1 Noontime on Sky Point [Sanosuke][No Kill] Sun Apr 14, 2013 6:41 pm
Takashi1
D-rank
Today was the day. Takashi had yet to conquer Sky Point, and he could not allow any mountain to best him, no matter how massive. A handful have scaled its rocky slopes; its serrated, snow-tipped peaks. Why should he be among those who haven't?
At around 9 o'clock, Takashi began to put on his usual attire. He ambled about his room, shirtless and dazed, and snatched his clothes from the scattered piles around his squalid room. As he stumbled towards the mirror, he caught a glimpse of the Kuroka mark on his back. He froze, reminiscing. The intricate red trigram symbolized so much to him: glory, fame, awe, power, prestige. This mark was why he had to climb Sky Point today. This achievement will perpetuate his name into fame and hopefully pull the name of Kuroka out of the gutter it is stuck in.
At 9:30, Takashi burst out of his house clad in his black gloves, black boots, sweater, wool overcoat, and tartan scarf. He carried a satchel filled with the essentials: two meals, two canteens, and a plethora pocket-sized novels for his breaks. He scanned the height of the mighty mountain, shook, and laughed giddily. He then pulled the scarf over his mouth. The scale up was going to be a cold one.
His step was rhythmic as he ascended the trail. The withering bushes crunched and crackled beneath his boot. Each stomp was deliberate, precise. If I overexert myself now, I can kiss the peak goodbye. At this point, the noon sun, the king of light, had graced the sky with his radiant presence. "Two and a half hours. I should take a rest," he said as if obliged to take a break. He had yet to break a sweat.
He dropped his satchel on the ground and made himself comfortable on a nearby boulder. He riffled through the bag and grabbed a canteen and a book. Takashi opened up a book in one hand and took a sip with the other. He then hunched over the novel, scanning its contexts hungrily. The silver-haired boy began to grin, his eyes grew wider and wider and glistened with fantastical wonder. Images of samurais, ninjas, great battles, sword duels, and acts of bravery ricocheted inside his skull. Takashi felt an energy exponentially grow inside him. The feeling grew stronger and stronger and stronger until he was ready to explode with excitement. Takashi was no longer on Sky Point. He was inside the book.
The boy jumped off the boulder and landed with a thunderous thud. With fictional sword in hand, he cut down whole squads of shinobi with a single swing. He leapt on a boulder and fended off his attackers. He kicked an invisible enemy in the face, sending him flying off the mountain. He swung, he blocked, elbowed, punched, kicked, and spun. In his mind, he was the warrior of Sky Point.
At around 9 o'clock, Takashi began to put on his usual attire. He ambled about his room, shirtless and dazed, and snatched his clothes from the scattered piles around his squalid room. As he stumbled towards the mirror, he caught a glimpse of the Kuroka mark on his back. He froze, reminiscing. The intricate red trigram symbolized so much to him: glory, fame, awe, power, prestige. This mark was why he had to climb Sky Point today. This achievement will perpetuate his name into fame and hopefully pull the name of Kuroka out of the gutter it is stuck in.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
At 9:30, Takashi burst out of his house clad in his black gloves, black boots, sweater, wool overcoat, and tartan scarf. He carried a satchel filled with the essentials: two meals, two canteens, and a plethora pocket-sized novels for his breaks. He scanned the height of the mighty mountain, shook, and laughed giddily. He then pulled the scarf over his mouth. The scale up was going to be a cold one.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
His step was rhythmic as he ascended the trail. The withering bushes crunched and crackled beneath his boot. Each stomp was deliberate, precise. If I overexert myself now, I can kiss the peak goodbye. At this point, the noon sun, the king of light, had graced the sky with his radiant presence. "Two and a half hours. I should take a rest," he said as if obliged to take a break. He had yet to break a sweat.
He dropped his satchel on the ground and made himself comfortable on a nearby boulder. He riffled through the bag and grabbed a canteen and a book. Takashi opened up a book in one hand and took a sip with the other. He then hunched over the novel, scanning its contexts hungrily. The silver-haired boy began to grin, his eyes grew wider and wider and glistened with fantastical wonder. Images of samurais, ninjas, great battles, sword duels, and acts of bravery ricocheted inside his skull. Takashi felt an energy exponentially grow inside him. The feeling grew stronger and stronger and stronger until he was ready to explode with excitement. Takashi was no longer on Sky Point. He was inside the book.
The boy jumped off the boulder and landed with a thunderous thud. With fictional sword in hand, he cut down whole squads of shinobi with a single swing. He leapt on a boulder and fended off his attackers. He kicked an invisible enemy in the face, sending him flying off the mountain. He swung, he blocked, elbowed, punched, kicked, and spun. In his mind, he was the warrior of Sky Point.