♖ ＣＨＥＳＳ ♜ | O/A

Abraxus

< brute >< carries the white crown >

He was not far from the den that night. In fact, the brute was only a mere eye shot away. He was not one to sleep for extended and large amounts of time. There was certainly a curse of insomnia that seemed to plague him from time to time. Slumber was a thing odd, a thing of weakness and yet it was required when his body allowed. Tonight was one of those nights where he merely lingered in the shadows.There is much on his mind, just as there is always something on his mind. He may be a brute that is a bit of a slave to his emotions, but he is not completely brainless. His mind is always ticking, processing the world around him in a seemingly endless journey. Titles and rumors do not always fit the real thing, and he was certainly not one to hold onto tradition and outward expectations for the hell of it. No, he did whatever he damn well pleased.

He stood at the foot of his throne. The scent of rotten flesh and bones tickled his nostrils. It was a smell most alluring, like a garden of flowers. It was a scent sweet to his nares, his brain wired to find a pleasure in the smell that would make other wretch. He always had an odd taste of smells, and often enjoyed the odors of his throne on the dead of night.