God of the People.
*another bottle flips and crashes into the acreage of empties behind the couch, Ares already reaching into the case for a new beer. Left leg extended along the divan, right slung over the edge, shirtless and disheveled from days without rest, War flickers undeviating eyes over the televisions, gauging his next influencing based on the reactions of the public displayed to him.
Doffing the alcohol to his lips, passive fingers scratching his bared stomach in smooth grazing motions. He was the absolute idealization of every wannabe rake in his current state. Even his priests and priestesses have ceased inquiring about his needs for fear of being scorched alive by a dismissing fireball for interrupting him. There was already one incinerated carcass on the wall, and no one had the gumption to spatula him off while War was hermitting*
Doffing the alcohol to his lips, passive fingers scratching his bared stomach in smooth grazing motions. He was the absolute idealization of every wannabe rake in his current state. Even his priests and priestesses have ceased inquiring about his needs for fear of being scorched alive by a dismissing fireball for interrupting him. There was already one incinerated carcass on the wall, and no one had the gumption to spatula him off while War was hermitting*