Solo From Dusk till Death.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

09th of Summer 513AV Partially the darkness descent upon the wilderness, it's cosmic shroud borne the fading kindling of day at its back. It seemed like the fiery mane of the universe fell seductively from the head of the eternal nightly maiden as she cradled the earth, her voluptuous naked figure touched the world with blackness given specks of fiery marble. As the stars came out to play the night was taken by the steady flow of breathing, the mediating figure of Senghor sat unhindered in a circular clearing, his eyes shut the portrait of the wildlands as his ears painted the picture for him. As silent as it was in the clearing, each critter that moved gave a picture of what it was, the hurried steps painted the smaller creatures that moved through the trees, the shrubs and bushes, these were, though unsure truth be told, rabbits, any definitive animal that foraged for food and was considered prey. The deafening wings that carried pushing force, flapping wings were most definitely birds or whatever it was the took flight. Yet, as the lovingly hugging winds shook the leaves, rustling them rhythmically the human who bore naturally hypnotic eyes to weak willed individuals bowed his head and raised his palms to touch a prayers touch, sometimes a lovers touch he felt as the mixture of icy winds and warm breath entwined to embrace his bare upper body with a lovers hold, a lustful liers hold... Thin strands of mimickry grasped hold of the light that descent from the orbital that moved in synchronization with the earth, the detailed ivory moon that now came to replace the harbinger of summer, the sun partially. Each earthly fibre of Senghor's muscles seemed to tighten mildly as he took breath, each one loosened and relaxed as he felt the warm exchange of taken air leave his slightly parted lips. Meditation before training always allowed the mind to follow easily behind with the motion of the body, that was simplicity for any combatant willing to take the floor with death and move swiftly, gracefully with it. As a silken sigh left the lips of Senghor, he straightened his slightly slouched back and felt the cracking of joints coming deeply into place once, yet he also felt his own weight as he removed his coupled palms and brought them down to his knees, cross-legged in pose of grace. As dusk shifted slowly with the tides of time, the human parted his eyelids and let his golden brown iris observe the area, a slight haze that quickly diminished and showed the exquisite wilds as they were, the trees seemingly towered of his seated figure, the richly bearing leaves seemed like strands of hair whilst the earth below bewitchingly hugged the roots and brought them down. Yet trailing his gaze down, the unkind eyes fell to the deepened glow of his longsword for a moment, his right hand's thumb rubbed the material of his pants slightly as the blades of gazes cushioned the sides of his bare feet for the time he was there. Bringing down his right hand to the sword placed honorably at his feet, his index finger trailed over the blade before falling to the cross-guard of the blade, to which he opened his entire palm to let his thumb touch the side of the blade as his entire hand clasped around the leathery hilt it bore, momentarily his knuckles grazed the grass whilst Senghor began lifting the blade, dragging it up from the side to bring it to the with the length of his entire arm as he outstretched it. From afar, he looked like a distorted statue, or creature that lurked in the neither pits of the wilds due to him holding the longsword to the side. When he let another breath of winded air leave his lips, his abdominal muscles each clenched when he brought down his sword to dig it into the earth, pivoting his entire tall structure, Senghor began to stand.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

His muscles took to a singular motion, the movement of the quivering leaves as a warm breath of air spared through the circular clearing seemed to make me produce an sluggish stance, his back arched as he dug the blade merely into the earth. Letting his ebony adorned eyes fall to a sprawled slumber, Senghor seemed to move with wind momentarily, his feet moved to the side as if they were the sluggish steps of a drunkard intoxicated. Moving graceful and swiftly to the black motions of his trailing thoughts, drunk thoughts to which caused him to raise the blade thinly trailing in the dirt. It moved to the side as a vertical sway, the wind carried the heavy force that his wrist seemed move along his entire arm...

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the hurried air carried downwards towards the earth, Senghor moved his left leg right to overlap the very leg that acted as his current pivot, bringing down the arm that went over his chest in a clenched fist along his entire arm, his closed palm hurriedly opened to grasp the hilt of the longsword, no shortly after that did the wind carry sideways into the crescendo of a horizontal style of tearing the joints that held the knees together. It seemed that the swift movements of the stubble growing male carried the sensual movement of a ancient tribal dance, the violent modesty comprised of overarching strikes as Senghor moved his body to the side, dipping his head slightly forward as he dug his heels into the earth, falling back with a drunken flow of abdominal sway, it was this sway that allowed a slightly nimble yet steely upper body of his. The wind was slightly tattooed by the whistling sound of a blade cutting through the heavy 'body' it harboured, Senghor moved his elbows back and ascended his arms slightly, placing his right foot forward and bending his knee slightly whilst his left leg pillared his entire body shortly before he felt the breath of life at his back and his body marginally lighter. Inclining his head to the side, his golden eyes seemed to trail along his arms towards the hilt he tightly held in place, he watched and he thrust them forward to pierce into the air with a gracious disgrace, when the soles of his boots slumped into the earth he brought back the sword to the side and bent his knees to let his right hand hold the entire blade poetically. A few move jousting thrusts and both palms clasped the hilt once again, whilst the air held a certain ease to it, Senghor kept a steady rhythm to which he moved to. Bringing the longsword closer to him slightly, the desert skinned human felt as his shoulder muscles ascend, a swift diagonal downward strike coupled with a prolonged right-angled deathly sway seemed beautifully harmonized with the rustling leaves the ended the orchestra of his day...