Wrath : Child of Anger.

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 25th, 2013, 9:43 pm

04th of Spring 497AV

A young heaving chest, the thumping drumbeat of a healthy heart pounding, pumping, pulsing with life beat heavily into the ears of the young child of Sunberth, his fine strands adorned with a golden brown hue as his adorable golden brown tainted eyes welcomed life into their somewhat innocent nature, his legs were warm to the point of being heated, his desert skinned a darker shade of the bitterly cold nights when the wind howled alone.

His calves tightened, muscle development prominent in his youth filled body, every one of his toned muscles constricting together in knowing harmony as he controlled his breathing to a experienced level. His clothes hugged him as he ran, the withering of his soles digging into the earth of his home city, he placed his arms behind his back and cupped them to hold the sack harbouring the materials his mother wanted for the day. The thick brown and tattered bag, another of his fathers something novel training methods it'd seemed, the pouch hooked into the loop of his pants where his belt would lie sang a melody of Mizas, income for the working, pickings for the greedy.

An 8 year old Senghor Vilhjalmr wasn't like the others, he went through vigorous training everyday he woke up and learnt to adapt to his fathers vague methods of using the sword, and swords if the case need be, he learnt that his wasn't a 'normal' home as there was no normality in Sunberth, with a passionate lust and love for crime, anarchy and excitement one had to adapt .

'I've to get home...' he told himself when he ran down along a empty street heading home. In the weather of the encroaching spring and its calm nature, where blooming flowers both earthly and adolescent were at the prime of their lives and rich in texture, in purity he found it quite odd that nothing exciting had happened that day, yet he was mistaken as something would happen, something concerning the one he loved...

As shutters closed whilst he ran, his thighs at a warm temperature from the coming fatigue he turned his head to the sides to gaze at the alleys along the streets, glossy filth and a bad stench, probably another rotting corpse he told himself in his long sprint. 'Never stop...' he kept reciting the words, the words his mother told him if he was ever alone and roaming the streets, never stop and just keep going for death in Sunberth was more of a sport than anything else for those who enjoyed praying on the frail and weak!

He told himself he wasn't weak, a Vilhjalmr is never weak even in the face of something new, old or powerful for weakness as a state of mind which brought defeat and defeat brought death and the Vilhjalmrs have never died.

Never died?...

'What'd father mean by that?' he asked himself, his running steps slowing down as he pondered for a moment which only brought him to walk.

"But all souls go to Lhex, Dira comes and gets them... Right?" the child asked himself lowly as he looked down and saw a pan, a puddle of water filled with filth and concerted a blackness, he saw his reflection, his development body and his slightly grown hair, unkempt and ragged from not cutting it.

'Maybe he's talking about other Vilhjalmr, distant cousins and so forth... But, he said there are no distant cousins, no others with our name...' he thought contradictorily, his father was a very strange man as he was always cryptic and sly, yet loving and understanding.

'How can there be no others under the banner of Vilhjalmr?' the young lad thought as his footsteps slowed down, a glistening bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

'Why am I even asking myself this?' he thought deeply as he looked up, such a young man, outcast from others his age and left to harden his body and mind. To some, his parents gave him a harsh childhood, always training him and maturing his mind to suit the whims of the aged, he wasn't a genius or he just never had those thoughts implanted into him, yet.

As his eyes raised slowly towards the ground and to the landscape, a bulky long trail of a humanoid shadow went up and joined at the stem of large boy. With narrowed eyes, Senghor kept his stride slow and watched as the large boy grinned, his teeth bared upon his silhouetted figure sadistically and hungrily at the young ebony skinned boy.

``There he is... The Whoreson of Sunberth`` was all that the figure uttered, its meaty arms rising to fold not before aligning its knuckles by cracking them. A bony echo seemed to follow about as Senghor stopped mid-stride at the comment.

'Whoreson?' the boy asked himself with a frown, his cheeks flush in a rage, Senghor arched his back and let his hands loosen their hold on the thick sack he held. It dropped with a defeated thud as the young man felt an alien feeling linger about in his core, it was sadness.

A countless number of children in Sunberth were entitled to the name, 'whoreson' as prostitution and sex was but one of the many things that produced income, in fact the boy before the young Senghor could and possibly did fall under the category of whoreson.

"What'd you call me!?" he said defensively as he watched the fat figure, watch towards him with a grim grin of pride and arrogance. As he walked, two lanky figures, silhouetted by the incandescent light that'd beamed in their wake.

'How dare he, defile and say such vile things about mother!' Senghor said as he looked at the figures draw nearer, their bigger and frightening structures towering that of his growing own...

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 25th, 2013, 9:44 pm

``I said Whoreson!`` said the larger figure, the two lengthy boys behind him laughing at his 'joke'. He clearly lead them and they followed behind like lost cattle, and as the sun came to give a vivid picture of them, Senghor stepped back slightly and looked at them angrily.

