Post by Vel on Feb 13, 2011 0:37:52 GMT -5
Name: Dexter
Breed: Paint
Gender: Stallion
Age: Eight
Height: 16.2hh
Coat Colour: Overo Liver Chestnut
Mane Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Tail Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Eye Colour: Brown
Markings: see picture
Image: This one and this too
Alliance: Neutral
History:
Dexter was born on a quiet morning sometime in the summer eight years ago. He lived in a now extinct herd on the island that made their home in the mountains between Belle Valle and Cascata. His father was a loyal warrior in the herd, and his mother was just a casual member who would often teach the foals how to be model citizens of the island. All in all, life was safe and good for the little colt.
As he got a bit older he grew up with several other colts and fillies his age who he enjoyed playing and going on adventures with. Soon enough he was old enough to leave the land and go on journeys with his father, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He had seen and learned so much from their casual outings. During this time he was still very young, young enough to still have spindly stilts that held him up.
The young colt continued to grow in this environment until one day a couple rogues followed his father and another warrior stallion home from their patrols. Unfortunately for the colt's herd, these stallion were of mixed elemental blood. Even worse, they thought that pillaging herds was a sport to be practiced. Dexter's herd suffered because of this.
The stallion finally left his home after his herd disbanded. He wandered around the island, picked up a few possible mates every now and then, but things never took off too much. He now continues to bounce from land to land, just looking for somewhere where the horses are kind, like the ones he remembered from his childhood home.
Personality:
Dexter was raised to be a perfect gentleman, and strangely enough as he grew up he never lost what his dear mother had taught him. At times he can seem a bit distant, lost in his own mind; it deters some but is is just who he is. He is more of a listener than a talker, but he always seems to have something to offer to the conversation, even if it is short and to the point.
his mother had taught him to help others, and he has been doing so ever since. If he meets someone with some kind of need, he tries to help them by fixing whatever is wrong in their lives. It may seem like a stupid thing to do, or something to make him look better, but it was just how he killed his spare time (which was almost all of his time now days)
When with someone he really enjoys he acts much younger, almost like a young stallion again. When he isn't in one of his odd moods he enjoys joking and playful banter. Dexter is fond of children of all types of animals. He feels that he should share his knowledge with them, which would only help them later on in their own walks of life. Dexter had been taught many things by various animals in his younger days, making him somewhat intelligent for a regular, island-born horse. He was even taught English at a young age (his herd was a mix of Italian speakers and English speakers)
__________________________________________________________
Name: Arceneaux
Breed: Paint
Gender: Stallion
Age: Eight
Height: 16.2hh
Coat Colour: Overo Liver Chestnut
Mane Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Tail Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Eye Colour: Brown
Markings: see picture
Image: This one and this too
Alliance: Neutral
History:
If asked, Arceneaux could not tell you exactly where he was born, or even where he spent his younger days. Did it even matter? To him it was the past, and the past was behind him, no need to be brought up again. He figured he had suffered a bonk on his head when he was younger, causing him to have a sketchy memory. As far as he was concerned he never knew his father and his mother had left him to be raised by another herd of horses when he was a couple months old. This story is only partially confirmed seeing as he cannot remember ever detail. He does remember departing from his mother and the look on her face; she didn't care. She could leave him to die out there and she did not care. This little act of injustice just made him loathe her. And what about his father? Was he not man enough to come and raise his own son? Apparently not.
He never had many friends growing up, seeing as the 'herd' that took him in consisted of an old nag who was half mad, her even madder sister, a son of one of the sisters and his mate. The mare, the son's mate, Jolie, had become like a mother to him. For living in such a dismal place she was awfully happy. It was as if she was the sunshine in everyone's life.
Once Arceneaux was weaned and strong enough to be on his own, he split from the group that had taken him in. Now he was free. He spent his days indulging in every guilty pleasure he could find. This was the life. Soon enough the dark seed that had been laying dormant in his soul had grown into tendrils that wound themselves throughout his whole being, consuming him with darkness. He now became very violent and unpredictable, a bomb just waiting to be set off. He began killing for pleasure and finding himself willing, or unwilling, mares as often as possible. He would never be bound to a herd, who would want someone like him living in their lands? Arceneaux prided himself on who he had become and never shown any remorse for any of his actions.
Personality:
Arceneaux walks with a very proud, self-assured stride as if he owned the whole world. He never backs down from anything present for him, and is often underestimated because of his lighter build. He enjoys talking in metaphors and riddles, generally causing confusion and making others actually think about what he is saying. He is actually very smart, almost to the point that one would believe he had traveled the world and had years before now to do it.
His temper is short, which is the reason he has violent outbursts and impulses to kill, which he often carries out as he sees fit. He has learned how to instill fear into those he meets. Its almost like he has perfected the art of fear. He lived off of it, hell, he could even smell it. It was almost like another force was working within him, twisting and contorting his unstable mind and morals into a labyrinth that could never be unfurled.
