Shaken Leaves and Blooded Hands

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 14th, 2013, 4:04 pm

43th of Spring 513AV

As the sun descent and the light of amber it adorned peaked over the hills and houses of Nyka, Senghor watched with narrowed eyes at the beauty that'd covered over all of the Celestial Seat, his golden eyes seemed to gain life as the cosmic star brought own its rays in mimickry.

A sigh left his lips as he watched endlessly without contempt, the leaves of the tree seemed be a natural shroud as he leaned against a thick branch, his arms folded in thought. He had been there for some time and didn't know what to do, the guidance he sought wasn't found and that grated at his nerves.

'What now?' he asked himself with a furrow of worry, a cease forming upon his forehead as his eyes laid shadowed by the darkening shade of the leaves, a frown seemed to form at the corners of his lips as he tried to find another comfortable leaning arrangement.

His right foot moved to the side and found ground with the branch beneath him, his body moved away from the branch he leaned on as he unlocked his arms and stood in a straightened pose. As he gazed at Nyka with a stern gaze his brain told his left hand to hold onto the branch beside him, his arm outstretched and Senghor moved his body to the side, he found his body still moving and raised a brow in confusion.

As he head darted towards the branch, he saw his hand grasping at nothingness and himself falling. A spatter of swears slid from himself lips as he began falling into the gnawing cradle of the branches below. He brought up his hand and shielded his face as he spun around, plummeting down to the ground.

As his large body hit into the earth, all the air was knocked for his lungs and his back hit into the earth with a heavy thud, spit flew out his lips as he placed his hand onto his chest and grunted in pain, "Urgh?" was all that'd seemed to leave his lips as he began to sit upright, his entire back in a copious amount of pain.

Heavy pouts of breath leave his chest as he coughed up and out the dirt that'd collected within him, his leg raised up slightly allowing Senghor to place his hand upon his exposed knee, a hollow chuckle seemed to leave him as his downcast head raised and looked at the great behemoth of nature before him, it towered over him as he arched his head to side and looked within, his sword and bag were still unmoved meaning the vibrations he'd caused in his fall weren't as dire as he thought they'd be.

His joints cracked as he began standing up, placing his hand on the ground and using it to balance his rising form. As he stood up and dusted himself of the dirt, he than began pacing in a circle, loosening his joints and and making him nimble so he could climb the tree.

He was surprised that the fall didn't fracture anything, none of his bones were out of place and/or broken, yet his back was in a tedious amount of pain, 'Argh, I should really learn how to understand trees' he told himself jokingly, as be walked around the tree, sizing it up with eager eyes.

To him, the tree was starting to mock him as its leaves rustled and it stood steadfast, "Tough guy huh..." he spoke to the sapling with a snarl as he moved closer to it, and gazed at its trunk, the bark it had, the obscurity of the wood and crevices in which he could put his hands to ascend if he wanted.

He step back and laid a quick fist to it causing it to quiver at the branches, his arm retracted as he felt a slight stinging pain in his knuckles, 'Hmm... Interesting' he told himself as he turned to the other hand and punched the tree once more, a shudder ran along and rustled its leaves.

The desert skinned man kept the simple flow of attacks repeatedly moving, causing the tree to quiver under his punches, he kept the his body stiffened and his knuckles tightened to lessen the pain that'd moved along his air. With each punch a grunt slipped from his lips as he hammered the center of the bark with eased attacks, simple and steady.

With each punch, a puckered sting of pain shot through his arms, and with each pucker of pain his anger began to churn. Quiver, and rustle was the melody that'd engulf Senghor's ears as he kept himself steady, yet he was beginning to get carried away, his legs soon began to enter the mix as he kicked the trunk of the tree at the its lower section with his tibia and not his feet.

With each punch, now followed a kick, and a set to the side, the undying action seemed to continue as he began encircling the tree with his tide of attacks. Yet as kept punching, the welling rage began to consume him, he now began to place force into his attacks, causing his knuckles to redden due to the force, his ebony skin taking the volley of pain that along made him angrier.

Grunts became howls as he began to soften the bark, wood chips started to fall off as he encircled the tree with a brawling style, his aggression began to fill the cup of his emotions and laying at the brim about to spill over. He'd even forgotten himself as he kept moving around the tree, his attack formation now shifted, he halted and looked at truck, and to envision a torso, muscular and steely.

His knuckles fell to the sides of the truck, with each blow he imagined himself punching the ribs of his opponent, his feet even started to gain a rhythmic step to it, flowingly graceful yet compressed in a increment of movement. With each hopping step, his fists punched the sides and his leg delivered the final blow.

At the tips of knuckles blood began to draw yet was hindered by his rage.

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 14th, 2013, 4:06 pm

He felt close to nothing as he rage nullified all the pain that'd began to swell up.