Unbathed, uncultured teenagers who pried on younger children of Sunberth, they probably hung around the thugs and criminal of the city for notoriety. As they loomed over the young Vilhjalmr with condescending glare as if he'd done them wrong, the larger filthy bully smiled, no he grinned as he looked Senghor over and saw the sack behind him, his eyes trailed over the young man and saw the pouch of Mizas.

His grin widened, his meaty hand stretched out to grab the pouch but Senghor sharply slapped it back, the boys hand snapped at the wrist as he reared back his hold and grunted like an animal.

``Tough one aren't ya'!`` the teen bellowed as he clenched his thick palms together, the two boys behind him doing the same whilst they walked walked, beside Senghor to form a circle of no escape.

The young man's throat dried up as he gazed at the bullies with his little palms into fists, he didn't care about the pouch, no he wanted vengeance for what that large bastard before him said about his mother, defiling her sweet nature and tainting it with his childish words.

The bullies made him boil, they were playing a dangerous game as they were shaking the cages of the beasts, they were poking and probing the animals that'd dwelled within, delving into a pit of wrath, an abyss of rage and anger!

Senghor could feel it in his heart as it increased its throttle, pounding back and forth heavily with deadly intentions, the hounds in all their strident hatred were at his gates and shattered the open, his eyes golden as they were were now filled with lust for blood, the blood of those who'd dared disgraced his mother!

``Get Him...`` was that'd left the large boy as he raised his arms, bringing them down towards the son of the desert night, the large boys palms fell onto Senghor's shoulders and caused him to bend his knees at the force of his blow.

The young boy grunted in pain as he felt the two hands on his neck, the two lanky boys brought the young male to the ground and began to pound on him, their fists and kicks fell down on the natural warrior as he arched forward into a fetal position to block their attacks.

He grunted in pain, their blows as hard and unforgiving. As their relentless onslaught flawed by their staggered natured, untrained and unkempt. Yet their fists and kicks were fuel, they fueled the fire that'd already been burning since his birth, they were angering the already vicious beasts coming out their cages.

His eyes, his eyes were filled with a hunger, he wanted them, he wanted their blood! He wanted to unleash the wrath he harbored and harvest on the sounds of their breaking bones, his anger to be quenched by blood and bodies, their bodies!

His wrath was an embodiment of his lineage, his ancestry, a historic flow of blood which made him what he'd be.

A Halt.

The fists and kicks stopped and drew back in sick deafening laughs, the air around him momentarily became thick as the large teenager leaned down and yanked the pouch off his loop, shredding the threads that'd held it together.

The sound of stolen Mizas rising and falling echoed along Senghor's path home, chuckles of victory were the triumphed melody that'd lingered about towards the path to salvation. As the three boys kept speaking of their easy pickings they didn't turn back to gaze at their prey.

In the eyes of many, the young Senghor was beaten and bruised yet in the eyes of the Vilhjalmr bloodline he was but bidding his time, and harnessing the hatred that'd come to conceive itself from the little quarrel they'd been engaged in.

``Dumb whoreson...`` were the words that'd left the lips of the bulky boy as he sifted through the Mizas with glee, he felt invincible at the moment, harsh words was all he knew the uncultured savage, anyone would have wondered why he wasn't myrian, yet one would easily laugh as he was so... Large, and the myri were warriors through and through.

Shuddering in pain the boy Vilhjalmr rolled over flat on his back and gazed at the cloudless sky, the sway of clouds was calming and beauty, he slowly wondered what'd it'd be like to be a cloud, to just move along the world and never be bothered by anyone or anything.

A groan of pain left the lips of the young one as he sat upright, his lithe figure slouched as his sullen eyes were shaded by his enigmatic rage, a trail of blood ran down his bottom lip as his face started to swell, lumps of budding flesh along his young features.

`Dumb whoreson...` rang in his ears as he began to stand up, and gaze at the leaving boys, his smaller palms balled up into shaking fists, his knees slightly bent as his left arm dropped down lazily his right shoulder raised up whilst he kept reciting his fathers words in his head.

All the man's teachings brought back to him on how to deal with such beings, the father who knew combat yet never fought, ironic yet that was his father. As the boys kept their confident stride onwards, their bickering was exulted.

`` So what'd we going to spend this on!?`` one of the lanky boys asked as he looked into the pouch.

``Food!!, I'm starving!`` was the reply of his brethren as he pried into the sacked as well.

``Foods... Sounds good!`` was the unison reply of the boys

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on April 25th, 2013, 9:45 pm

"Hey!!" bellowed the young one, his loud words filled with hatred and rage caused the boys to turn their head and gaze at him.

