Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20160726175355/@comment-26288702-20160805053120

It resonated throughout the castle, a massive, terrifying architecture of towers and walls. HIS castle was a solid rival of the looming crucible that now crawls arcoss the land. He sat there, in his throne. A blue stone chair that stands twelve feet high, lined with burgundy colored upholstery. A man, no not a man. A monster in man's form. Pale skin that hasn't been kissed by the sun in ages. A body toned, muscular, veins pop through his chest unnatural, his ribs are exaggerated as they were ready to break free there skin prison. His abdominals equally defined.

Clad in a dark maroon colored trench coat that drags at his feet, it's collar flipped up, beneath was a elegant black dress shirt with frills at the wrists, the dress shirt left open so you see his inhuman body. Black leather pants that are tucked into black boots that are lined with buckles from top to bottom. His hands are more like claws with his large thick nails. His face is handsome, yet an unsettling sense of anxiety swells in those who gaze upon him, like a human to a wolf. His eyes are a faded, dead white, with golden irises. His hair a rough smokey grey that goes down slightly past his shoulders.

He sat there, twirling his glass of an undefinded red liquid. The maroon flames from the torches cast a red glow on everything. His golden eyes situate on the balcony of his throne room. He gets up and slowly heads to the opening, passing a desecrated, husk of a human being along the way. He gazes out over his kingdom, sensing the encroaching threat. He drinks from his glass and tosses it over the railing. He looks down at his free hands and stretches out his fingers. They crack and shift as is not moved in years. He then smiles, baring his fangs.

Armata: I can feel it in the air, a stigma of doom upon the land. Such a glorious sensation.... oooooooh, what's this? A certain HOUND stands at the epicenter? Hmph, that foolish mut always knows how to find trouble....