Senghor left his calm demeanour and let the savage aggression take over, the barbarian within him that was feral, brutal and beastly in combat. His shirt hugged him as it always did in those type of situations, each one of his muscles trailed over in a outlined as his attacks became more violent, more feral.

His right fist fell into the side of the trunk where the ribs of a human would be located, yet instead of one punch he kept a kept a repeating onslaught until the bark of the tree fell off and the moist inner skin of the tree was exposed. His left hand shot out and grabbed at the bark of the tree and he pulled upon it, cracking sounds of the wooden skin being torn off its body wailed off and bounced into the subconscious of Senghor.

His attacks weren't composed, they weren't controlled as they used be as the man began to get berserk because of his rage, his psychology was spinning out of its pivotal axis and it caused the son of Vilhjalmr to fight with nothing but blind rage.

Bark began to fall of the tree and flung aside as he punched a part of the tree and shortly opened his palm, digging his fingers into the body of the tree and violently tearing it off as it with were skin, splinters dug into each corner of his hands as blood dripped off the palms and fingers, yet he seemed to be shrugging it over maddened by his rage.

His leg began to get sore as his muscles turned sensitive from each tree shaking kick he put, the tree didn't quiver anymore, it now shook violently in pain as he was relentless in his assault. He'd even forgotten at his items, as they were now slowly moving aside to the edges of the branches he'd placed them on.

His eyes were cold, leaking out nothing but heated anger as he moved his body in a unsettled style of attack. "Argh!!" he growled out the a animal corrupted by its bloodlust, a sharp pain shot through his skull causing him to grasp his head in agony.

He felt the splinters dig into his golden brown hair and touch his scalp, his iris shook in shock as he slid his hand along his hand and looked at it, blood painted his hand in its crimson bath. In disbelief he turned his head to the other hand and was greeted with the same canvas, one of blood and dotted wood to which was his own causing.

Senghor looked down at the dirt and saw the blood drip down and blot the brown soil, droplets of himself etched into the earth caused him to turn his back to the tree, he slid down along the truck and settled down onto the ground with a pained grunt. 'It's not so bad' he told himself as he looked down at his hands.

Truly it wasn't as bad as he thought, he turned looked at the surroundings and than back at his hands, no one was around which was relatively okay by his thinking.

As night began to awaken, and the air was filled with Senghor's grunts of pain, below him were numerous splinters to which he'd plucked off by his teeth and spat to the ground. He looked at his dried blood and closed his hand, wincing only slightly, 'Not as bad as I thought indeed...' he reassured himself with a smirk, pain was inevitable yet once it was devoured by hatred and anger it was null, dead as a corpse ready to be defiled by the wicked and impure.

A dubious amount of minutes passed and Senghor was nearly done with plucking the rooted splintered into his flesh, he'd even began using his own fingers again even as they felt quite numb. A soft sigh left the confines of his lips as he removed the last one and flung it forward with his thumb and index finger, his face contorted in pain as he rested his head back onto the trunk, luckily for him he hadn't completely stripped the tree of its dignity hence some bark was still remaining.

A deaden, hollow chuckle left his lips as he turned to his thoughts and questioned "What'd father say now, To this?" he asked himself and looked down at his hands, and as if his father was there beside him, he heard his reply, deeply as it was, the voice was that of his father.

'In a fight, anger is an enemy and friend, against your opponent it is a friend to you yet to your companions it is a enemy. If you wish to fight with grace and prowess, you must befriend you anger and control it. Be savage, yet retain your ordered sanity and you'll see that any will fall...' he heard the old man's disembodied voice at the back of his head, Senghor' lips curved slightly at a loose smile as he told himself that even as his father had passed on, it felt as if he was still there to guide his son with his vast knowledge.

"Still don't know how the old bastard knows so much, he's never fought a day in his life..." he said with a snort of arrogance, turning his head back to his hands, he closed his palms and felt the pain sting. Yet he felt he could lose to pain as only the weak fell to it, a sigh left his lips as he stood from his makeshift seat, he dusted his pants and stretched again to loosen all his stiffen joints, he kept tell himself that he'd tame his rage even if it was for that one night, he wanted to see if it was possible, to fight with rage yet retain a sense of grace, sanity amidst brutal and bloody attacks.

At first he even incoherently murmured the words, 'Impossible...' yet with his father, impossible wasn't a word, it was letters given meaning to beings so they wouldn't achieve. Senghor turned back to the brutalized tree and shook his head in slightly embarrassment at what he'd done.

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 14th, 2013, 4:07 pm

He was a feral beast, an uncaged animal in a humans flesh because of his anger yet now he'd conquer it as it'd done so to him for so many times before.

