Post by Aura on Jun 1, 2007 11:40:32 GMT -5
Name: Sangue Preto (means 'Black Blood)
Gender: Stallion
Age: 5
Breed: Friesian
Height: 16. 3 hh
Color: Black
Alliance: Dark
Deity: Hades
Appearance: The first thing you will probably notice about Sangue Preto are his eyes. They shine with dark malice, and a cruel desire to achieve what he wants, by whatever means he needs. They are deep and black, and flash when he is amused or angry. Sometimes it is hard to tell which. In those situations, it is best to run. He is a rouge in every way, and it certainly shows.
Sangue’s pelt is a dark bay, and his mane and tail are as black as night, as are the hooves that have carried him for the five years that he has cursed these lands. He has many scars that pierce his skin and will probably be there forever – it seems his skin has just forgotten to heal, or maybe he does not even want to. He suspects that they may have gotten infected, and that is the reason why they still reside on his bodice, but he does not care that much about petty pains such as scars. He cares more for inflicting pain on others. Yes, that is nicer. Isn’t it lovely to hear their screams?
This darkness that writhes inside him shows on the outside – it is all in the way that he walks, that he holds himself, always dominating, always higher than everyone else, always superior and dangerous.
Personality: Cruel and uncaring for the wills of others. To him, all other horses are just extras – add ons to life that he doesn’t have to pay any attention to. He does not bother with the whole ‘caring’ thing; to him it is just a waste of time. Why bother, really? You have your whole life to lead, and yes, you could make it easier for others… but why not just make it easier for yourself? That is the way that this brute sees life anyway. If you are wanting someone that cares for what you feel, this is not the stallion.
The one sound that he favours more than anything else are the sounds of helpless screams. Often as he chases them to their dooms, often as he listens to their last breath – that is the sound that he loves the most. Sangue feeds on the pain of others, it powers him onwards and it powers his lust for more. This stallion does not often join a herd, for he hates the feeling of others with power above him. He is a Dark, through and through, and many respect him for being so loyal to his alliance just because of the things he does, but he is a rouge. He will not follow the laws of the Dark King, and in the last land that he stayed in, he was banished from the royal lands because of his disloyalty to the throne. And yet, he carried on, terrorizing the innocent and corrupting the undecided, they allowed him back in – not in the royal herds, just in the lands themselves, to continue to find and take in slaves. That is simply what he does, and why he is so good at it.
The only compassion he feels for mares is the desire to have them for his own and to terrorize them. He does not really care by what means he will do it. Many have learnt to fear him, and yet some never learn. There are always those precious few, who sometimes pay the ultimate price for their refusal to submit to him.
History: Sangue Preto was born into a Royal Dark Herd, a long way away from this place where he now roams. As a colt, he was told that he was the heir to the Dark Throne, and it was the most amazing feeling, to see the whole empire that his ancestors had built up over the years, the empire of dark equines all with the same goals, the empire that was feared far and wide - it would be his. And he would be able to do whatever he wished with it.
And yet, no one had told him that one of his two brothers, Alma Escura, was older than him, and that meant that he would be the one to take the throne instead. He had only been told half of the story, and whoever who had told him had just assumed that he would know. Sangue was furious. And so, he did the one thing that seemed logical to do. The one thing that made his heart so dark, and hardened it against the world, against hate, against anger, against pain. Against love.
In the dark of the night, he took a last look at the body of his sleeping brother. Pain filled his heart at the thought of what he had convinced himself he had to do. He did not want to, but still, he knew that he was committed to it know, and could not turn back, as much at he hated it. He hated himself right then, at that moment, even though, to his young mind, there was not another way out.
I am sorry, brother!
He cried out to the stars, and that awoke Alma. Sangue was too fast for his older brother though, and struck with a flint sharp hoof. He had thought that this in itself would finish the deed, but no. Alma, mortally wounded but still alive , cried out in shock and anger. This woke more of the herd, and instead of gasping in shock, all were silent as they watched the deed be done. Sangue was strong. He had been training, and was powerful. Alma had size on his side, but it was not enough. Sangue struck again, there was a last cry, and it was ended.
And yet, Sangue did not get what he had done the whole murderous deed for. He did not get to be the next in line for the throne - he was banished for what he had done. That, in itself made him angry. So angry. Angry at his weakness against his brother, emotionally and physically, as he had left with one of the many scars that still haunt him now. Angry at how he was no longer part of that herd. Angry at how his parents had treated him. Angry at what his judgment was. Angry at how they had left him to die. Angry at the fact that his weakest and youngest brother would now take the throne. Angry, so angry. So, he fled.
