Imagination in the heart of a Blade [Senghor Vilhjalmr]

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 11th, 2013, 11:44 pm

40th of Spring 513AV

It'd seemed the sun would ascend into the heavens and watched over Nyka with all its luminous body, the clouds were no temptress that 'normal' day as not even one was seen if one gazed to the sky in drifting thought to what they'd see. Uniformity was how diverse the Celestial Seat was compared to the places, from what Senghor heard and was told, the same coloured houses, same height, same design, it seemed more like a daunting dream where one would walk towards his goal only to find it moving farther as they neared, seemingly moving in one spot for the remainder of the night.

As light from the sun's rays washed over the base of the walking man's golden brown hair, it'd seemed to glide off in layers that disappeared momentarily, he was never used to his strands being so glacé yet it came to him that maybe it was the sweat beginning to form at his side, trailing down in a lonesome bead which glistened a fluorescent visage slightly.

Senghor knew that his body wasn't fatigued, yet his somewhat lazy nature was beginning to return and needed to die. In years he hadn't handled his sway with the sword well enough to remember how it was done as his father taught him, he felt lacking in skill, he felt cheated by his old man believing that he didn't teach him all that he knew yet with that man, with his father his intentions and workings were very vague and unclear.

'House, House, House, House...' recited the man as he slouched slightly, one hand in his pocket as the other held onto his longsword for protection, the blade was slung over his shoulder flatly as not to cut him as he held the grip of the weapon firmly, he'd seen that Nyka wasn't the picture it'd portrayed as he'd seen some monks fight a day ago, he chuckled to himself as he looked at the robed figures yet was equal surprised at how skilled they were.

In the heart of his pocket, grasping at nothing was his itching palm as it missed the strap of his bag, the desert skinned man had hid his bag in a lonesome tree, he remembered climbing to top eagerly with struggle, as he placed his item-carrier between two branches amass in foliage, the chosen limbs of the entire tree seemed to curve and bend at their body yet it was common in all branches, the two he'd chosen met at the stem and opened horizontally on their journey to finding light,

As the man knelt slightly and set his bag aside, he raised to gaze at the uniform body of Nyka and wasn't impressed, he'd not even realised that in his clouded thoughts he was leaning casually upon a thick branch that supported his weight and was blending in with the leaves unknowingly, yet as he snapped out of his fogged state all he remembered was plummeting towards the ground onto his back with a thud that echoed in the silent space around him.

Yet that didn't concern him at that moment, for he needed to find a place to rest, and collect his thoughts. As if struck by the arrow of intrigue, he raised his downcast head and turned it to the side, his eyes saw a small barrel and four beams erected in a form that formed a square, in the center was another beam, thicker and darker in texture, the entire space seemed to be next to another stationary home in Nyka.

'Interesting...' he told himself with some curiosity pecking at the bark of his mind, he stopped before being devoured by the looming shadow of the house ahead of him and backed up, walking backwards in cautious steps which caused him to turn on his heels and gaze upon the desolate space there.

His head inclined itself in a circular rotation and looked at the entire area to gather what he possibly could, two already built houses loomed over the area meaning it was a passage into the next street, and the homes at the sides seemed empty hence even his echo would linger longer than the dust there.

As he assessed his surrounds with what skill he had, he looked about and kept moving forward, it'd seemed that Senghor had a tendency to forget himself hence it'd caused him to hit into the barrel placed there with his knee, he reared back as a sharp pain ran along his entire leg, he dug the tip of his sword into the soiled earth and felt he couldn't put his leg down yet as he reached down with his hand to massage the delicate area.

Moving around the barrel and looking inside suspiciously, 'Water barrel?...' he asked in thought, it'd seemed the circular inside of the wooden barrel was rotting and mouldy, green lumps with white coatings were emerging at itself base at running up its wood.

Senghor held the open rim of the barrel and put his foot down, wincing slightly in pain, he wondered whether he was exaggerating or not for his knee collided with the thick wood quite hard, yet he wasn't a child anymore what good would it be to him if minor injuries brought him pain he asked himself.

He remembered his father, the man were naught short of being a solid entity, he was hardened to the core and took even the most of his sons foolish and unrevised enraged attacks with a deadened look upon his rough features. As a child Senghor always knew that at some point, he'd have to be no less a man than his father, and that was a perfect time to prove his worth to the Vilhjalmr name.

