Buchanan is solidly built and muscled in his figure. Reaching a towering height of 22hh, he makes for an intimidating figure. His coat is a rich chocolate bay in color with dapples along his neck, shoulders, and ribs. His points darken in color to a near-black. However, splashed across his body are thick markings of solid black. This is most notable across the entirety of his face, a large portion of his neck, and his entire left foreleg. A lesser portion of his right back leg and right shoulder can be noted as well. These dark portions are without a single marking. His blue-silver eyes stand out drastically against the black of his face.

On particularly bad days he can be seen with something of a limp. While this is still uncommon it’s not difficult to see why he faces the occasional struggle. His left foreleg is littered with deep, mangled scars. Other scars can be seen across his body but these are large, and still appear a tender pink at times. Though they are by no means recent, they seem unlikely to ever truly mend.

When he was younger his hair was shorter, held more volume to it. Now the black strands hang limply in disarray. Thicker strands often frame his face, and against his shoulder is some pitiful attempt at taming the mess. Some of his hair is loosely pulled and tied together by a simple, silver band. His tail has remained upon the shorter side, reaching just past his rump.

loyal . protective . adaptable . considerate . forgiving . pasifistic
somber . distant . irritable . avoidant
There was a time when he wasn’t even sure about who he was. Now, Buchanan has been coming into his own once more. Aspects of his personality that had been notably absent have begun to return. His stubborn nature, and a dry sense of humor have started to help patch what had previously been broken. However there is much of him that has changed since his younger years. Where he had been more carefree - grinning, and making flirty comments - there is a now a more somber, serious nature. He thinks before he acts, cautious about prodding at boundaries.

What hasn’t changed is his loyalty. The surface trust he gives to companions or acquaintances is shallow at best. It’s the deeper loyalty that is hard-won, but nearly unshakable when achieved. Buchanan holds those rare few dear and near. He would move mountains for them if he could.

Unfortunately, he holds a great hesitancy in forming these kinds of bonds. Until recently his mind was his own worst enemy. Though the broken mess has begun to mend, there are still moments when he questions himself. He knows who he is, and what he’s done. Regret is a heavy burden upon his shoulders that he bears. Buchanan has known violence, torture, and what it feels like to have his free will stripped away. He’s looked allies in the face and witnessed the shine of betrayal.

Because of this he has grown to be something of a pacifist. He loathes the violence in his life but his firm set of morals would never allow him to turn a blind eye. If he’s able to he would prefer to avoid ever having to take a life again.

Lastly, the boy loves deeply and fully. In his youth he had favored shallow relationships - often attempting to woo whatever young mare caught his eye. He thought he could settle for this, for a life of simply being ‘just fine’. Though in the years past this has simply become another thing he’s decided to tuck away. It takes time for him to even fathom the idea of attraction. Physical relations are another matter altogether, but when emotions are involved he’s slow to open himself up.

A mix of sorcery and misery took all he was from him. Every memory, every tender thought, and every soft reminiscence. It was all pulled from his mind in the most violent of ways and left him as nothing but an empty shell. He obeyed flawlessly amidst the confusion in his head. How could he question when he didn’t even know who he was.

He became a harvester — blood drenched his hands. And yet still he never inquired.

When the slightest sign of consciousness returned it was ripped from him. He could not be anyone. He was to remain nameless, faceless — an instrument of pain and death, and nothing more. The claws of his captors remained deep inside of him for an unknown amount of time. He couldn’t remember the passing of days or weeks or months. Everything blurred together in a static-ridden state of confusion with his only understanding being that he must obey.

And then like a sliver of light through the thick fog he felt the faintest glimmer of himself return. He had been sent to silence yet another unfortunate soul, but before his death ridden fingers could reap the life in front of him a curtain was drawn back.

For the first time, he hesitated. He failed.

It felt unfathomable. The confusion in his mind grew tenfold as the soft whispers of a name broke through the vicious sorcery consuming his thoughts. He didn’t know what it meant, but the swell of emotions felt almost too much to bear. He ran.

In the days that followed it was as though a dam had been broken open inside of his mind. Sounds and smells came first to him, and then slowly the memories that accompanied them. He had a family once, a land he belonged to. A mother. A father. Both had been so proud of him once and yet now he could barely remember their faces.

But amidst them stood the one who started it.

Liam.

Finally free of the restraints holding him back he reclaimed himself for the first time in years. He was Buchanan, fallen soldier of Agnosia. He dared not return home to see what had become of his family in his absence. Instead, he fled as far and fast from his cruel shackles.

No matter where he turned, his history seemed to tail him. Faces haunted him. Even in new lands he was met with accusations. He thought himself unable to escape his horrors.

Until that face he’d known sought him out. Liam chose not to blame him or turn him away, but rather embraced the mess that Buchanan had become. He was not the same as he had been in their youth. He was not the colt that had bounded about and confided in Liam. Who Buchanan was now could not have been farther from who he had once been.

Yet perhaps Liam saw something. Perhaps he knew something that Buchanan did not.