Sample Roleplay: The sun beat hot on his dark, black pelt, jet black mane and tail writhing as he continued his three-beat across the dry lands towards the one mare that had failed to put on an act for him. All the other mares he had passed so far had seemed to try and change their stance - weather to make themselves appear more desirable, or innocent, or just interesting - all had tried to win his attention in these claiming lands where stallios seemed so well valued and mares came out in their hoardes. Well done to her, this mare that had kept her same presence, yet it may not work in her favour. So, what path did this one choose to follow then? At first sight, she looked like a Light, but of course Sangue payed no attention to petty little attatchments like appearence. They were nothing, really, just armour, a fancy dress put on my many to cover the naked soul inside. And how so meny petty little mares tried to make their costume to pretty, to make the boys swoon. Pah, Preto was ashamed of those on his side of the gender that fell for the looks. For he could usually draw out the willing girlie on the inside. He could usually dash past the whole polite greeting and fake smiles and get straight to the point with them. Mares were easy, really, once you knew the trick. It was ironic, really, that the one femme who didn't want that much attention, would be getting unwanted sums of it from Sangue Preto. Maybe she would think he thought she was special. How she was wrong. To him, mares were all the same. No difference, just with different outfits.
Oh, so no greeting for him? He wondered as he drew nearer to her, rapidly closing the distance between them, and yet heard not a sound. Maybe not a Light then. Maybe he would be lucky, maybe he would get a Dark. Or maybe just a Neutral. Maybe just one that lingered somewhere inbetween, unable to concentrate their feelings into one goal. Or maybe she just didn't have the heart to be a Dark, or the soul to be a Light. Maybe she just prefered to keep out of fights. Who knew which alliance she really followed? It was just a title, really, like to many things that were judged so deeply upon. Love, hate, belief, joy... all just titles upon the bearer to exploit their feelings. And all meaningless, of course.
Sangue Preto cantered right up to her, making straight towards her to see if she would flinch. He made no inclanation to see if he would stop, and his speed would make it hard for him to slow down without coliding into her. But still, he made no move to halt, even when there was hardly a distance between them more than a few feet. He looked up, his cold, hard eyes boring into hers, cruel and uncaring, and sblack personing inside with hearless laughter. At her. Not with her, as many avoided confrontation with those measly words, but straight at her. Without uttering a sound, he laughed at the petty femme.
All in a moment.
When he had come within a few feet of her, he glanced up at her, then looked down and skidded to a halt, turning side on to her and digging his daggers into the hard ground. He stopped, before her, all speed vanquished in that single movement. Sangue Preto turned to her, invading her personal space already, his movements agressive towards her, then uttered a few words.
Name, wench?
Gender: Stallion
Age: 5
Breed: Friesian
Height: 16. 3 hh
Color: Black
Alliance: Dark
Deity: Hades
Appearance: The first thing you will probably notice about Sangue Preto are his eyes. They shine with dark malice, and a cruel desire to achieve what he wants, by whatever means he needs. They are deep and black, and flash when he is amused or angry. Sometimes it is hard to tell which. In those situations, it is best to run. He is a rouge in every way, and it certainly shows.
Sangue’s pelt is a dark bay, and his mane and tail are as black as night, as are the hooves that have carried him for the five years that he has cursed these lands. He has many scars that pierce his skin and will probably be there forever – it seems his skin has just forgotten to heal, or maybe he does not even want to. He suspects that they may have gotten infected, and that is the reason why they still reside on his bodice, but he does not care that much about petty pains such as scars. He cares more for inflicting pain on others. Yes, that is nicer. Isn’t it lovely to hear their screams?
This darkness that writhes inside him shows on the outside – it is all in the way that he walks, that he holds himself, always dominating, always higher than everyone else, always superior and dangerous.
Personality: Cruel and uncaring for the wills of others. To him, all other horses are just extras – add ons to life that he doesn’t have to pay any attention to. He does not bother with the whole ‘caring’ thing; to him it is just a waste of time. Why bother, really? You have your whole life to lead, and yes, you could make it easier for others… but why not just make it easier for yourself? That is the way that this brute sees life anyway. If you are wanting someone that cares for what you feel, this is not the stallion.
The one sound that he favours more than anything else are the sounds of helpless screams. Often as he chases them to their dooms, often as he listens to their last breath – that is the sound that he loves the most. Sangue feeds on the pain of others, it powers him onwards and it powers his lust for more. This stallion does not often join a herd, for he hates the feeling of others with power above him. He is a Dark, through and through, and many respect him for being so loyal to his alliance just because of the things he does, but he is a rouge. He will not follow the laws of the Dark King, and in the last land that he stayed in, he was banished from the royal lands because of his disloyalty to the throne. And yet, he carried on, terrorizing the innocent and corrupting the undecided, they allowed him back in – not in the royal herds, just in the lands themselves, to continue to find and take in slaves. That is simply what he does, and why he is so good at it.
