A shrill voice in my head removes itself from my body and settles itself infront of my face. I call it Borlen. I don't know why. It has no remarkable detail to it's appearance. It has no mass, or anatomical structure. There's nothing to give it visual characteristics, but it can be identified. Knowingly it's there. Giving while taking. It's a flawless entity. A raw storm.
Why is this thing here before me? Could it be that there is something in my head submerged in the daily smut, the barren noise of gears grinding, waiting to climb out and scream at the world? An arching primal scream that could rip apart the skies. A thundering primordial yell able to scatter trees and lands of all life. The screeching noise up the throat of frustration. The one that says "I could kill" with out enunciating a single syllable. That's not the case though.
I'm drawn to my instinct. There's usually nothing quite as frightening as one's inner fury. When a person expresses an angry disposition the majority of the day they form a weak ego and will break easily under pressure. They never will harness the skill correctly. The person that's well reserved, emotionally checked, a nice person. That's the one harboring the Borlen. The one to be weary of. When the push comes, that person will strike with the Borlen ready.
Most Vikings called it "berserker"(trans: bearskin) a state of mind developed for war in other lands or against other tribes. Some would go head long into battle without body armor, whilst foaming at the mouth and biting their shields like wild beasts. Assuming a mental state long forgotten by genetics.
Culture suppresses the urge to use Borlen. It's very weary of the unpredictable approach it takes when it manifests outside of someone.
So Borlen's there taking shape when I want it. If you focus it right you can tear your opponent apart. And if you focus on the mirror while it appears before you. You will see a mysterious thing staring back.
Why is this thing here before me? Could it be that there is something in my head submerged in the daily smut, the barren noise of gears grinding, waiting to climb out and scream at the world? An arching primal scream that could rip apart the skies. A thundering primordial yell able to scatter trees and lands of all life. The screeching noise up the throat of frustration. The one that says "I could kill" with out enunciating a single syllable. That's not the case though.
I'm drawn to my instinct. There's usually nothing quite as frightening as one's inner fury. When a person expresses an angry disposition the majority of the day they form a weak ego and will break easily under pressure. They never will harness the skill correctly. The person that's well reserved, emotionally checked, a nice person. That's the one harboring the Borlen. The one to be weary of. When the push comes, that person will strike with the Borlen ready.
Most Vikings called it "berserker"(trans: bearskin) a state of mind developed for war in other lands or against other tribes. Some would go head long into battle without body armor, whilst foaming at the mouth and biting their shields like wild beasts. Assuming a mental state long forgotten by genetics.
Culture suppresses the urge to use Borlen. It's very weary of the unpredictable approach it takes when it manifests outside of someone.
So Borlen's there taking shape when I want it. If you focus it right you can tear your opponent apart. And if you focus on the mirror while it appears before you. You will see a mysterious thing staring back.
And they didn't have punch, alas.