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If there was a place of war, you can bet Black Plague was there. He reveled in the hot-iron scent of blood, the cries of the wounded, the feel of hooves punching into flesh. Even if it was his own flesh, the masochistic monster enjoyed it. He had been involved in war and chaos his whole life, and it only suited him now to be hidden deep in the place of war of this new herd. He had yet to meet its reigning horses to declare his intent, but still he was here, studying, learning, and play-fighting with his shadow. Plague was a mystery to most, and that was the way he would keep it. Once you have been cut this deeply by the only one who has seen your heart, you are not inclined to do it again any time soon. The clack of hooves against stone made him stop and whip around, facing the entrance. He stood at 18 hands, and with his head raised, appeared every bit a formidable force as any warhorse. His skin was of the darkest black, but shone with the little reflected light that came in. It would be hard for anyone to determine his lineage, but he appeared to be a mix of quarter horse, thoroughbred, and perhaps some Arabic influence. His neck was well-muscled, but arched in a proud way; his ears were fairly dainty, pointed at the tips. His head was strong with blocky cheeks, with no dishing to his nose, a testament that he was built for sucking air while working hard. He also had thick hindquarters that were enough to move a mountain by itself. But it is likely that the thing you will notice first about him are the scars that litter his whole body. He has been a warrior for his entire existence, and it shows. Through all his injuries, however, his legs remain true. They are probably the only part of him that haven’t been severely injured. For this, the monster is thankful. His black eyes stare into the distance, waiting to see who (or what) is approaching him. His blood sings for a fight, for a challenge. Certainly he is hidden deep and in a place nobody knows; so if someone is approaching him, it is simply to try and kill him. Oh yes, to taste the wine of war again! Plague waits patiently, neck slightly arched, body tense, muscles bulging and tense. Come what may, the man is ready. ”Speech” |
| I find it kind of funny…I find it kind of sad…the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had | |
@Ammon <-- don't mind Plague. He's just grumpy. :D
@Ktulu
