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His black coat shone in the sunlight – an image of masculine virility and health. He was large and well built; head held high, muscled neck slightly arched, taut muscles moving easily beneath his scarred skin. If you looked closely, you could read the story of each fight he fought, each win and loss, each true injury, and each superficial one. You could tell so much about him – his lust for power and dominance, his willingness to fight for what he believed in, his status as a warrior. He strides boldly, like he owns the place, and if you look into his dark eyes, you will see he has no fear of man or beast. He would rather spit in your eye than bow down. Now if you earn his respect, he will follow you into the very bowels of hell and destroy Satan’s pseudo-throne if he thinks it will gain his herd something. For all his faults and attitude, Plague is nothing if he is not loyal. He is very secretive with his past. He makes no effort to hide the lust in his eyes – lust for mares, to have them bear his demon-children, lust for war, lust for carnage. He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he is mildly arrogant; rude, crude, sexist. He hides so few things; but his past is one of them. But if you promise to keep a secret, I will tell you a little about this man with no fear in his eyes. Black Plague was born to a whore of a father. The Black was notorious for wooing the women and having them bear his children, each one bearing his name. There were few women who refused The Black. His mother told him that she was one who resisted him (truth be told, she hadn’t likely resisted as much as regretted). So when he was born, she gave him the name of his father and raised him the best she could; but the little devil was more like his father than she imagined. He was with his mother long enough to grow and feed until he could be weaned. He had been loved enough, certainly, but he wanted to be just like his father, hearing whisperings from other foals and adults alike. So he set off to find him – The Black. And find him he did. The Black wasn’t hard to find. One had only to follow broken hearts and fallen tears to find the Romeo himself. Plague decided he would learn from his sire, and so he did. He learned how mares were playthings; a vessel to bear children and nothing more. He learned how to fight, to win, to destroy his opponent, no matter who they were or what the stakes were. He tried to use his new knowledge against the lead of his herd – a warrior mare named Dare. She was the only one who ever truly held his stone heart. He gave himself to her, following her into battle, fighting in her name, stealing others for her prisons. He was hers in every sense of the word. And when the world crumbled and she was gone, he had nothing left. Plague vowed to never love again, and to this day, he has not broken that vow. The details of the world’s collapse have grown fuzzy over the years, and he remembers only having many lives and many deaths. The only memory he clings to from the past (from any of his pasts) is Dare. So here he is again, ready to live, to die in this place. He will find a mare to bear his children, he will fight until he can no longer lift his broken body off the ground, and he will live on through the tales of horror that will be told about him. He has big dreams for his future, and if you are lucky enough, you will not be sucked into his cyclone of destruction. And so, Black Plague stands, muscled neck arched enough to accentuate his well muscled shoulders, his strong rear, straight legs, and overall physique. He knows he is gorgeous, powerful, and soon, there would be at least one lady drawn to him like a moth to the flame. He waits for that moment with a satisfied smile ghosting his lips as his alert eyes scan the tree line, the nearby pond, and the morning sky. ”Speech” |
| Black Plague | |
@Reichenbach - a new plaything for the court. <3
