Wrath : Day of No Rest

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on May 15th, 2013, 9:57 pm

18th of Spring 497AV

"One hundred ninety-eight, One hundred ninety-nine... Two hundred!!" a thick roar, coupled with heavy pants of deep controlled breathing left the lips of the silhouetted figure outstretched vertically on the floor. His breath brushed away the dust that'd collected below him, as flat spherical droplets painted the brown wooden floor wherever they were scattered and had fallen.

A boy, stretched out straightened and slightly shaken laid nigh-flat as his arms bent and his forearms were slightly constricted, yet with definitive muscle pulled tightly as he felt his developing biceps lie on his hardening forearms. He'd curled his fingers slightly and was presumably placing all his weight upon the back of his fingers, the palm stance was ape-like as his thumbs concaved as his toes did the same.

A strain in his calves was felt consciously as he remained in the push-up position, his body a mere centimeters from touching the cold floor, after two hundred ascends and descends his young body needed rest yet he kept his steady pose for a minute before he felt his arms begin to give in. Quivering at the pivots that held him for another brooding minute a heavy puff of breath left his lips as his tightened his face as if he was in pain, his pants shifted and turned into pained cries of reluctance.

Young Senghor shut his eyes tightly and didn't the see the lengthy shadow appear and connect with his own shadow, yet as a familiar voice took to life in the room his senses returned with a tidal of life, he jolted back to his steady position as the voice deep cultured, fierce voice of his father thundered into his defined ears.

``You can rest...`` were the words the boy needed to hear before falling onto the floor, slumping over and rolling with a quickened rise and fall of the chest, the young dark-skinned boy looked at the mythically detailed ceiling of his home, his right hand raised up to fall upon his growing core.

Through his breath, the only audible sound he heard amidst the noises, amidst the coupled voices of his parents speaking and outside was the rhythmically humming melody of his own heartbeat. Always, he always asked himself why he was put under such punishment?

Punishment?, Nay... It was something else, to what the boy didn't know. Yet what he knew was that everyday it was something new, and for as he could remember, and truly the boy remembered little as this was continuously place on him since birth.

Whereas most parents taught their kids how to walk, his taught him how to run, to talk, for him it was to fight!, His mother, the sweet 'goddess' for woman she was always kept his father from killing him through his vigorous training methods. Yet, currently what life was drained from his body was diminishing and was brought back to life by the repeating words of his father calling out his name.

``Senghor, Senghor...`` said the elderly man as his eyes rolled towards the direction of his fathers silhouetted figure, a fiery bud hung off the man's lips, a flint in the darkness that gave off the silvery trail of seductive smoke, a smoke trail that quickly found itself devoured by another large vapour of smoke.

``Get up son, we're not done...`` his father said, causing the boy to grumble heavily, his forearms were burning yet he felt an undying need to keep going. It was insatiable, he needed more somewhat, maybe it was an ungodly need, at the back of his voice he could hear the spectral embodiment of rage howling for more.

To be sated by something that could keep it restrained, his palms fell to the floor with a sharp smack which caused him to sit up. The undying words of his father echoed into his ears whilst he looked up at the smoking silhouette of his father, behind him he could also see the lithe figure of his mother overlooking from the larger male's shoulder with a sense of motherly pride.

``Son... Your mind and body is filled with fatigue, all is clouded within you at the moment...`` the resounding words of the silhouetted figure said as it drew breath and gave it back with smoke that stuffed the room.

``You must calm yourself, meditate... Free your mind, and wholly cleanse it.`` said the elder Vilhjalmr as he looked at his son with eyes of ebony bark. It was still morning, outside the streaks of light cut through the blinds, and windows like swords of incandescent fury.

As the man's eyes narrowed, he watched as his son, the superior seed that'd come to be conceived from his loins, shaped by his ancestry to form possibly the last string of the infinite names they had tuck his legs under himself, his knees raised upwards slightly as the sides of his feet pillared them with a cushioned hold.

As the boys palms fell to his knees, grasping at the material of his pants, he felt his hair slip down and fall as he began to take shallow breaths, he tightened his stomach and filled his lungs with air, after a minute he released it to devour another cloud of life.

His back arched outwardly as he kept a steady flow of breathing only fill the room, his were the sounds that needed to be heard by himself at the moment. In his mind, a godly flash of white-hot light devour his mindscape, a abyssal darkness that was a empty void sparked to life as the stars in the universe began to mold around him, all of creation brought together at the pivotal point of his mind as he began to delve deeper into it, yet where it was that he sat and mediated shifted as it wasn't time to be at such a level of thought, not yet...

