there is no GOD for me

[• a k r o n •]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,499,true][atrb=border,0,true] Serpent’s tongue flicked passed mordant incisors only to taste the bitterness of a wretched atmosphere. Expression became contorted by the morbid grimace of disappointment, tongue slowly caressing scabbed labrums ‘fore being withdrawn into the sanctity of fleshy orifice. Hooded orbs cast themselves lazily within elliptical depressions, gaze brought half-heartedly across a land that bore familiarity and corruption but alas, the bastard’s fortune was solitary confinement once more. The idea of loneliness did not afflict his weakened mind so much as the memories no longer consoled him. All that now danced within Akron’s head was painted with blood, though the cries of horses and the sound of flesh scraping metal were beginning to die into hot coals. No flames licked the crevices of his brain and it gave him peace, yet the memories of his father and mother seemed to have been smothered along with the fire and he could only vaguely recall his twin brother; he would always remember his brother for the diseased never allow the living to forget their guilt. But now what a mocking smile graced the Warlord’s features for long ago he had convinced himself that what he had done was right. How could the love of a son for his mother ever be wrong anyways, especially since he was just a naïve boy at the time of the occasion? Yet should Akron of known he’d be standing here now as the Warlord of Damascus when he was young, it would have only given him all the more motivation to murder his brother. Then the killing would have been partially out of greed and not affection and thus all justification lost, and he’d be standing here instead of with guilt upon his conscious and the ghost of his brother to follow him around. Instead Akron was alone tonight as he had been every night, merely waiting for their return. Left plane faced a formidable cliff, blinded cerulean frantically twisting within its socket while his demonic orb shifted his gaze calmly about. Ebony crimped threads were heaved away from a muscular nape as if invisible fingers now held them delicately. Said wind seemed to whistle right through the wooden stakes and splintered fences to grab him – and him but a lonely shadow in his own paddock. The Warlord felt no safer here than any where else for his secrets remained the same, regardless of the surroundings, yet Akron returned to this pasture time and again as if it held something for him. All that lay on the ground beneath his caustic hooves were a few indiscriminate bones, scrap metal and cloth. The bodies deep in the earth seemed nonexistent now but there was no escaping the acquaintance the bastard had with each of them. He was able to see the expression of every mare and every stallion who passed the wooden barrier which kept them safe, and he such an enraged steed that only the touch of man could control his urges and desires. Akron dare not brag though, at least not when there was no one to tell. Noble stature remained evident even though the beast’s head hung low with threads descended across detached façade and caudal appendage flicking idly. Pungent musk filtered across the spring air to denounce others of any authority within his abode, cranium elevating casually to once more observe his surroundings. Blessed only with darkness and shadows the Warlord casually dipped his skull to graze; incisors snapping together exaggeratedly onto every blade, a threatening gesture that supported his defensive posture. status; complete character mood; content writer mood; tired word count; five hundred and eighty-seven

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[D.amon]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,499,true][atrb=border,0,true] The night was dark, as nights generally are. However, this night was a sort of smothering dark. The kind of dark that made one lose all hope in life yet give one something to live for at the same time. It was opressive. It was like swimming in hate. It was like being suffocated by one's own fear. Damon couldn't help but like it. The self-made darkness was so very similar to the thick of battle, it made his pace quicken with the livelihood of a two-year-old colt. The ghost of a smile whispered it's existence in the stallion's eyes. How he so enjoyed battle. In the distance, it was almost as if he could hear the clash of arms. If the stallion shut his eyes, he could feel the familiar weight of a man on his back, the chafe of cold metal against his skin. For a second, only a second, he was there... His hoof twinged with pain. There was a spear sticking out of the left side of his thick hindquarters. He realized he could use it to knock a walking two-leg down. There was a thud and the squelch as the spear was dislodged from his flesh. Eyes rolled in pain as forehooves lifted and hit another horse in the head. Pillars lurched foward hard, sending the stallion over his fallen enemy. Tall aud flicked back to get the man's praise. All around him, the screams of injured horses and dying men assaulted his ears. A shrill whistle left his velvets. Another stallion answered his challenge and he was fighting for his life again... A scent hit his nares. Muzzle quivered. For a moment, the stallion was confused. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew that scent. Where...? The stallion took a deep breath. Akron! Oh shit. That was not a stag Damon wanted to meet in the night. Well, he was too close to leave. Akron would know something was amiss. And to think, he had been wishing for a fight just moments ago. Oh, the irony. The stallion tossed his mane in annoyance. "Well, wish and you shall recieve, I guess." Silently, he gave mock thanks to whichever god had made this happen, and started moving at a swift trot in the direction the wind blew Akron's scent from. All the while hoping this wouldn't turn into a fight. Akron was a hell of a fighter, but if Damon won, all of Damascus would be his. That was the last thing he wanted. How much he would prefer to serve Akron's every whim. Moments later, the stag was within sight of his lord and master, the Warlord of Carthridge. When he was within hearing distance, he greeted the great stallion. "Hail, my leige. Forgive me for intruding upon you..." He was completely sincere with his words. It was no secret that Damon had no desire to rule. Or at least, he hoped it wasn't a secret. In no way did he wish to challenge Akron's leadership. Gaze lowered and dome turned away. Stature spoke of submission yet, at the same time, showed wouldn't put up with any trouble. Then again, this was his fault. Ugh. Damon wasn't groveling, only giving the Warlord the respect he deserved.

