Post by Whulfson on Sept 7, 2016 19:17:21 GMT
Morning:
It was early in the day, little after daybreak. Roku had already left later in the night to begin hunting for the week. Catherine was sketching down notes, paying bills, et-cetera in her office. The previous night they had covered the daily chores and tasks for the next day. Whulfson was to go and get groceries for the week, a task set upon him by Roku so as to train his flight abilities. Whulfson had just gotten to a decent level of his flight path, and was perfectly alright doing this easy chore. Assuming he didn't run into anybody at the store beside the cashier, he would be fine. Having lived on his own so long, knowing nobody, he was quite the... shall we say... "socially awkward" one. When the clock hit 6:01, the alarm went off with a horrible screeching sound to it. Whulfson immediately heard it, springing out of his bed. He knew his chores for the day, and had full intention of finishing them early. He quickly picked up the bedding now laying all over the floor. "Christ... I don't have time for this, I'll just fix this when I get back." He'd throw the bedding in a ball, laying on his bed in wait for later this evening. He would hurry up and get dressed, observing himself in the mirror. He was considered to be tall, but however not very masculine. This didn't both Whulfson, as he believed true strength comes with skill rather than raw force. He suddenly started shivering in place, forgetting he just leaped out of bed and he was living in the mountains. He would curse his own ignorance, and quickly put on his brown duster coat. The insulated material inside the coat would quickly warm him up from the cool breeze of the morning mountains. Sitting down, he spent a moment tying his shoes and remembering the mental image of the shopping list, having lost it in yesterday's training. "Let's see... We've got 2 gallons of milk, 3+ cartons of eggs, 5 loaves of bread, and several packages of butter." Whulfson would be extremely confident in his memory, as he was known for having a photographic memory ever since he could walk.
Whulfson exited his room, walking into the center living room. It was semi-outdoors, being very open doorways on the opposite walls, but with a roof above sheltering. Catherine had a desk in the center of this area, messing around with papers. Her relationship wasn't nearly as strong with Whulfson as Roku's, having only really watched the trainings instead of actually participating. She turned to face him, only to wave goodbye. Whulfson wasn't very bothered by this, as this was the day-to-day life. Getting a running start, he kicked off the hardwood floor. He let himself hover in place for a good while before actually forcing himself forward, and out of the doorway. The cool breeze hit him like a train, taking his breath away. Thankfully he was able to still hold his place in the air before actually being sent plummeting back down to the ground. His head was perfectly clear, his mind determined on holding his flying position, and scanning his surroundings. If anybody were to try and rob him, he figured he would be able to dispatch them very quickly and hand them over to proper authorities. Fear wasn't in his vocabulary, as far as anybody were to be concerned.
Whulfson exited his room, walking into the center living room. It was semi-outdoors, being very open doorways on the opposite walls, but with a roof above sheltering. Catherine had a desk in the center of this area, messing around with papers. Her relationship wasn't nearly as strong with Whulfson as Roku's, having only really watched the trainings instead of actually participating. She turned to face him, only to wave goodbye. Whulfson wasn't very bothered by this, as this was the day-to-day life. Getting a running start, he kicked off the hardwood floor. He let himself hover in place for a good while before actually forcing himself forward, and out of the doorway. The cool breeze hit him like a train, taking his breath away. Thankfully he was able to still hold his place in the air before actually being sent plummeting back down to the ground. His head was perfectly clear, his mind determined on holding his flying position, and scanning his surroundings. If anybody were to try and rob him, he figured he would be able to dispatch them very quickly and hand them over to proper authorities. Fear wasn't in his vocabulary, as far as anybody were to be concerned.
Afternoon:
The shopping was done, and he'd bought a sack to carry all the groceries in so that he could focus on holding his flight. He'd kicked off from the town about an hour previous. It was a fairly regular experience, except that somebody actually had tried speaking to him. They were asking where they could find a coat just like his. Being forced into a nervous corner Whulfson had walked away leaving them in a state of silence, probably aggravated by the rudeness they'd just experienced. He didn't like being rude to people, but he was extremely socially inexperienced and didn't want to even concern himself with speaking to other people, beside the cashier. He was now flying back home, trying to fathom the infinite possibilities of the food that could be cooked using these ingredients. His stomach could barely handle the ideas of this, as he hadn't picked up anything to eat for breakfast. "Just what I need, even more distractions. Hopefully this day won't be too long." He continued his flight path, mentally planning out the daily training regimen.