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on May 20th, 2013, 8:51 pm

Yet what the universe couldn't conceive consciously for him, the earth would as it began to manifest. About the darkness, with blotted blackness and baked specks of ivory thorns piercing defensively at the cosmic blanket, the unscathed stars to which all could see... It eroded.

As if it were paper, the mentalscape he inwardly saw began to separate with embers of fire burning at the body of the universe, a pivot to his peace. His higher state of mind devoured itself with a great greed, it burnt at its existence as it withered away around Senghor in fire.

A wince of pain, avid upon the features of the young boy as he began to intake heavy breaths, his onlookers, yet mostly his mother watched from the shadows with a motherly pride to which only she an no other could muster, to her husband she was but a goddess descent down to cleanse him of his old ways, to nurture their seed and make it blossom into a entity far beyond a tree, a cosmic child to which would know no wrong.

To Senghor, she was his mother, she was the godly voice to which shook the darkness and sang hymns of tranquility, she was the fire to which his passion to succeed came to make her, to make them both proud was all the young boy saw as innocence leaked from him continuously.

~Roar my little cub~ were the thoughts of his loving mother as she watched her son channel himself ton a state of benevolent peace, his forehead attaining a bead of sweat as it glistened off his darkened shade of skin, such like his father when he too was a boy with muddled thoughts.

Her full lips curved as she saw her boy straighten his back and find the gist of his inner-conceptions. A proud parent was but what any child needed, for kin to kin knew that a mothers, a fathers pride was the stronghold to fortified a child's achievements. Young Senghor opened his inner eyes and was but met with a blank landscape, nothing but a pitch blackness, he felt his arm raise yet saw nothing, he looked to the sides and was met with nothing as well.

A void, brought nothing not even tranquility. It was ones own ideals and beliefs of peace that strung them to build a center of existence for them to find that peace and that, that was what the young Vilhjalmr sought.

His golden brown eyes incoherently aroused aglow in anticipation as the darkness fell to rain, incandescent javelins cut through the white darkness fervourously and encircled the child, he watched as blinding streaks of creation left the womb of eternity, another irisdescent howl of light ripped through his mind.

Smoke painted the heavens as fire moved lazily along the canvas, the young boy met with his muddled wrath, forever shifting in intricate design, fiery clouds moved along the world of hatred slowly as the boy tried grasping at the picture before him. He felt that this wasn't where he belonged, it was a nightmarish beauty to which embodied all his anger, and this was but a mere piece of the entire portrait.

An anxious look frowned upon him as he felt the 'earth' beneath him awaken to a unknown force, the earth trembled as a feral roar tore through the mental world and awash it with something more, something beautiful.

It was in such a creation that he could finally let a eased sigh slip from his lips unknowingly. Everything around him shifted to a seething melody, a desert plain at night like his skin at that age soon fell into a defeated as a deafening howl ripped across the sombre tranquil land.

Upon the precipice where he sat, the landscape around him shook in a seductive quake to which spires were formed, around and ahead of the boy towering monolith's of earth were conceived from jagged rock and stone. As he mediated, as he found peace within himself the world he sought to make began to form beautiful.

Another quake and where he sat a mountainous spire erupted and towered over the mountains that encircled a desert void, he mounted upon the mountain and looked wide eyed at the cataclysmic event before him. Flora came to began as the desert land was now flourished with life, samplings grew and expanded with longevity, pride and tranquility, fauna coupled the land as the grassy mountain he now laid upon was glazed with imaginary life to give true peace to the setting.

As if he'd painted the canvas itself, the young human mentally watched his place of peace come to life right before his mental eyes and took a deep breath, he smelt the fresh air, brisk winds and caressing flora. Crossed-legged he found a place to which many masters failed to conceive as they lacked the imagination to construct such a place, upon the high mountain of his mediation he was the lion that watched over its domain.

His roar would be the proudest of them all as he watched with his land with his golden eyes, his place of peace would not be disrupted by anything as he found rest in it. His body eased of its pain whilst he took calm breathes, yet around him the active moment of his father kept beating down at his subconscious like a waning storm brewing, as he took footsteps around his son and smoked.

The contaminated air fell to unrest as the jungle the boy made was clouded with a ungodly mist, the trees below shook as the leaves rustled from an entity approaching. A flock of birds dispersed abruptly from their nests, a crescendo of crows danced in the skies as they formed a black mass heading towards the boy, the lion.

He watched as their gaping beaks and crimson eyes fell to lust after him, he watched and waited, Until....

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on May 25th, 2013, 10:47 pm

His name was called through the mass of darkness and hawking eyes of the crows that sought to devour the peace-found boy.