Breed: Paint
Gender: Stallion
Age: Eight
Height: 16.2hh
Coat Colour: Overo Liver Chestnut
Mane Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Tail Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Eye Colour: Brown
Markings: see picture
Image: This one and this too
Alliance: Neutral
History:
Dexter was born on a quiet morning sometime in the summer eight years ago. He lived in a now extinct herd on the island that made their home in the mountains between Belle Valle and Cascata. His father was a loyal warrior in the herd, and his mother was just a casual member who would often teach the foals how to be model citizens of the island. All in all, life was safe and good for the little colt.
As he got a bit older he grew up with several other colts and fillies his age who he enjoyed playing and going on adventures with. Soon enough he was old enough to leave the land and go on journeys with his father, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He had seen and learned so much from their casual outings. During this time he was still very young, young enough to still have spindly stilts that held him up.
The young colt continued to grow in this environment until one day a couple rogues followed his father and another warrior stallion home from their patrols. Unfortunately for the colt's herd, these stallion were of mixed elemental blood. Even worse, they thought that pillaging herds was a sport to be practiced. Dexter's herd suffered because of this.
The stallion finally left his home after his herd disbanded. He wandered around the island, picked up a few possible mates every now and then, but things never took off too much. He now continues to bounce from land to land, just looking for somewhere where the horses are kind, like the ones he remembered from his childhood home.
Personality:
Dexter was raised to be a perfect gentleman, and strangely enough as he grew up he never lost what his dear mother had taught him. At times he can seem a bit distant, lost in his own mind; it deters some but is is just who he is. He is more of a listener than a talker, but he always seems to have something to offer to the conversation, even if it is short and to the point.
his mother had taught him to help others, and he has been doing so ever since. If he meets someone with some kind of need, he tries to help them by fixing whatever is wrong in their lives. It may seem like a stupid thing to do, or something to make him look better, but it was just how he killed his spare time (which was almost all of his time now days)
When with someone he really enjoys he acts much younger, almost like a young stallion again. When he isn't in one of his odd moods he enjoys joking and playful banter. Dexter is fond of children of all types of animals. He feels that he should share his knowledge with them, which would only help them later on in their own walks of life. Dexter had been taught many things by various animals in his younger days, making him somewhat intelligent for a regular, island-born horse. He was even taught English at a young age (his herd was a mix of Italian speakers and English speakers)
__________________________________________________________
Name: Arceneaux
Breed: Paint
Gender: Stallion
Age: Eight
Height: 16.2hh
Coat Colour: Overo Liver Chestnut
Mane Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Tail Colour: Dark Liver Chestnut
Eye Colour: Brown
Markings: see picture
Image: This one and this too
Alliance: Neutral
History:
If asked, Arceneaux could not tell you exactly where he was born, or even where he spent his younger days. Did it even matter? To him it was the past, and the past was behind him, no need to be brought up again. He figured he had suffered a bonk on his head when he was younger, causing him to have a sketchy memory. As far as he was concerned he never knew his father and his mother had left him to be raised by another herd of horses when he was a couple months old. This story is only partially confirmed seeing as he cannot remember ever detail. He does remember departing from his mother and the look on her face; she didn't care. She could leave him to die out there and she did not care. This little act of injustice just made him loathe her. And what about his father? Was he not man enough to come and raise his own son? Apparently not.
He never had many friends growing up, seeing as the 'herd' that took him in consisted of an old nag who was half mad, her even madder sister, a son of one of the sisters and his mate. The mare, the son's mate, Jolie, had become like a mother to him. For living in such a dismal place she was awfully happy. It was as if she was the sunshine in everyone's life.
Once Arceneaux was weaned and strong enough to be on his own, he split from the group that had taken him in. Now he was free. He spent his days indulging in every guilty pleasure he could find. This was the life. Soon enough the dark seed that had been laying dormant in his soul had grown into tendrils that wound themselves throughout his whole being, consuming him with darkness. He now became very violent and unpredictable, a bomb just waiting to be set off. He began killing for pleasure and finding himself willing, or unwilling, mares as often as possible. He would never be bound to a herd, who would want someone like him living in their lands? Arceneaux prided himself on who he had become and never shown any remorse for any of his actions.
Personality:
Arceneaux walks with a very proud, self-assured stride as if he owned the whole world. He never backs down from anything present for him, and is often underestimated because of his lighter build. He enjoys talking in metaphors and riddles, generally causing confusion and making others actually think about what he is saying. He is actually very smart, almost to the point that one would believe he had traveled the world and had years before now to do it.
His temper is short, which is the reason he has violent outbursts and impulses to kill, which he often carries out as he sees fit. He has learned how to instill fear into those he meets. Its almost like he has perfected the art of fear. He lived off of it, hell, he could even smell it. It was almost like another force was working within him, twisting and contorting his unstable mind and morals into a labyrinth that could never be unfurled.