The only compassion he feels for mares is the desire to have them for his own and to terrorize them. He does not really care by what means he will do it. Many have learnt to fear him, and yet some never learn. There are always those precious few, who sometimes pay the ultimate price for their refusal to submit to him.
History: Sangue Preto was born into a Royal Dark Herd, a long way away from this place where he now roams. As a colt, he was told that he was the heir to the Dark Throne, and it was the most amazing feeling, to see the whole empire that his ancestors had built up over the years, the empire of dark equines all with the same goals, the empire that was feared far and wide - it would be his. And he would be able to do whatever he wished with it.
And yet, no one had told him that one of his two brothers, Alma Escura, was older than him, and that meant that he would be the one to take the throne instead. He had only been told half of the story, and whoever who had told him had just assumed that he would know. Sangue was furious. And so, he did the one thing that seemed logical to do. The one thing that made his heart so dark, and hardened it against the world, against hate, against anger, against pain. Against love.
In the dark of the night, he took a last look at the body of his sleeping brother. Pain filled his heart at the thought of what he had convinced himself he had to do. He did not want to, but still, he knew that he was committed to it know, and could not turn back, as much at he hated it. He hated himself right then, at that moment, even though, to his young mind, there was not another way out.
I am sorry, brother!
He cried out to the stars, and that awoke Alma. Sangue was too fast for his older brother though, and struck with a flint sharp hoof. He had thought that this in itself would finish the deed, but no. Alma, mortally wounded but still alive , cried out in shock and anger. This woke more of the herd, and instead of gasping in shock, all were silent as they watched the deed be done. Sangue was strong. He had been training, and was powerful. Alma had size on his side, but it was not enough. Sangue struck again, there was a last cry, and it was ended.
And yet, Sangue did not get what he had done the whole murderous deed for. He did not get to be the next in line for the throne - he was banished for what he had done. That, in itself made him angry. So angry. Angry at his weakness against his brother, emotionally and physically, as he had left with one of the many scars that still haunt him now. Angry at how he was no longer part of that herd. Angry at how his parents had treated him. Angry at what his judgment was. Angry at how they had left him to die. Angry at the fact that his weakest and youngest brother would now take the throne. Angry, so angry. So, he fled.
Sample Roleplay: The sun beat hot on his dark, black pelt, jet black mane and tail writhing as he continued his three-beat across the dry lands towards the one mare that had failed to put on an act for him. All the other mares he had passed so far had seemed to try and change their stance - weather to make themselves appear more desirable, or innocent, or just interesting - all had tried to win his attention in these claiming lands where stallios seemed so well valued and mares came out in their hoardes. Well done to her, this mare that had kept her same presence, yet it may not work in her favour. So, what path did this one choose to follow then? At first sight, she looked like a Light, but of course Sangue payed no attention to petty little attatchments like appearence. They were nothing, really, just armour, a fancy dress put on my many to cover the naked soul inside. And how so meny petty little mares tried to make their costume to pretty, to make the boys swoon. Pah, Preto was ashamed of those on his side of the gender that fell for the looks. For he could usually draw out the willing girlie on the inside. He could usually dash past the whole polite greeting and fake smiles and get straight to the point with them. Mares were easy, really, once you knew the trick. It was ironic, really, that the one femme who didn't want that much attention, would be getting unwanted sums of it from Sangue Preto. Maybe she would think he thought she was special. How she was wrong. To him, mares were all the same. No difference, just with different outfits.
Oh, so no greeting for him? He wondered as he drew nearer to her, rapidly closing the distance between them, and yet heard not a sound. Maybe not a Light then. Maybe he would be lucky, maybe he would get a Dark. Or maybe just a Neutral. Maybe just one that lingered somewhere inbetween, unable to concentrate their feelings into one goal. Or maybe she just didn't have the heart to be a Dark, or the soul to be a Light. Maybe she just prefered to keep out of fights. Who knew which alliance she really followed? It was just a title, really, like to many things that were judged so deeply upon. Love, hate, belief, joy... all just titles upon the bearer to exploit their feelings. And all meaningless, of course.
Sangue Preto cantered right up to her, making straight towards her to see if she would flinch. He made no inclanation to see if he would stop, and his speed would make it hard for him to slow down without coliding into her. But still, he made no move to halt, even when there was hardly a distance between them more than a few feet. He looked up, his cold, hard eyes boring into hers, cruel and uncaring, and sblack personing inside with hearless laughter. At her. Not with her, as many avoided confrontation with those measly words, but straight at her. Without uttering a sound, he laughed at the petty femme.
All in a moment.
When he had come within a few feet of her, he glanced up at her, then looked down and skidded to a halt, turning side on to her and digging his daggers into the hard ground. He stopped, before her, all speed vanquished in that single movement. Sangue Preto turned to her, invading her personal space already, his movements agressive towards her, then uttered a few words.
Name, wench?