``Senghor, get up... You've rested to long enough`` echoed the voice of his father, his son's eyes flattered opened momentarily before he opened them fully and wide enough to look at the behemoth placed in front of him.

Backing away in a fragment of slight fright, the young boy placed his palm over his chest and felt it thumping with a thundering song. As his golden brown eyes scanned over the 'monster' before him, a childish smile crept over his face whilst he felt laughter come to him.

It was a... Sack. A large old sack of a white texture, the duration it'd sustain set its body to decay and obtain a brownish colour at each circular patch of mold forming around it. It slouched over lazily as if it morbid poet, it conspicuously looked over the eager audience, as it caught breath of anticipation.

``This will be your training dummy, I've filled it with sand so it won't tear open...`` said the silhouetted figure of his father as he drew a fiery stark of cigarette light as he unknowingly narrowed his eyes and thought of how the bag wouldn't just tear, but teach his son endurance.

His father knew the body well, he understand the body of a warrior and how it worked towards diminishing pain easily. If Senghor started at an early age, if he could endure through the pain to the point of feeling little to nothing from than he could harden like he did, if his body matured well and strongly enough even the strongest of opponents he'd face would have a problem putting him down.

As the young boy began standing up, placing his hands on the floor momentarily to lift himself up properly, his felt as his eased muscles came to relax. He sighed slightly as he stood up fully and moved his neck to the side, making it sway easily so that it'd loosen for the oncoming training.

``Now...`` beamed the voice of his father into Senghor's ears whilst he gazed upon the sack and back at his son who'd been standing a mere inches away from it, height difference wasn't important yet it seemed that the sack and Senghor were about the same yet compared to weight, the sack wielded far more 'calories' than he did.

``Stance!...`` he somewhat shouted at his son causing him to hurriedly pose himself stiffly, yet the boy didn't know what stance to take hence he took a eased one, he brought his arms up and close to his chest. Keep a partial eye on his clenched knuckles yet mostly upon the large sack, he placed his dominant foot (right) forward and inhaled deeply, he felt his heart beat through his ears.

``Begi...`` as his fathers words sharply tore through the room, his right hand clenched quickly, crossing over the dominant hand to deliver the blow, the room was soon beaten by the deafening sound of his fist connecting with the material of the sack, the force placed on the entire package seemed to recoil and move back into the boys arm.

He grunted in pain as he brought down his arm and felt a sting of unease flow through it.

``Eager there are we?`` chuckled his father, the eternally serious man's voice of undying maturity, experience amidst other tones lingered about the room as he inclined his gaze towards his son, shifting towards his wife momentarily before turning back to Senghor again.

Sheepishly smiling at his mistake, he turned and gazed at his father, drawing his eyes slowly to his arm and watching his palm clench and unclench, the cumbersome sack was truly a force to be reckoned with it seemed as the boy shook his hand to leak out the pain. If he'd applied force to that, or in turn caused moved all his 'self' into his palm, than the force given would have been that force returned, not only would the sack have torn but his entire are would have torn at each fiber like a seam torn apart, his ligaments shredded by one clumsy mistake if he hadn't been careful enough.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips and he took up the stance again and loosened his legs, the boy steadied himself and took to throwing simple punches, the sand within danced and absorbed the basic throws of the boys fists, at each impact a sting of pain seemed to shoot up both palms slightly but that was basic, every combatant knew that the hands get what they give, to add more force met you'd be met with the same force given back yet once adrenaline injected itself into the body, a combatant felt nothing as their blood boiled at their body tightened, killing off all pain.

As his father looked on at his son, he saw something about the boys punching technique. Though basic, Senghor found a way to which he could forcibly get through a weaker opponents defence, Senghor didn't fully extend his arm as most fighters do...

Whenever he threw a punch, he seemed to twist his fist at slightly to the side to make it connect with the sack, at an angle of certain degrees it seemed like the punches were diagonal, but others shifted and came up straight and precise, only because his opponent was stationary but he than didn't fully snap his elbow and straighten his entire arm as the tightened each fiber of his muscles. Senghor momentarily and quickly cut off the punch as so he could easily draw his arm back and let his less dominant arm reach out and hook the opponent in.

It was a simple tactic of diversion and destruction, if Senghor could divert the eyes of his opponent away from his strong arm, by letting his other roam, than he could easily break cut through...

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on September 23rd, 2013, 1:39 pm

"Legs..." chimed the ever present voice of Cagn, Senghor's father. The young boy nodded to imply that he was still attentive, thus he hopped back marginally and bent his knees, his right leg outstretched whilst his waist twisted well enough to remain comfortable and as his knees straightened it seemed that Seng spun in a circular motion and gave the sack a roundhouse kick to the sacks' 'neck'.

