plague

[plague]

Name: plagueGender: Stallion

Side: Dark

Physical Description:
plague shows off his heritage well, being a paint qh x thoroughbred cross.

despite the side he takes, plague takes on a surprising color. his white coat is washed over to create an elegant grullo overo. his pelt is completely littered with scars and very rarely clean.

towering over his herd, plague is a stealthy 16.2 hands and ever seeming tall. being that he's only seen four winters, it is expected that he will still grow.

due to his lineage, plague is rather bulky. his ribcage often protrudes through his pelt but despite this fact, he's got quite the muscle tone to him. there's an obvious ripple of muscle as he moves.

he's rarely a pretty site. his mane and tail are often so terribly matted with things that its undecipherable and quite useless as a flyswatter.

plague pours his soul through his eyes. though they appear soft in his time of rest, his deep coal black eyes show nothing but the fury that lingers within.









Example Post: a brute wandered upon the land, brisk movements made as he dared the wind to taunt him. coming to a halt, the painted stag lifted his head, nasal caverns searing as he settled himself uneasily upon a bluff. his small, coal occuli snagged upon the few bantles who dared to frolic over the land, visage tossed ‘bout wildly. his pelt was caked with that of mud and whatnot though ‘neath it lay a belt of unwanted scars, each licking his pelt with their own tale to tell. he was often quite gruff, not caring to particularly speak of what each scar meant, not needing to boast. a few lines had been traced at the corners of his mug, wearing the hair around his maw thin. they too had their own story behind him, one which he was growing tired of telling. and yet, he needed not to for every one in these lands knew it well.

feeling a twitching at the corners of his maw, the brute grew uneasy, his bones creaking slightly with age. he himself didn’t think much of it but merely went along with life, ignoring the constant whispers of those ‘bout him. tracing the edges of the land with his gaze, the hessian easily pictured what belonged to his past. blowing rather agitatedly at the thought, bulk swung around, nipping roughly at the dead herbage for something to do.

today, the titan was finding it much to difficult to settle himself, longing for his memories to leave him for the moment. a flint struck out at the unworthy sod, emitting a blow which echoed slightly in the desolate land. though trying to avoid the subject, the brujo found his gaze wandering towards the towering, hollow tree.