As he started passing over a group of trees, he smelled something. Whulfson paused mid-flight, almost forcing him to lose control. He caught himself once again, having gotten used to recovering now. He sniffed, scouring his metaphorical databanks for any correlation to what he was smelling. It was smoke, and it was a very distinct smoke. There was a bonfire happening somewhere. Continuing his flight back, he started getting curious and concerned at the same time. He figured he'd just check it out whenever he dropped the groceries off. But little did he know, he was heading directly toward the bonfire.
After flying through the trees, on the horizon he saw a huge ball of smoke drifting into the sky. Whulfson's concern had now evolved into worry. He was attempting to pick up the pace, to no avail, but continued to fly in the direction. After flying over a hill blocking his view, he saw his house. It was engulfed in flame, smoke everywhere, wood chunks collapsing all around, and the sound of glass breaking. In front of the house, there were the bodies of his parents. Whulfson's heart skipped a beat, seeing the only two people he knew lying dead. He raised his head, scanning the area. There were 8 people dressed in all black, with a pickup truck out front. Robbers, by the look of them. Furniture from the house had just been loaded into the flatbed of the truck.
Whulfson's vision went blurry. He couldn't tell what was reality or hallucination. He was losing his mind, entering a state of insanity. He no longer cared about the groceries, having dropped them long ago. The bandits turned their head, seeing him hover above the hill. There would be a taller one, distinctly the leader of this gang. He would be staring Whulfson down, making sure he didn't try to interfere with their deeds. Whulfson would be walking at a solid pace directly towards the 8. Their leader appeared to have basic knowledge of ki, having sensed his power when he approached. "ALRIGHT BOYS, FORM A LINE!" He boomed. The 7 cronies and their pistols formed a 180degree line, each of them facing the approaching warrior. "TAKE AIM..." Whulfson would not be intimidated by their pistols. He would notice a couple of them shudder in fear upon his approaching.
He would kick off the ground at a low angle, flying straight toward them. "FIRE!" screamed the leading one. The 7 would begin unloading their pistols at Whulfson. He would manipulate his flight to the right, dodging some of the bullets at high-speed. Before they could realize this adjustment in flight plan, he would afterimage, making them lose sight of him for a split second. Looking to their left, they would see him. But it was too late, and he was already mid-kick. His foot would slam into the skull of the closest one, smashing it, and sending him flying off with the rest of them.
Their leader would be in shock, amazed and in fear at what he'd just witnessed. Whulfson proceeded in slowly walking toward the 8th, who was now shaking in his shoes. #8 was now desperate, and was thinking of what tactics he could to ward off the approaching warrior. He looked behind him, at the two corpses of those who had previously inhabited this house. Having basic knowledge of ki, #8 would turn and fire a blast at the two bodies. An explosion would appear around them, blinding the spot in smoke. Whulfson would stop in his tracks, wide-eyed staring at the smoke, waiting for a definant answer. When the smoke was clear, there was nothing there but small spots of blood. #8 would smile evilly, looking back at the now stunned-in-place warrior.
Whulfson's vision was so blurry, he thought he now understood the phrase "blinded by rage." He would face the bandit, with a cold stare and expression. #8, still impressed with himself, prepared a larger ki blast now intended to hit his opponent. As #8 did this, Whulfson was channeling his energy to his fist, prepared to deliver justice. A ki-fist would surely end the poor sod's life right then and there. It was every intention of him to do so. #8 would release this blast, larger than the last, hurling it straight at Whulfson. This ki blast was slapped down on the ground, causing a massive dirt cloud explosion. #8 had figured this hit and eliminated his prey. Upon this thought, he began to laugh maniacally. But something caught his eye over by the cloud. Whulfson had kicked off from the ground, flying straight at #8 with a burning silent rage and a fist shining with white. #8 tried to turn and run, he was too slow. There was now a hole through the chest of him where his heart would have been located, had it not been vaporized. Whulfson would remove his fist from the chest of the bandit leader, and would send him hurling aside with a swift chop to the neck. Justice had been delivered upon him.
As he started passing over a group of trees, he smelled something. Whulfson paused mid-flight, almost forcing him to lose control. He caught himself once again, having gotten used to recovering now. He sniffed, scouring his metaphorical databanks for any correlation to what he was smelling. It was smoke, and it was a very distinct smoke. There was a bonfire happening somewhere. Continuing his flight back, he started getting curious and concerned at the same time. He figured he'd just check it out whenever he dropped the groceries off. But little did he know, he was heading directly toward the bonfire.