`Doesn't go down, little shyke` were the thoughts of the young behemoth as he turned around, his large body carried a air of disorientation as he hooked the pouch along the loop of his belt like Senghor had done.

``What... what is it, whoreson!?`` he asked with a shrugging motion, raising his thick meaty arms to the side and bringing them down with a loud fleshy thud.

The two lengthy boys at his side folded their arms as raised their heads with smug looks, "Take that back..." was what left Senghor as he felt his rage reach his heart, already having feasted on his thoughts, his brain.

``Haha... Listen to this little.. Argh!`` was the surprised cry of pain that'd came from the large boy as he found himself face to face, eye to eye with the Vilhjalmr boy. A twisted gaze of hatred was in his eyes as he held tightly to the bullies shirt, his knees bent, resting on the large teens thick chest.

``Get Off!`` shouted the staggering teenager before he felt a stinging pressure on his nose, he felt it come out of alignment and snap at the stem, the young warrior kept bashing his head repeatedly into the face of his bully, again and again with a unruly need for vengeance, bloodlust!

A heavy thud echoed in the space around them as the walking embodiment of an unhealthy diet fell into the ground. His hands left the fabric of his tormentors shirt and began falling down onto his bloodied face, a trail of droplets ascent and descent as the boy kept his reluctance in check.

His rage unleashed as the teenagers face started to contorted at the blows, his muscle development was gradually assisting him as he beat down the adolescent who'd called him a whoreson!, 'Dare call me that... Dare defile mothers name!?' he said as the shackles were cut off and he felt his fist become sensitive from thrashing his foe.

Senghor felt hands ring around his throat and someone pull him away from beating down his assailant, a disgruntled roar of hatred left his throat, the chokehold on him reared him back. One of the lanky boys was holding him back, the large beaten boy stirred in pain as the animalistic nature of Senghor caused him to fight the hold.

He heard them shout for their leader to stand up, he watched as the other boy tried to help him stand up, he growled in anger and looked down at the arm around his neck and opened his mouth, he drought down his bite to the boy and dug deeply into his flesh. A cry of pain left him and he loosened his hold on the 8 year old Senghor, the young lad fought like an expert compared to the brutes.

As the arm came off his throat and the lanky boy held onto it with his unscathed hand, the young Vilhjalmr took two steps forward and raised his leg, bringing it down with what little force he could muster. Wrath and adrenaline flowingly through his veins were quickly dying and exhaustion was to soon kick in.

As the sole of his shoe crashed down onto the tethered face of the bully, the 8 year old bent down and swept his pouch off the loop of the teenagers belt, it came off with ripping of the fat boys large but vaguely thin pants.

The Mizas inside sung their melodramatic melody as he looked down at the blooded face of the adolescent who'd called him a whoreson, he bared his savage teeth and brought up his fist, he'd no energy left within him and thought of resorting to intimidation.

If it failed, than he was screwed!, he turned his head and looked at the boy holding onto his arm, his brethren looked at Senghor with a frightened gaze and looked down at the large ball of beaten flesh.

"Take it back!!" shouted Senghor, his shouts and theirs were drawing attention as shutters began to open and intrigued gazes peered through.

``We're sorry!!, We're sorry... We didn't mean!`` cried the unscathed yet frightened teenager as he tugged on his semi-unconscious leader who was murmuring incoherently in pain.

As Senghor felt a shifting energy amongst the defeated bullies as the boy behind him came over and began helping his brother lift the behemoth in pain. Their grunts and struggles echoed for a copious amount of minutes before they slung his arms over each one of their shoulders, they began walking and turned a corner, disappearing into a alley.

Senghor's eyes never shifted from the as he watched them disappear, a deep young sigh of relief left his lips as he fell to his knees and began hyperventilating. A such a young age he was already covered in the blood a foe and felt the taste victory, and he was loving it, it was an exhilarating feeling that'd consumed him in that one moment, he loved it, relished in its luster.

As he stood up, with a shaken body, the young boy turned to the sack he'd carried before and walked to it, he looked down and hooked his pouch into another of his pants loops momentarily before turning to the thick brown sack.

He tugged on it with a tired pull, a lazy tug of exhaustion and heat, heat from the fight he came to never forget, as he turned and gazed along the path home, his eyes turned to the open windows and shutters of already filled to the brim with gossip and bad words.

Words, conceived from concept of stupidity and unknowing, they called him many things that day, the child of Sunberth was no more than the son of Wrath. As he frowned angrily and picked up the sack over his shoulder, walking home with staggered steps.

'Moms gonna kill me...' was all he thought

by **Twister** on August 12th, 2013, 1:50 am

.

Experience Award

Senghor Vilhjalmr

Grade :

If you've any questions or concerns about your grade, drop me a PM!
.

Flashback Wrath : Child of Anger.