The mountain wind reaches the Colosseum long before any people do. It descends from the highest ridges of Kumogakure in cold, rolling sheets that slip down narrow passes. By the time it reaches the lower district its strikes across the market as a piercing wind similar to a sharpened blade. However, within the Vespasian Colosseum, a great amphitheater carved into the mountain’s flank, the wind becomes something else entirely.
Here, it sings. It sweeps into the open roof in long, spiraling drafts that whistle through the exposed pillars which hold up this grand structure. It glides over the countless rows of empty stone seats and every gust becomes a low hum that vibrates inside the ancient pillars. It is not warm here, not even at noon in the height of summer. Kumogakure’s mountains hoard their winter, and the Colosseum's high walls were built to embrace the breathe of the sky above.
Nozomi stands in the middle of it, letting the cold settle across her shoulders like a mantle. A quick thought of how today marked her twelfth year in this world, and it was gone just as soon as it came. Her breath forms in tendrils of mist that curl away and dissipate into the atmosphere as strands of pale blonde hair lift in the wind, then settle against her cheek. She tucks them behind her ear without thinking, eyes fixed on the far archway where the training grounds open into the main arena.
The early morning light spills in from the slanted roof above, cutting across the elliptical stone in long bands of silver and gray. Meanwhile, dust stirs in lazy spirals that are carried by the mountain’s breath. Overhead, even the clouds drift low enough that from the rim of the amphitheater they look close enough to touch. But... down here, in the carved out cavity of the training grounds, the world feels miles deep. The obsidian statue of Raikage Shinbatsu dominates the entrance behind her. A life size statue that still seems to give off the appearance of being larger than life. It has a polished mirror sheen and golden lines which trace the armor to give it a surreal appearance. His obsidian spear is grounded at his side, point down, with hands resting upon the hilt as though he is watching those who dare enter these grounds.
Nozomi always felt the weight of that gaze every time she came to this place. Not oppressive, but measuring. She exhales softly and bows her head in acknowledgment before turning back toward the center of the grounds. After all, she has preparations to complete.
The earth beneath her boots is packed smoothed by hundreds of sparring sessions. It looks uniform and level by design. The Colosseum’s attendants maintain it meticulously, sweeping and raking every night so that no student can use old tracks as an advantage. This is exactly why Nozomi arrived early. She kneels and presses her fingertips into the ground allowing chakra to ripple outward from her hand. Energy that is thin, and precise. Similar to the way she is learning to make it when she isn’t shaping it into her clay. She reaches for the first hidden seal she placed earlier that morning. It’s nothing more than a small concave bead of clay, barely the size of a fingertip, buried below the surface. The seal is faint and tucked beneath a layer of dust.
She brushes the earth lightly, feeling for the subtle, whisper thin signature of her own chakra. She allows herself a small breath of satisfaction and moves to the next. There are eleven in total, arranged in a loose pattern designed not to trap Yosuke, but to challenge him. A trial to force adjustments in rhythm, footwork, and awareness. A minefield of sorts, but not a dangerous one. Just startling and enough to jolt him into new instincts. Also a measure of her own training, would she be able to properly predict how another person moves?
She checks the next seal, and the next. They are all properly calibrated and when it is done she stands and dusts her hands off. As she does, she realizes her fingers smell faintly of clay. A thing that is pliable, faithful, and capable of perfection, even if only for an instant.
Nozomi would attempt to get loose now, assuming Yosuke would arrive soon. She stretches her arms overhead, then her legs outward in an attempt to loosen her body for the training to come. There is no point in spectacle here for there is no audience to impress. Just the wind, the stone, and the quiet pressure of expectation. She ties her hair back with a slim band and removes her cloak. Underneath, she wears simple training gear. It is dark, form fitting, and easy to move in. Her arms have some light but thick padding at key defensive locations. She requires full mobility because Yosuke will be using a spear, but also the ability to defend a blow upon the strengthened hide.
