Oh, my savage empire

He emerged, steaming, from the lotus bed of the pond and into the endless wood, the tangled fingers of his world grasping, clinging, churning bubbling pathways into the forest. His conception here a brutal immediacy, a birth in a muddy bed of secrets; it is not known why the Gods allowed him entrance as such or if they truly did at all.

The form is towering, perhaps not so monumental amidst the megafauna of the forest, but neither as such to be scoffed at, lean, thick ropes of muscle beneath a layer of supple skin. His coat is a beacon, brilliant hues of red and copper; metallic in the creeping light, shimmering like so much ruddy oil on the surface of a burning sea, eclipsed by the stygian hues which creep from hyaenidae mohawk'd neck and shoulders to a singular thin and dripping streak down spine to plume of tail.

A spine sloped downwards pushes forwards the chest, the compact muscle of haunches gives the Dark Sun great forward power from the hinds with which to push forward, driving speed, or building force into the plunging gilded crown, a superfluous mass of grasping skyward tines of shining gilt. Shield, Sword, coat of arms, severe. Laborious to snap, in no manner brittle, thick, weighty, a burden which has strengthened the musculature of neck and shoulders in the moving of such glimmering mountains.

Weight is clear behind every movement of the head, a contained power; in no manner clumsy. By far more agile than he first appears, and yet the hinds move first always before the fore, a drawback of such titanic weaponry, swift in forward movements, the tines can be swung to or fro to assist in turns, yet momentary weakness may yet seep through cracks in areas of dense brush.

Long limbed, a graceful slenderness which do not seem immediately capable of moving such a beast. Dense bones beneath flesh in same-of-kind to the horns, thick and golden. Yet the emerging hooves are obsidian dark as the mask. The face. It is long, slim, but weighty, ending in shining tusks, in exposed teeth, a clattering snap when brought together, a cage for the mouth of metal and bone, each sharp delphinidae tooth a precious aureate knife. The tongues caged behind the daggers, tongues, forked twins born from a single base in the throat, are long and thick; black as tar and slick as spilled ink.

Despite the fearsome jaws, the Dark Sun is not by nature a predator of sapient things, omnivore, neither finicky nor omni-consuming, a taste for fish and amphibians betray the reason for so-many razor pegs within the jaws, fit for holding such slippery prey. Equally as content to trim the delicate berries of bushes, grasses and leaves most often left, for his body does not bring up cud to chew, an inefficient waste of time in his eyes.

Mountainesque, his is an aura of stillness, hours spent at leisured rest within the warmest pools of sunlight, great power beneath an exterior of ease, an inviting confidence without an air of aggression, eyes of molten quicksilver are more passive than predatory, and as such pools as he himself dwells within, as is his title, the Dark Sun radiates summer heat, a coat made wet will, immediately, rise once more in wisps of steamlike fog.

Companionship is enjoyed; yet not necessary. A complete being on his own he craves for neither isolation nor acceptance, though he often seeks the company of loners, he is neither saddened nor distressed to be left alone in the pit of his own mind. In no manner judgmental, the lotus does not deny companionship on basis of appearance, and rarely ever on creed. His morals are as his species, and esoteric mixture of nature and nurture, for the most part honorable, there are few things which are given the title of absolute good or evil in his heart. All things on their own basis, and as they are.

Brutality and tenderness exist side by side, crushing jaws capable and willing to shatter neck or ribs are just as easily used to groom those who keep his company in delicate nips. It would be a lie to say that the sun does not crave in some way for violence, a beast crafted for battle, yet just as much he holds little care for the petty dramas of politics and interpersonal relationships, his is a loyalty to himself, to people first and foremost, and never to anything of the divine, never to the boundaries of kingdoms or countries, and to no doctrine.

An astute mind seldom betrayed, often electing for the simplicity of wild things, many shades of gray in the turning circle of nature are a haven from the attempts to push the black and white absolutes of more humanoid manners of thinking. In no manner mortal, and yet neither demon nor divine, connected in no way to either. A force of nature as boundless as spring rain and winter wind, his is a repose of inevitability, something which Is simply because it Exists, and which Exists simply because it Is.

Perhaps assumed serious, the lotus is a casual affair in so many ways, a difficult bond to make and yet the easiest acquaintance possible. A royal dignity which comes from an absolute understanding of self and the denial of such laughable concepts as refined behavior for the sake of it, every bit capable of a king's regality, and yet never above a bout of play or equine roll in the sun and soft grasses.

Complex in his simplicity.
Simple in his complexity.
Shining eclipse; Peaceful bloom of war.

How lucky we are

Nothing of note.

My heart stood exposed to the elements

No one of note.

Calloused and untouched by man's design

Myself
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Others
_Lathyrus