ikutur is a cigarette lit in the darkest pew of a church. a bullet in the chamber of a gun ready to fire; aimed. bruised knuckles; a split lip, bloodied from a lack of desire to wipe it clean. he is a scarred palm, arm, ribcage from knife fights; a rough-hewn mercenary struck from rock. Hard edged and unapologetic savage. serpentine and utterly apathetic; the serpent in the hallowed garden of eden and unable to tell the difference between mercy and cruelty, affection and obsession... for him they are so often the same thing. deceptively cunning, though comfortable in the element of archaic and primitive silence and forms of communication he can easily and is encouraged to be considered simpleminded. pride and greed are his greatest sins and finds himself naturally attracted only to and by strength and power; which is always where his loyalties lie. in these things the world is starkly black and white: you are strong or you are not and he has no regard for anyone who falls in between or what he, bias as he is using his own scale of judgement, considers to be 'weak'.