From atop a considerably high waterfall, a young looking man, whose angular eyes had seen much in the ways of life, now turned his deep gaze to the clear, crystaline pool below. As the sun made the tiny droplets of water that trickled down some of the smaller falls appear to be tiny golden dancers weaving their way intricately down the hills, letting the path of least resistance take them to wherever it was they were to go, a single golden-hued leaf broke it's grip on the tree that had nursed it's life for so long, and fluttered along the breeze; a tiny, golden dancer in the wind.
The leaf spiraled in the wind, sweeping across the man atop the falls, barely grazing his shoulder as it arced greatly and nestled softly at the rock at his feet. Truly, he marveled, the purest beauty exists in the smallest and simplest of things.

At the thought, he slowly took of his shirt, a soft blue colored garb, not native to most cities about the world. He kicked off his soft leather shoes and left his pants, which were a white-beige color and ran his hand over his shaven scalp. Without warning, he looked into the pond below once more, spread his hands, and lept. His body was muscled, toned heavily through Lothlómendil only knows how much time and devoted training. He flew gracefully to the icy pool below, and cut through the water like a knife, splashing hands first into the crystal clear paradise.
The strange monk rolled after he had submerged, holding his breath in, yet exhaling slightly once through his nose, so the water would not rush in. His feet touched the bottom of the pool, which, though deep enough, was not all that far from the life bringing air above.

The monk kicked off the bottom of the pool and swam back to the surface, his face appearing calm and collected. Softly, he swam his way over to the rock that the heavy falls were pouring down upon. Backing his way swiftly around the raging torrent of heavy water, the fellow reached out and touched the gravity powered stream. His hand was taken down a few inches as he braced himself; after a swift second of desicion, he stepped out into the waterfall, letting the oppressive weight crash down upon his shoulders. To most, this would look strange, but to a fighting monk such as he, this was training; this was life. the water would lay into him, toughening his resistance to pain, the resistance for his nerves to hold up to such brutal physical abuse, and the domination of ones own desires, such as the desire to escape from the weight that the waterfall was conditioning his body for. It would make him stronger yet. The self-discipline it had taken the young monk to acquire such patience, and the ability to withstand such punishement was unmeasurable, but it was most definately not to the same effect the first time he had done this, even if this particular waterfall was more powerful and heavier than most of those he had trained in before.

But this was only the start of his training, indeed, he had picked a place of peace to hone his instincts, his mind, and his body, because he would train until he could train no more, and if he was distracted by another, it would cause a bit of an issue in the isolation aspect of the training. If it happened, so be it, but the solitude helped him forget this world, forget all thought, and let raw instinct take over, and he would hone those instincts like an executioner his axe, or a master assassin his dagger. Later, he would perform some fighting moves under water, to increase his speed and agility, but right now, the test was of a more mental level.