He place his foot down and frowned at the pain that'd conceived at his knee, his golden brown eyes seemed to narrow as he felt the pain erode from him, it was only natural for the body to kill of pain that wasn't even minor in retrospect. He shook his head as the pain died off and began

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 11th, 2013, 11:47 pm

working on the barrel. After some seconds he turned over the entire wooden hollow space and removed what dust he could off the bottom, he turned back to the beams and cautiously began to sit down, as he sat comfortably on the barrel, his thoughts were occupied once again.

He began question the purpose of the beams, it was avid that they were meant to be building another house yet where were the workmen?, and why would they build it along a passageway, were they dense in the head? he kept questioning.

A chuckle rolled off his tongue as he shook his head, "When'd I get so philosophical?" he asked himself with a seldom smirk, his calm demeanour was beginning to ease itself and unwind with the relaxation he now found.

For a copious amount of minutes, he gazed at the erected stems and let his thoughts wonder again, drifting along like a cloud, lazy and eased without care. He began to envision himself in a right fight, a clash of his blade against others, vagabonds and thugs, tainted men who didn't sample the forbidden fruit but forcefully ripped it from its tree, in his mind his, the day was night and a dark cloud was looming over him and weeping droplets began their falling.

As a child, he reminded being home or outside near home, ever filled a vast imagination, he remembered that in his future, he'd be a warrior without fault, whose prowess would make even the gods themselves know his name, he smirked at the idea of him drawing his 'blade' and letting the wind caress his finest attire lovingly, he wore no armor just fine clothing that held his figure lovingly for armor always hindered him battle.

The night would be sombre as they stood upon the mountain after a long chase, the rain poured down on them as he closed his eyes and spoke melodramatically the men's large leader, he surprisingly could remember how the leader was a slaver who'd taken his beautiful wife and caused him to be walk a path of vengeance and seek his beloved, he could detail how he waited for his opponents to always strike him first, to stumble and fall as he sidestepped each attack thrown towards him.

In his imagination he was as tall as his father, which he was currently, and move better and faster than him as he cut down all who opposed him...

As Senghor sat on the barrel, he began to chuckle to himself, he had such a imagination as a child he kept telling himself. When his fits of short laughter left his system, he turned back towards the beams and felt his heart beat a bit faster, he inclined his head back and looked at the grip of his blade and thought, paused and thought again with a deepened contemplation, he racked his brain and found what he'd been searching for, his father had once told him as a child that:

'Imagination is a rarity, Creativity is an oddity and most warriors go about their training and only use what they've learnt in battle. It is a rare few, that will find that using your imagination and creativity is one of the only ways you'll win'

Senghor reminded those wise words and gazed towards his sword with a subconscious smirk, he saw no wrong in utilizing his creativity to find ways to achieve his initial goal, the desert skinned man got off the barrel and used his palm to dust off any collected dirt upon the rear of his pants. Moving around the barrel and grasping the hilt of the blade with a familiarity, a hold known to him by only himself and his sword.

As the tip dug out the ground and particles of dust broke off at the stem, Senghor towards the beams and held his weapon within one hand, he began tapping into his innermost thoughts and began to paint a detailed picture, the mountain with all its foliage, the men, thugs with daggers ready to make him bleed and die, encircled their king like pawns willing to die for their payment, and classically as all his fantasy the clouds began to gather and rain mating with death would began to pour.

Senghor watched as the scrub-type looking men licked their lips and some their blades in anticipation, the larger beam, being their leader was taller, larger and much intimidating with his weapon of choice, a broadsword, he looked ready to kill Senghor mercilessly just as his men were ready to do the. As a child, the Vilhjalmr boy would imagine them being the ones to lay onto him the first attack, yet now he was mature and knew that in some battles, it was best to overpower them with prowess before they did that to him.

Senghor crouched slightly and bent his knees with blade in hand, the imaginative rain drenched his face as he touched the soil to sample the area, as the men advanced towards him, his heels raised as he began running towards them, his sprint was gracious as the wind and rain caressed his rugged face.

Whence he reached his new foes, one crouched down and swept his foot underneath Senghor, causing him to dive forward and dodge the attack, as he fell and rolled on the ground he felt a looming figure block his perception, and footsteps in the background, a flint from the broadsword caused him to roll over once again and dodge being ''killed'' by the leader.

As he composed himself and felt another figure loom over him, he looked at the skin of his blade and saw one of the thugs raise his dagger above his head and bring it down, Senghor rolled over again and quickly stood up, being the aggressor was fun yet in his imagination it had to be difficult and nigh-impossible to do alone.

