your lips after a dip in the ocean. Stationary bodies were reduced to mere shadows at any distance greater than arm's length, while moving outdoors left visible swirls and eddies in the atmosphere.
Inside my glass-domed arena felt like being trapped in a crystal ball. The only difference being that the shapeless white danced on the outside of the glass. Condensation covered the transparent roof of my octagonal arena, as well as all four windows, adding to the density of the already impenetrable fog. The double doors at the front of the arena were thrown wide, as were the windows, allowing a gentle crossbreeze to trickle through the interior. It brought the fresh scent of salt water, awakening my senses to the new day.
Locked in meditation, I lay on my back, Pranic energy flowing into my body with each inhale and exhale. I was in the centre of the arena, comfortable on the hard sparring mats, my eyes locked open. They stared beyond the iron gridwork ten feet up, beyond the moistened glass, into the blank endless day. My heartbeat echoed throughout each vein and artery, slow, methodical, matched to my gentle breathing. A casual observer might have thought me asleep, or dead. But I had never felt more alive. There was such a wonderous energy pumping through me that it was an effort of will to remain lying still.
For the first time in weeks, I could truly forget about the hardships in my life. I had been torn from the life I had loved on Earth, working as a Special Agent to the Canadian government, until the day an unstable portal brought me to the depth of Althanas. Each day since then had brought new challenges, new foes, many of them threatening death or worse. Finally, I had found a job I could hold, doing what I did best. Having become a warrior of Dajas Pagoda, it was my job to fight challengers, nothing more. Instruct where I could, if the challengers were willing, but in principle I was a Proffesional Fighter. It was truly a dream job. Combat was not only my expertise, but my passion. Pitting myself against another human being, or as it may happen, elf, brought such a fantastic adrenaline rush that everyday life paled in contrast. My favourite moments were those spent sweating, moving, grappling for position, striking vital places, finishing an enemy. Best of all, I got paid to do it.
Although Pranic Meditation brought me to an emotionless void, I felt a grin stretch my face. Today's challenger would arrive soon, for it was almost noon. I wondered what surprises my next opponent would bring me. For as in life, in combat, nothing is certain.