You do not fear me as I should be feared
He had grown no closer to obtaining a purpose than he had in the time since his arrival, wandering aimless adrift a sea of uncertainty and uselessness. He was a bird stripped of it's flight feathers, a snake of it's fangs, and all too easy prey for the cruel talons of his own thoughts and despair. Oh, he had his thirst for vengeance, this was true, but the daunting task of slaking that desire was insurmountable, impossible for him to achieve in his current state of solitary existence. He would need allies, would need eyes and ears to serve him for he could not be everywhere and anywhere, and with his magic gone from him either by divine sorcery or simply a side effect of his curse... Ammon was just a stallion. While this served him well enough as being an easy to forget face, a simple man, it chafed and gnawed at him, his lack of power and ability.
However, the black stag was a clever fellow, his current situation simply one he would grow and adapt to, and eventually evolve beyond. Of this fact he was certain, his belief in himself shaken by his own traitorous flaws, but he trusted in the wit of his sharp mind and his intuition to guide him well. Himself was the only one he could trust, after all, that he had learned so clearly so long ago.
With that settled within him, Ammon traversed the Steppes with intent, a rare humor sparking within his breast. Although he had come to the acceptance that his mind would never fail him even as his sovereign, magic, and gods had, there still burned within him that flame for vengeance, that rage that pulsed through his veins and drove his dreams to bloodshed and triumph. He yearned to scream his wrath to the heavens, to drive forth the spawn of his foe from the earth with whips and chains, to revel in their misery and despair all to appease the vengeance boiling in his heart. He would see the world burn for the wrongs that were wrought upon him. He whipped himself into a fury, until his hooves hit the ground with force and haunting eyes rolled in his head, searching with red-hued vision for an outlet. His rage screamed through him, demanding to be let free, but he bit it back and wrestled a measure of control. Never had he lost his head in battle, and he would not let this be the first time rage overtook him. With care he moved through the Steppe, passing over patches of battle-torn dirt in search of the place he would make a stand, to have his rage answered or to meditate in his solitude.
He did not stop until he found a section of trampled-down grasses and bared, rocky soil, riddled with gopher-holes and crevices worn by drought and baked hard by heat. He tested the earth once, twice, pawing it with his hoof until he was certain of it's firmness, of the grass slick with it's own juices from broken stems. It was treacherous footing that all would consider a wretched place to fight in... and that was why he chose it. Perhaps the land would bite back against him, yet if even he whom studied the locations of the holes swiftly and thoroughly was able to be unsettled... he could all but taste the cries of the one whom charged in after him only to meet their doom by the land's own hand. His mind felt calm despite the brimming anticipation that made the skin on his spine twitch and quiver, that made nostrils flare to expose red flesh and teeth champ behind bared lips.
Swiftly the black anger of his vengeful desire burned like liquid fire up his throat, building and bubbling until he could bear it no more, and his scream rent the air. It was the stallion-squeal of defiance and challenge, of anger and it bore to mind the clashing of bodies and the lashing of hooves. It demanded blood and fury to match, and the black stallion paced the stony space he had chosen, awaiting a call that would answer his own.
You do not know the first note of the music that moves me
Summary: Ammon has a hissy fit and decides he wants to vent, so he finds a place in the Steppe to set up a battle. The ground is hard and dry by the summer heat, the grass trampled down flat and the earth riddled with gopher holes. He quickly checks where the holes are before screaming like a banshee rather than calling out like a normal sentient horse.
Attack Used: 0
Attack(s) Left: 2
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 1/10
Tags: @Seraphina, @kay, @inkbone, @Sid
Attack Used: 0
Attack(s) Left: 2
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 1/10
Tags: @