After flying through the trees, on the horizon he saw a huge ball of smoke drifting into the sky. Whulfson's concern had now evolved into worry. He was attempting to pick up the pace, to no avail, but continued to fly in the direction. After flying over a hill blocking his view, he saw his house. It was engulfed in flame, smoke everywhere, wood chunks collapsing all around, and the sound of glass breaking. In front of the house, there were the bodies of his parents. Whulfson's heart skipped a beat, seeing the only two people he knew lying dead. He raised his head, scanning the area. There were 8 people dressed in all black, with a pickup truck out front. Robbers, by the look of them. Furniture from the house had just been loaded into the flatbed of the truck.
Whulfson's vision went blurry. He couldn't tell what was reality or hallucination. He was losing his mind, entering a state of insanity. He no longer cared about the groceries, having dropped them long ago. The bandits turned their head, seeing him hover above the hill. There would be a taller one, distinctly the leader of this gang. He would be staring Whulfson down, making sure he didn't try to interfere with their deeds. Whulfson would be walking at a solid pace directly towards the 8. Their leader appeared to have basic knowledge of ki, having sensed his power when he approached. "ALRIGHT BOYS, FORM A LINE!" He boomed. The 7 cronies and their pistols formed a 180degree line, each of them facing the approaching warrior. "TAKE AIM..." Whulfson would not be intimidated by their pistols. He would notice a couple of them shudder in fear upon his approaching.
He would kick off the ground at a low angle, flying straight toward them. "FIRE!" screamed the leading one. The 7 would begin unloading their pistols at Whulfson. He would manipulate his flight to the right, dodging some of the bullets at high-speed. Before they could realize this adjustment in flight plan, he would afterimage, making them lose sight of him for a split second. Looking to their left, they would see him. But it was too late, and he was already mid-kick. His foot would slam into the skull of the closest one, smashing it, and sending him flying off with the rest of them.
Their leader would be in shock, amazed and in fear at what he'd just witnessed. Whulfson proceeded in slowly walking toward the 8th, who was now shaking in his shoes. #8 was now desperate, and was thinking of what tactics he could to ward off the approaching warrior. He looked behind him, at the two corpses of those who had previously inhabited this house. Having basic knowledge of ki, #8 would turn and fire a blast at the two bodies. An explosion would appear around them, blinding the spot in smoke. Whulfson would stop in his tracks, wide-eyed staring at the smoke, waiting for a definant answer. When the smoke was clear, there was nothing there but small spots of blood. #8 would smile evilly, looking back at the now stunned-in-place warrior.
Whulfson's vision was so blurry, he thought he now understood the phrase "blinded by rage." He would face the bandit, with a cold stare and expression. #8, still impressed with himself, prepared a larger ki blast now intended to hit his opponent. As #8 did this, Whulfson was channeling his energy to his fist, prepared to deliver justice. A ki-fist would surely end the poor sod's life right then and there. It was every intention of him to do so. #8 would release this blast, larger than the last, hurling it straight at Whulfson. This ki blast was slapped down on the ground, causing a massive dirt cloud explosion. #8 had figured this hit and eliminated his prey. Upon this thought, he began to laugh maniacally. But something caught his eye over by the cloud. Whulfson had kicked off from the ground, flying straight at #8 with a burning silent rage and a fist shining with white. #8 tried to turn and run, he was too slow. There was now a hole through the chest of him where his heart would have been located, had it not been vaporized. Whulfson would remove his fist from the chest of the bandit leader, and would send him hurling aside with a swift chop to the neck. Justice had been delivered upon him.
Evening:
Whulfson had taken the realization that his family, house, and everything he held dearly was now destroyed. He had taken the liberty of rummaging through the stolen objects and picking up some much needed supplies. He'd found a pillow, some meat from the hunt, and his bedding that he'd not straightened up earlier in the day. He hovered up, looking back on the big pile of ash that was his previous home. He gave a quick nod for a metaphorical goodbye, and a new start in life. He'd fly, and he would fly for several hours until his rage had settled completely and he was in his right-mind again. He had been going north, looking for the more snowy mountains to provide a more harsh and intense environment to train in. After his several hours of flight, he found a cave in the side of a mountain. Whulfson would land, and would examine the interior of the cave. It went in rather deep, and there were sharp ends all over the inside. "Good. A harsh home for harsh training." He would say in his head. He would find a flat area near the right-wall, and set up his makeshift sleeping bag against it. Slowly, he pulled the covers back and laid down inside the cocoon-'o-blankets. Drifting off into a deep sleep, this was the turning point for him. He would never let anything like this happen again.