i'm on the wrong side of heaven; atrox

[Warship]

come back with your shield, or on it

He could hear them in the distance; the drums of war. It was as steady as a heart beat, thrumming not only in his mind but in the very marrow of his bones. There was a certain electric-like quality to the air, the static of which licked against his scarred hide. The clouds were gathering on the horizon, building and building upon themselves. Eventually they would burst, and he would be there in the thick of it. War was his heritage, war was his blood right. He had been bred for it, born for its purpose. It was written in the sharp angles of his wickedly shaped skull, etched into the thick muscles along his shoulders and back. War had written its story in his skin, leaving its tales in the form of silvery scars. War was his beginning and ending and the pieces in between. Where others ignored the drums, to him they were a sirens song. He would not, could not, deny them.

Though he hadn’t laid eyes on him, he knew his father was still here. The panther was never far, dutifully holding his position as sentinel of his (their) beloved kingdom. Warship climbed up onto the rocky outcrops, though his journey was more difficult than it would be for a cat. He had to stick to the trails, whereas his father could climb straight up. Lucky bastard. Finally he reached a small grove of evergreens, clinging precariously to the side of the mountain. They had no business here, but their ruggedness impressed Warship. The smell of cat was overwhelming but Warship was not afraid. It was a distinguished mix of horse and panther. “Up here in the trees you’ll be missing out on all the fun.” said the General smoothly, a trace of a grin on his weathered lips. He knew that if the proverbial shit hit the fan, his father would be highly unlikely to sit it out. If nothing else, Warship got his bloodlust honestly.

-warship