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[• a k r o n •]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,499,true][atrb=border,0,true] The partial blindness that inhabited the Warlord’s left cerulean orb was an inconspicuous flaw with only Akron himself having knowledge of it. The white mask which hinted to his sightlessness blended with the pale blue of his iris, and the scratch from the arrow head – the initial cause of blindness – was placed so directly within his ebon pupil, that no casual spectator could observe it. It was an unnatural imperfection which the beast declined from mentioning; no doubt a useful peace of information for his enemies and any equine from The Forsyth. The issue was of no major interference just as long as the bastard remained conscious of his surroundings and attentive to both smell and sound, while relying less on his sight than what an equine should. With his good eye only enabling him with half the sight that was necessary, it left him with minute protection on his left side and no doubt in a bad predicament. Yet in a group of many whose sense of sight were far more superior than his, Akron could often feel and smell the approach of another equine far sooner than what the others would see him. Their approach produced vibrations which traveled through the ground and crawled through his nerves like parasites. The stallion tested the air more than once every second to test the air for intruders, seeming quite predatory in this regarded though not so abnormal considering his heritage. With no one knowing about his blindness or his past though, it was only through good fortune that Akron had the opportunity to practice keeping his secrets hidden and blending the oddities which resulted from them into his normal behavior while in solitude. The Warlord did not remain hidden for the past year just by chance – it was intentional. A breeze lifted sediments from the infertile ground and caused them to settle upon the ashen hide of the tycoon. A strong gust brushed passed him, a mixture of dust and death clinging to the moistened interiors of nigrescent valves though incapable of hiding an odor which hinted to the presence of another stud. Akron slowly lifted his skull from grazing on the sparse vegetation within his corral, continuing to masticate the delicate blades even after catching sight of an approaching silhouette. Auds pinned in an aggressive gesture as he took the initiative to proclaim his dominance, regardless of who this stallion was or what intentions he had. Only once the darkness released its grip on the stud did Akron finally recognize his company as Damon – not a known ally, but a Damascus resident none the less. Strong appendages shifted him around to face the other of his gender, auds still inclined and head lifting authoritatively. Cadaver kept its noble stature for such an appearance was never lost on the Warlord; he was royal blood after all. Skull shifted to one side so that his crimson eye shown, the only one worthy of making any observations; naturally the gesture was well camouflaged to reveal curiosity. Damon spoke and Akron’s brow twitched engagingly, valves flaring as he continued to smell the air and the stallion. Though he sensed no threat from the stud instinct drove the dictator to become flashy in a sense that he was aggressive, but not threatening. It was a challenge, approaching the stud and crow hopping with skull curved in and over his gullet. Yet as Damon avoided the Warlord’s gaze and made no effort to offend, Akron quickly collected himself and seemed to stare – with his only good eye – simple mindedly at the other horse. Damon. It surprised even the Warlord that he could recall this stud as he spoke; tenor calm a husk. The brute did his duty while remaining hidden to watch over his land and see who penetrated it. Thus having never came directly across the stud, Akron wasn't sure of his intentions. Moving swiftly passed him the dictator moved towards the wooden fence and nudged it, testing it for weaknesses. What brings you to Carthridge? status; complete ooc; Hope you like! character mood; suspicious writer mood; good word count; 676

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[D.amon]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,499,true][atrb=border,0,true] Work. In. Progress. I'd finish it tonight...but I have to be in bed by midnight...not long enough to finish the post. It'll be up tomorrow though! Now that Proboards has stopped being effing retarded. =D

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