As he walked up to the tree again and turned his gaze up, he saw the glitter body of his sword at the edge of a branch and thought of a moment, his palms fell down to the sides of his torso and held onto the hem of his shirt and rolled it up with his thumbs slightly bundling it up only to hold onto it and raise his shirt over his head.

A gentle wind caressed his naked chest, running along his muscular desert skinned abdomen in and slightly teasing at this definitive muscles, he wrapped the shirt around his hand loosely and stood with his feet slightly apart, he targeted the area he was going to through the cushioned punched and went over it numerous times in his head.

A shudder ran through the tree, his bag and sword fell off the edges they were on and hit the earth with a thud, he slowly strode around the tree towards them and and chuckled as he found that his blade had embedded itself into the soil in a acute stance. Senghor removed the bundled up shirt off his hand and began folding it intricately onto to stuff it into his bag carelessly.

Bending down and taking the strap of the bag into his hand, the ebony skinned human moved around the bag to the trunk and stashed it in the crook of the tree as its roots intertwined themselves into the earth. All those actions he'd done weren't in vain, as the pain in his palms began to diminish gradually.

Walking back to his sword, Senghor wrapped his palm around the grip of the longsword only to frown as a slight sting of pain ran along his arm, he felt that if he tightened his hold he'd harm himself hence he firm held it, feeling as it fell into his familiar hold loosely and freely to sway about.

"Ah!..." he sighed softly as he removed the blade out of the ground letting it carry a trail of dust which broke at the stem slowly after. 'It's dance...' he said to himself with a mental laugh.

Senghor raised the sword slowly and drew forward his left palm openly, it touched the pommel with the flat end of his palm and he kept it that way for a moment, his eyes met the tip of the sword in as he looked forward at the emptiness. His right hands coiled index finger touched the held the blade firmly along with his entire hand as it felt the cold touch other the short parallel v-shaped crossed guard that met with the girth of the hilt , its tips directionally proportional with the entire blade as their parted slightly away and faced the different places yet in the still in the same forward direction of the tip Senghor was looking sternly at.

As the shade of the shrouded Senghor slightly, he could still be seen as a silhouette figure with a glittering object by any who's passed by, as his eyes darted with the gentle caress of the wind upon his bare upper body, he slid his left foot back and brought down the blade in a curve.

It whistled with the wind as the blade moved in mimickry with his leg, it'd curved and was digging into the ground causing his upper body to twist at a certain degree, where his left foot was, the blade was mere inches apart from it, he kicked the ground causing his blade to raise up with the leg again, yet that time dug his right foot and raised his heel to lean forward slightly.

His entire body spun and he brought his left leg over his right, in a full degree angle he curved the blade in a diagonal touch and held it firmly, loosely, he felt himself ask if that was what he was missing in his motions, a flowing of the body and mind.

As the tip of his sword hit into the ground and his left foot dug into the earth, he decided to repeat the attack with his left, digging the foot into the ground and raising his heel and twisting body to do another diagonal curve cleave. He brought up his arms and bent his elbows slightly and cut the air vertically shortly after gaining his footing, the blade turned to look up as he step forward and let his left hand go, leaning forward and crouching his right held the grip of the blade a horizontal curve followed the vertical one.

In a fraction of a second, his left fell to the hilt and held it onto it fully like his right hand, Senghor pushed his arms forward and straightened his elbows in a thrust. In a cautious crouch he brought down his left hand and let his fingertips touch the base of the ground as he hooked right hands thumb of the hilt of the blade, his wrist flicked and the blade rotated in direction, instead of facing forward it face backward and as he enclosed his entire palm over it with before it searing through his ligament, it grazed his elbow slightly as he looked down.

He'd even forgot about his necklace, yet his downcast eyes fell to its dangling visage whilst he took to slow breathing, he watched as he chest rose and fell as he crouched in a prowling stance, like a cat, no something deadly, savage and brutal, a wolf with cold crimson eyes that made its abyssal fur blend in with the darkness, its gleaming pearly white canines as silvery trails of spat fell down its growling mouth, he was like a corrupt wolf conceived by a graceful bird, a eagle of might, finesse and courage as it embodied death, brutality and bloodlust.

As he laid there for a moment, he slowly raised his gaze and watched the night fall, he bent his knees and dug the soles of his footwear into the ground and leaned forward in a sprinting leap, out of the shadows and into the gleaming light.

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 14th, 2013, 4:08 pm

As he fell forward in to the light and slowly straightened his stance, his skin tone seemed to attain a incandescent glow with ran along his half-bar features. Senghor halted abruptly and fell spun on his heels, the dug into the earth and made him seem like he was falling back yet he retained his balance and brought his left hand back to the hilt of his sword, as it grasped firmly onto it he let his right hand loosen, let go and bring allow it to curve through the air in another horizontal cleave.

