The Iron Assassin

My Only Honor is my Soul

Deez nutz.

2nd form...

Several, what he could only assume to be as days have passed since he found his way into this scathing network of caves and scales. And since he wasn't able leave, (even though he clearly had the ability to at any time he wanted), but he wanted to see more. He needed answers and this seemed like the only place he was able to get any.

Pulling his talons back, he held the wooden sword in a large arch over his head, twisting his body into the shape of an "S" before holding the form, his tail curved to the left before swinging the sword down. Not like a slash, but in this form, it acted as a parry, blocking and bouncing off an attack before using the downward motion to slash back up in a bloody slice. At least that is the primary goal of the attack.

Using the upward slashes momentum to fall back into the shield position of form one. His free talon standing just in front of his chest, a loaded sping incase he needed to jump back, his wings perched just behind his back with his back legs perched like loaded springs, flexing the dense muscles in his core in preparation for the imaginary enemy.

Holding still for what felt like eternity, his body become cold as stone. Holding like a statue as he forced his muscles to tense and flex under the metel of his body, burning with that familiar feeling one gets when they are active or training. The only sound emanating from him being his low, controlled breaths, keeping his heartbeat low and his mind clear of any thoughts, he sprung!

Twirling the wooden blade in his talons, it spun, swayed, and hacked at the large dummy that hung in a portion of the cave. Each strike creating a loud thwack with every strike. Making the dummy swing back and forth in violent jerks.

Into the jugular, through the pit arteries, across the throat, down the skull.

He mentally noted. Watching, feeling his body with every strike. Correcting if he found any flaws, even if there wasn't, he tried to make up any. Only to perfect the movement further more. Each silent movement only furthered to keep the armor smooth and soundless, added with the padding fused in, it drank up the sound like a parched dragonet on a hot summer day. Making him the deathly silent killer he is.

4th form....

Pulling back, this time he heaved himself onto his back legs, pulling his back away from the bag.

Splaying his wings open, Riplash pulled his left arm up to his face as he reared his head back like a snake, using the armor on his arm as a makeshift shield for his chin and sensitive scales between his chin and neck as his test weapon fell to his side. The wooden blade fully extended, and there he sat. Soon the muscles in his haunches, hips, and thighs began to burn that familiar feeling, he held it. Counting down the timer in his mind before tensing his arm, backhanding the bag as if to disarm or knock the opponents weapon away before thrusting upwards. The wooden tip of the sword piercing the back of the training dummy, sand bursting out the other end in a grand finish.

Pulling out the training weapon, he watched with mild satisfaction as sand piled up on the stone floor below in front of his talons. The torchlight illuminating the yellow grains as they slowly slowed their draining speed. Leaving behind a large pile in the aftermath.

"You are going to have to pay for that you know." A feminine voice spoke up, annoyed with his actions.

"Mmm. Your guys faults for not having equipment that could stand up to the obvious stress it will receive." He shot with an eye-roll. This place didn't trust him to wander alone, so they decided to pair him up with a Sandwing.

Well.

Mostly the Sandwing. It changed somedays, but it was mostly her.

"Well sorry that not everyone is stabbing into training dummies." She shot back, stepping out of her shadowy seat she chose to take. Her tan colored face dotted with little red spots over her cheeks and forehead.