Post by Priceless on May 7, 2012 15:39:20 GMT -5
(changed color to black)
Name: Twang
Age: 7
Breed: Friesian
Height: 16.2 hh
Color: Black
Eye Colour: Black/Brown
Gender: Stallion
Markings: None
History:
Twang harks back to a dangerous, violent human past. When horses were more than simply show ponies who did tricks, but were a humans' military companion. Something to lean on and trust, to help surge into the rush of battle and bring their rider back out. When all else failed, when the human took a wound that lead to dying, it would be the horse who returned his compatriot to his fellows and would, if needed, pulled the wagon to the grave. Twang was built for this life.
From the moment his hooves hit the green grass of the earth, he was meant to be a warrior. He would listen to the trumpets as he ran around his paddock, pretending to be one of the great warhorses of the day. And eventually it was time for him to enter the training. He was everything a warhorse needed to be: intelligent, fierce, loyal and willing to lay down his life for his rider. Into and out of battles he galloped, his hooves shaking the ground like thunder, teeth lashing out like lightning at those who came too close. He could have went on with this life, perhaps eventually dying a grand death on a lonely battlefield, only fate intervened.
While he was not the only survivor of a vicious battle that raged for days, he was one of the lucky few who escaped, intact and relatively sane. Injured, heartbroken for he had lost many a good friend (and enemy), he wandered for days. Finally he came to a point where things were quite different from what he had known before. There was nothing in the air but what nature put there, nothing man-made or a hint of evil. He had come to a place where he could exist, as a horse.
Name: Twang
Age: 7
Breed: Friesian
Height: 16.2 hh
Color: Black
Eye Colour: Black/Brown
Gender: Stallion
Markings: None
History:
Twang harks back to a dangerous, violent human past. When horses were more than simply show ponies who did tricks, but were a humans' military companion. Something to lean on and trust, to help surge into the rush of battle and bring their rider back out. When all else failed, when the human took a wound that lead to dying, it would be the horse who returned his compatriot to his fellows and would, if needed, pulled the wagon to the grave. Twang was built for this life.
From the moment his hooves hit the green grass of the earth, he was meant to be a warrior. He would listen to the trumpets as he ran around his paddock, pretending to be one of the great warhorses of the day. And eventually it was time for him to enter the training. He was everything a warhorse needed to be: intelligent, fierce, loyal and willing to lay down his life for his rider. Into and out of battles he galloped, his hooves shaking the ground like thunder, teeth lashing out like lightning at those who came too close. He could have went on with this life, perhaps eventually dying a grand death on a lonely battlefield, only fate intervened.
While he was not the only survivor of a vicious battle that raged for days, he was one of the lucky few who escaped, intact and relatively sane. Injured, heartbroken for he had lost many a good friend (and enemy), he wandered for days. Finally he came to a point where things were quite different from what he had known before. There was nothing in the air but what nature put there, nothing man-made or a hint of evil. He had come to a place where he could exist, as a horse.