Damien
Graphic Designer
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Joined: Sept 2006
Posts: 21
Karma: 0 |  | Hear the {Power} in my Footsteps
« Thread Started on Sept 28, 2006, 5:16pm » | ![[Quote]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
Everybody here is living life in fear of falling out of line
Tearing lives apart and breaking lots of hearts just to pass the time
And the eyes get red in the back of your head
This place will make you blind
Put it all behind me and I'll be just fine
Stilts carried the harried form that bore the name Damien across the firm terra. The brawny stag's movements were stiff from the continual expanding and contracting of his muscles, talons stretching out to their furthest extent while his neck crested in the form of a proud Roman arch. His lengthy onyx banner streamed across the line of his curvature, the tassles of his tail smoothly intercepted by the wind of his speed so that they danced in rhythm to the cadence of his strides. His muscles played across his quarters as he flew over the earth, bulging and flexing with each new stride taken. A feral smile touched his maw as he felt the soft breeze that challenged the heat of the sun collide with gentle breath upon his facade. Oh, how wonderful this felt, to be this close to the freedom displayed in the likes of such creatures as birds. Actually, he would rather like to think of himself as an eagle, soaring above the earth upon wings of magic like the greatest king of all. Yes, what a picture he would make then.
Flints traveled with slightly decreased intensity then as his pinions broke into the flowing bounce of the trot. The wind seemed to ease his mind as it pressed upon his features, washing the dirt of darkness away so that he could think as clearly as any other animal of his nature. A trail of dust was roused behind him as memory of his passage, blocking the sun's rays from the earth for mere moments before settling comfortably again on the earth. The austere red of canyon walls surrounded him on either side like the sedimentary ramparts of an enormous fort. The sunlight drifted almost lazily in between the generous spacing of the walls, hindered ever so slightly by the presence of drifting dust so that the intensity was alleviated by the barest degree, still leaving irregular shadows in certain places as the red rock blocked its aptitude. The colors here were both dull and vibrant depending on the subject of scrutiny, the brute noticed. The lithosphere he tread upon ranged from drab versions of xanthous and amber that sparkled treacherously beneath the presence of light once it was lifted in the air. The sky above was a beautiful azure color where the dust did not impede vision, painted sparingly with the thin whiskers of cotton clouds. The vegetation in the land was sparse, but the land, even in its slight desolation, held a certain appeasing beauty. The dull greens of sage and deserty grasses were a sober addition to the stark land. The red and umber colors of the canyon walls were a sharp contrast to the rest of the scene, beautiful and dangerous with the sharp edges caused by erosion, water, and weather. Ahead, the tawny and ivory mottled baron noted the presence of water and immediately found the scent upon his flared nostrils. Even from a distance, he could vision the wind playing softly with the malleable water, sun's warmth reflecting in bright flashes on the caps of slight waves. The area surrounding the water was brilliant in color, contrastive to the dull colors that covered the ground upon which he now stood. There was a bright viridity in the trees and lush grasses that reached for the glittering hands of the waters. There was even different colors found in the various flowers that were dotted about the region, a respite against the regular monotiny. Shade was found in the shadows stretched like prowling cats upon the land in the afternoon light, promising cool refreshment against the wicked beat of the sun. Even now, his coat twitched at the thought of relief from the heat and water to wade in so that he might wash off the grit that had accumulated on his canvas. Still, though, he did not charge towards the waters at once, merely swiveled his auds as he tore his vision away from the brilliant gleam of color and continued to observe the rest of his surroundings. He was content to delay a moment longer to better accustom himself to what might soon have the possibility of becoming his new home.
He paused his slow, forward motion for a moment to admire the sky framed by the edges of the carmine adobe structures. It was then that he realized, pressed so suddenly upon his darkened heart, that he really could come to love this place. He really could call this home. The thought lay wonderfully in his mind, the image of having a herd of his own resting in this place where he might reside as the gentle king brought forth before his eyes. Could he manage such a responsibility? Could he abandon his former days as a wandering sojourner that sought nothing, not even solitude, to stay in this marvelous terra and have a herd to call his own? Yes, he could. His knowledge of such a thing came as easily as the instinct to eat and breathe. He had been born for this, not to follow his mother to the end of her days and watch her convulse in pain as she died of hemlock, not to ponder endlessly on the topic of his crazed father, not to wander without hope of any life. He had been born to have a herd and a home, and that was exactly what he was going to do now. The thoughts of his parents seemed distant now and the serious expression that darkened his mug lit ever so gently in the form of a smile. Yes, he could do it and he would. Harks swiveled briefly as the searing cry of a hawk echoed within the canyon and soon the stag found his lanterns following the now plummeting blur of speckled brown as it dove towards the earth and the bounding form of a hare, thoughts of calling this place his home still lingering vividly in his mind. He observed the image of the hawk, watched its talons reach out even as its wings spread to catch the elusive wind and twist it to his own use. And then, in the barest length of a second, Damien saw the hawk grasp the fur of that flighty rabbit and lurch back into the air, the power of his wings again lifting the hawk along with the limp form he held close to his heart. His nourishment. His life, found in the death of another.
A feeling of sudden power then overwhelmed the young titan. Vision was blurred as real understanding of the cycle of life and death came to rest upon the stag's brawny shoulders. He was meant for something better than wandering this endless terra. He was meant to be here and have a herd. He would claim this land for his own and none could take it from his mighty figure. He rolled the known name of this place about his tongue, testing its capability and strength. A name held so much power, meant so much more than a title. It was the substance of the thing, just as he was everything that was Damien. No one else could be Damien, and now here he stood upon the firm floor of this canyon, laying claim to all that he saw. A smile of pure confidence and power raised the corners of his kissers as he unleashed his voice upon the world. "Hear me, those of you who rule the lands of Dyain! I, Damien, claim these lands of Gryes for my own! Any who wishes to challenge me may at risk to their lives, for I shall not relinquish my abode to any other!" Releasing a snort to emphasize the force behind his words, Damien then walked forth upon lands that now belonged to none other than him. Gryes was his to rule.
Another sunny day beneath this cloudless sky
Sometimes I wish that it would rain here
And wash away the west coast dreaming from my eyes
There's nothing real for them to see here
ooc: I hath found mine muse. Bwah. Please forgive the choppiness of it, though.
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![[image]](http://i102.photobucket.com/albums/m110/Sprintseek/Damien.jpg)
Dub me {Damien}
My blood runs of {Kiger Mustang}
Marked a {stag}
Color me {fawn with splashes of ivory; ebony tendrils}
Standing at {16 hands}
Has wandered the earth for {six rotations}
Rules {Gryes} with pride
Pursues {Escapade}
Holds {none} close to his heart
Sire of {none} |
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