His right hand quickly fell back to its leading position of the sword and grasped onto the hilt firmly, he brought the blade down to his side underneath his left hand and made it face the opposition direction, as the blade back he brought his left foot forward and made a semi-circular with the tip of his shoe only to momentarily draw his blade forward and turn on his heels again, another full-degree diagonal curve to which he embedded his sword into the ground and walk around it in a fraction of a few seconds.

Unsheath the weapon out the earth with his right hand, he let it sway loosely before him, he tucked into his abdomen and spun the weapon in hand single-handedly, in each sway there was grace yet no anger, no positive balance.

'C'mon!, remember something that makes you boil!...' he yelled at himself as he brought down his sword in a low curve, bending forward and bringing his foot forward shortly to allow a thrust and vertical cut to follow.

As he kept dancing to deaths melody, with whistling winds which caressed has body, torrid trails of sweat passionate ran down his muscles and caused his fine strands of golden brown hair to flared in short-lived life. His eyes seemed to follow a flow that wasn't his own as he drew breath with each curve, cut, slash, thrust and cleave, they sparked to life at the image of another dweller of Sunberth having sex with his girlfriend at the time, the whore! he told himself with a frown as he stepped back two-steps and cut the air with a violent decapitation, a horizontal curve which seemed to make the air whilst with a deafening tempo.

Stepping forward and bringing his leg a mere inch before his sword with turning around the blade violent cut into the air to the extent that pain shot up along his arm and shoulder. The tip of the sword quivered as he began breathing heavily, engulfed by an intense fueled by hatred, rage and lust for revenge, he vowed to return to Sunberth and pay all those who'd wrong him a visit, the thugs that burned away his childhood and home, the bastard that'd taken that girls purity before him, and pay her a visit for betraying his love for her.

'They will rue the day they all crossed my path and tainted it, them and everyone who dares try and stop me' he said angrily as he raised his sword to, and held it back, with a violent curve he tore through the wind and thought he'd seen the wind caress the longsword visually.

He stepped forward and sprint for a motion only to stop by the tree, his foot raised up and his left hand let go of the blade momentarily, he bent his knee and thrust the sword into the skin of the trunk, he watched as he pierced through, half the blade went into it and its veins, its green fluid splattered out and Senghor pulled it out with as the trees 'blood' acted like lubrication.

He turned around and held the hilt of the blade both hand, a volley of curving attacks came from him as cut at the sides seconds after each attack, his feet moving as if the was actually flowing through the air, gliding along as if he controlled the night.

He trained for hours, strengthening each move as he repeatedly did it over, he'd even put down his blade for half of those hours and worked on his punches and kicks, he worked on his uppercuts, hooks, jabs, he continuously kicked the air to work on ways to bring down his opponent with the quickest and most effective of kicks and collisions. As the sun began to peak over the hills of the city, walked over to the tree and began climbing with some difficulty as he'd hatched away at the tree with his bare hands when his training began.

When he reached the top and found a place to rest, he quickly remembered that he'd forgotten his bag, he angrily climbed down only to fall, the tree was attaining its revenge, vengeance for what he'd done to it body. He spent an hour swearing and cursing as he tried to get back up again after repeatedly failing to find the way he reached the top, having grasped his bag and atop the trees branches and using them as a hammock, he took his bag and shirt, placing the bag into the shirt and bundling it up to make a makeshift pillow.

Fatigued struck like punishment on Senghor as he fell asleep no more that two seconds later. As he slept his dreams were that of his training, his father and himself sparing playfully under the sun and moons light, he dreamt of his mother and how she'd make him slumber as her sweet angelic voice sang what he needed to hear, his dreams were a reminder of what his purpose in Nyka was, to seek guidance?, Nay, it was to atone his self-hatred, to sweep away the thought that he'd been the cause of all his misfortune, he detested the deities and had a different view on what the rest thought, his philosophy wasn't like the devoted his was his own and no others.

As he stirred in his sleep, his thoughts were of reaching a monk and conveying his thoughts, not to seek spiritual guidance yet to attain a way there, he didn't want guidance, merely a way, a path to it...

by **Abstract** on June 17th, 2013, 9:38 pm

Loot, Lore, and Skills!

Senghor :

Poor tree. The fighting was well described, though slightly confusing... And just thinking, I slightly doubt that Seng would be able to last that long training like that. Even if you're angry. Eventually some muscle would give in and he'd collapse. Also.... please tell me Seng didn't spend the entire night in the tree. It would be highly unlikely he'd survive in Nyka, or even avoid being attacked by... anything. Please PM me if you have any questions, concerns, or comments!

Solo Shaken Leaves and Blooded Hands