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 11th, 2013, 11:48 pm

The forth goon came with his arm outstretched with his blade and the aggressor dodged it, spinning on his heels and causing his back to graze over the man's arm, in the flow of movement Senghor grasped the hilt of his sword in both hands and spun with it flowingly, as he stopped, he faced the opposite direction of his forth foe and brought down the blade onto the back of his ''knees'' splitting his leg from his thigh in bloody mess.

In reality, he'd spun with his heels as he had in his imagination and cut the bottom of the beam in a diagonal cleave, causing it to fall forward.

In his imagination the now crippled fell forward as well, yet Senghor honored a lasting kiss of death and turned around to deliver a skillfully decapiation before his body had even hit the ground, he'd knelt forward with his blade outstretched to the side and let the man's neck fall onto it, severing the head off in shower of blood washed away with rain.

As Senghor stood straight once again, he felt arms wrapped around him and immobilize his movement, it the first thug and he'd held him in a hold, yelling at his fellow man to kill Senghor, yet as the man reached forward to stab the desert skinned man, he moved backward and applied all his weight onto the first thug, the third thug came closer only to be surprised by Senghor kicking his weapon away and unarming him...

Senghor's head fell back with force and smashed in the first thugs nose, causing him to let go to maintain his nosebleed, as Senghor wriggled out of the man's hold he shortly after being free turned to him and grasped the grip of his weapon firmly mustering up all his strength, in a ascending diagonal cleave he removed the goons torso from his body and momentarily as a fountain of blood bathed the air.

In reality, their ''blood'' were actually splinters that flew about as Senghor renacted the actual moves.

Senghor darted his head towards the third thug and saw he'd be reequipped with his knife, and charging towards him, behind him slowly crept the lurking leader and second thug with their weapons drawn. As the thriving third thug came closer, Senghor positioned himself in a stance, his legs were straight, his arms held tightly onto the grip of his sword.

When the goon hollowed a battle cry and reached Senghor, he felt the sword's blade graze his shoulders and soon found himself as a lonesome head, rolling on the ground with wide eyes and mouth agape.

Opposed to how in reality he ran and swung the blade, removing a large chunk of wood from the beam.

In his imagination, A crackle was heard from a crushed 'twig' and Vilhjalmr jerked his head towards the sound, out the shadow a dagger shot out and allowing him only a slight shift in his body only be to stabbed near heart, he even pretended to be in pain as he looked at the thug was a frown, with one hand he ran his own, larger and deadly blade through ''heart'' of the thug, he lifted the blade up as it was in his body and split the man into two halves.

In reality, he'd merely dug his blade into the wood and lifted it up, splitting it.

As the second and last thug died, Senghor pushed him aside and let him fall to the earth, his dagger still in his flesh. Removing it with a wincing snarl, he gazed at the ''slaver'' an incoherently spoke about his ''wife'', the leader now fearing for his life fell to his knees and begged for mercy to live, yet all Senghor did was twirl the dagger (stone) in hand and threw it at the man, it bounced off his head as it hit him by the hilt.

He charged towards the large man and swung his blade in a diagonal cleave and removed the head and half the torso of the fiend, a deafening noises of fluid lingered about as Senghor attained his 'victory'.

A laugh actually seemed to leave the desert skinned male as he played out his imagination not realizing what he'd done, he'd trained unknowingly as he became lost in his childhood fantasy, and he'd caused property damage unknowingly.

His laugh was short lived as he turned around and gazed at his doings in slightly horror, random chunks of wood and splinters were everywhere, he'd defiled the area with his imagination!. Senghor slowly reared back, his eyes darting to the sides suspiciously as he turned the corner, blade in hand and content in heart, Senghor Vilhjalmr had finally remembered what it was like to be a child and he relished every destructive second he had with those beams/goons....

by **Abstract** on June 16th, 2013, 11:19 pm

Loot, Lore, and Skills!

Senghor :

Just thinking, I somehow doubt that the city of Nyka actually has trees inside... Anyways, I found the thread... sort of awkwardly confusing. By 'remembered climbing the tree', did you mean he was climbing the tree at that moment? Or...? You also kept mentioning things as if you had before, but I couldn't find the previous mention... Also, the fight was... really, completely random. You're sitting on a barrel then... suddenly attacking people? What? And then... they weren't thugs? I withheld some xp because of this. Please PM me if you have any questions, concerns, or comments!

Completed Imagination in the heart of a Blade [Senghor Vilhjalmr]