The Temple of Pain:
Broadleaf Form.

Chris Alan had done rather well in his basics for a first-timer his ability to grasp patterns, coupled by sheer willpower, helped in this vein. To his own amazement, Chris Alan’ body seemed to be cooperating with him; even without the Gift of Healing, his body seemed able to take almost any amount of punishment. To Autumn, Chris Alan felt harder, even firmer, but he looked no different; his body structure remained unchanged. It was as if being an unchanging Protector had carried over into his very body.

With a focused mind and eager eyes, Chris Alan went through the basics time and again over the span of two weeks: stances, blocks, punches, Blademaster basics and kicks. Toa was pleased and smiling; whatever punishment he dished out, Chris Alan took it in stride, and daily the lad grew stronger. Whether it was hundreds of push ups, sit ups, squats, handstands for an hour or some grueling slave type work like fixing the dome of the Temple alone (which involved lifting heavy blocks), Chris Alan took it on with a will. Every day it was drill, drill, drill: the basics over and over again, until they seemed to come out of his ears. He was sent running with two large caldrons for water, running all the way to the river and back again without spilling a drop, carrying them both on his back with a bamboo pole. It was pain for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

At one point Slate had complained loudly to Toa that he was putting Chris Alan through so much that he’d be at least as able and willing to do himself. “You’re being cruel, fella,” he said in his usual straightforward (and rather irreverent) way. “Blondie’s mind, soul and body ain’t built for that kind of abuse.”

“For you, bearing such burdens is a natural strength,” Toa had replied mildly. “For Chris Alan, it is not. Thus it is he, not you, who must bear such burdens.”