Her shadow stretches long and thin across the dust. Her weight settles and her mind becomes still. She is ready.
[Class Post 1/5; WC: 857/1,000]
Here, it sings. It sweeps into the open roof in long, spiraling drafts that whistle through the exposed pillars which hold up this grand structure. It glides over the countless rows of empty stone seats and every gust becomes a low hum that vibrates inside the ancient pillars. It is not warm here, not even at noon in the height of summer. Kumogakure’s mountains hoard their winter, and the Colosseum's high walls were built to embrace the breathe of the sky above.
Nozomi stands in the middle of it, letting the cold settle across her shoulders like a mantle. A quick thought of how today marked her twelfth year in this world, and it was gone just as soon as it came. Her breath forms in tendrils of mist that curl away and dissipate into the atmosphere as strands of pale blonde hair lift in the wind, then settle against her cheek. She tucks them behind her ear without thinking, eyes fixed on the far archway where the training grounds open into the main arena.
The early morning light spills in from the slanted roof above, cutting across the elliptical stone in long bands of silver and gray. Meanwhile, dust stirs in lazy spirals that are carried by the mountain’s breath. Overhead, even the clouds drift low enough that from the rim of the amphitheater they look close enough to touch. But... down here, in the carved out cavity of the training grounds, the world feels miles deep. The obsidian statue of Raikage Shinbatsu dominates the entrance behind her. A life size statue that still seems to give off the appearance of being larger than life. It has a polished mirror sheen and golden lines which trace the armor to give it a surreal appearance. His obsidian spear is grounded at his side, point down, with hands resting upon the hilt as though he is watching those who dare enter these grounds.
Nozomi always felt the weight of that gaze every time she came to this place. Not oppressive, but measuring. She exhales softly and bows her head in acknowledgment before turning back toward the center of the grounds. After all, she has preparations to complete.
The earth beneath her boots is packed smoothed by hundreds of sparring sessions. It looks uniform and level by design. The Colosseum’s attendants maintain it meticulously, sweeping and raking every night so that no student can use old tracks as an advantage. This is exactly why Nozomi arrived early. She kneels and presses her fingertips into the ground allowing chakra to ripple outward from her hand. Energy that is thin, and precise. Similar to the way she is learning to make it when she isn’t shaping it into her clay. She reaches for the first hidden seal she placed earlier that morning. It’s nothing more than a small concave bead of clay, barely the size of a fingertip, buried below the surface. The seal is faint and tucked beneath a layer of dust.
She brushes the earth lightly, feeling for the subtle, whisper thin signature of her own chakra. She allows herself a small breath of satisfaction and moves to the next. There are eleven in total, arranged in a loose pattern designed not to trap Yosuke, but to challenge him. A trial to force adjustments in rhythm, footwork, and awareness. A minefield of sorts, but not a dangerous one. Just startling and enough to jolt him into new instincts. Also a measure of her own training, would she be able to properly predict how another person moves?
She checks the next seal, and the next. They are all properly calibrated and when it is done she stands and dusts her hands off. As she does, she realizes her fingers smell faintly of clay. A thing that is pliable, faithful, and capable of perfection, even if only for an instant.
Nozomi would attempt to get loose now, assuming Yosuke would arrive soon. She stretches her arms overhead, then her legs outward in an attempt to loosen her body for the training to come. There is no point in spectacle here for there is no audience to impress. Just the wind, the stone, and the quiet pressure of expectation. She ties her hair back with a slim band and removes her cloak. Underneath, she wears simple training gear. It is dark, form fitting, and easy to move in. Her arms have some light but thick padding at key defensive locations. She requires full mobility because Yosuke will be using a spear, but also the ability to defend a blow upon the strengthened hide.
Her shadow stretches long and thin across the dust. Her weight settles and her mind becomes still. She is ready.
[Class Post 1/5; WC: 857/1,000]