And as the boy returned to the looking down at the bag, he felt a sudden primitive need to keep attacking without an ounce of seeping remorse. Cagn looked at the boys fierce eyes to see the mixed feelings flaring, a smirk seemed to curve upon his aged lips as he knowingly poked at the fire, his voice rang through their home as he let his eyes roam back towards his wife.

"Senghor, don't stand around and give your opponent time. If 'it' sees your passive stance it will find a way to kill you... Tackle, Lift and Attack" spoke the somewhat heartless man as he watched his son squat down lowly, the sack, still stationary, seemed to mock the lad in such a manner that even he did not know.

He took pose and stretched out his left leg, bending it slightly at the knee whilst his right leg vertically stared down at the floor, in a shrugging manner he raised his shoulders up and like an untamed savage he let loose.

Cagn gazed at the short burst of speed that came from his son at that moment and found the movement somewhat graceful, his running was isolated yet if he crouched or bent his torso it was a lithe sway, it was agile and quick, in certain aspects it was perfect for close-quarter such as hand to hand and evasion.

Seng's body impacted into the sack with his shoulder, making sure to straighten his back did the young Vilhjalmr wrap his arms around the sack in a bear hug, 'Tackle', he told himself as he pushed the sack whilst locking his hands. He than lifted his upper body upwards and watched the sack lift of the ground, 'Lift', he said to himself as he held it in the air for a moment.

Finally, he decided to push the sack forward as he unlocked his hands, the windows rattled as a heavy thud echoed within their home, the force of the fall seemed to tear the bag open and sand strewn itself upon the floor yet Senghor was in the moment, he was where he could make his father proud. 'Attack!', mentally he roared as he straddled onto the sack, his right fist came down onto the sack chained with his elbow to the 'neck' of the torn, old sack.

'He chains together his attacks, an aggressive melee which keeps continuously keeps his opponent struggling to counter... Interesting that at such a early age he's already learnt to do such. thought Cagn with a smile as he looked at he son begin to stand up and gaze at him, the old man's eyes looked over his sons quivering body and let the bud upon his lips grow slightly cold.

A drag from it gave it fiery life as he spoke, seemingly beaming with an assertive pride. "That was good my boy, yet you can do better... Your eyes do not deceive your attacks, you're quick, you're agile yet you can do better" said the elderly man as Senghor slightly lowered his head.

"I apologize father, I will do better..." said the somewhat heart broken boy as he gazed down at his feet with a sliver of disappointment.

"Indeed you can my son. Yet, do not fret, you'll come to know these things as if they were at the back of your head. Now come, fetch the broom so we can clean up this mess"
Cagn said as he narrowed his eyes to see the disappointed aura that leaked off his sons body.

'No my son, do not be such. Already you move ahead of your stead, though I cannot tell you anything, I am proud...' though the distraught father as he turned to gaze at his gracefully aging wife. He could already see the scolding her beautiful eyes bore, Cagn, a man shrouded in a history of mystery known only by the two of them feared nothing even at his age, yet whenever he looked at his wife's cold, judging eyes he cringed in fear, fear of her words...

'Shyke, she's prepared to send me to Lhex, I know it... Yet, I must document on Senghor's progress. Especially today... I've seen him run, yet that time... Hmm, I must see to it that he continuously runs such...' thought the man in something of an excited mental tone, excited, Cagn?... Nay.

Turning towards his son who'd found a broom and was already sweeping away the foreign soil, Cagn's footsteps soon echoed the halls of their home in Sunberth as he retreated to his study for some time alone.

Senghor inclined his head and looked at his mother with his already naughty eyes and asked "Mother, why... Can I never please father?"

His mother in all her motherly form stood from were she was and walked towards her son, it'd seemed that she still her youthful stride as came up beside her son, she knelt down and wrapped her arms around him and held onto him as tight as she could. Basically smothering him in her embrace, yet in that moment it'd seemed that her words would eternally bring the boy a sense of pride in himself.

"Your father is proud of you, he's always been proud even though he never says it... You, Senghor Vilhjalmr are his son and only, there's no other who can replace you at his side. He is proud, he always will be..." said his mother as he held onto her...

Senghor felt a need to shed his tears yet that wasn't for him, as he held onto his mother with fatigue and mixed feelings, disappointment, pride and whatever it was his brain could manifest, the young boy wondered what would become of their day, for he knew that it'd only just began...

by **Twister** on December 20th, 2013, 10:58 am

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Experience Award

Senghor Vilhjalmr

Grade :

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