Troubador
May 27, 2013 15:04:48 GMT -8
Post by troubador on May 27, 2013 15:04:48 GMT -8
Name :: Troubador
Breed :: Paint/Thoroughbred
Age :: 4 years
Gender :: Stallion
Alliance :: Tribe of Eclipsing Orbits
Pelt Color :: Grullo Tobiano
Mane/Tail Color :: black/cream.
Eye Color :: Blue
Markings :: Tobiano
Height :: 17 hands
Personality ::Trou is a complicated stud. He spent one year with his mother, a dark, and learned how to harbor and create hatred, aggression, frustration, and anger, he had formed a dark side. The second year of life was with his father, a light, who then worked to teach him the lighter side of life. Troubador became slightly confused with how he should be, but kept both sides, primarily his dark. He classifies himself as a neutral due to his random moods. He can be a very gentle stallion, sweet and loving, the cutest thing you ever did meet. Then the next second he can be his usual nasty self, bitter and angry, taking his frustrations out on who ever happens to be by him. His personality is a real issue. It is never one thing or the other, it's a constant shift, always changing, always on the move. He can be a very difficult stallion, very proud and self centered, very stuck up, snobbish, and selfish.
History ::Growing up with his mother was quite difficult. Trou's mother was an over protective one, often making sure that Trou remained in sight at all times. His father was no help, having been a light, he was a slave to his mother and had no say. He wanted to see him grow up to be a good stallion, but had nothing to do with his upbringing. Trou watched as his mother took more slaves, had more foals, and punished Trou whenever she got the chance, even if the stud had not done anything to provoke his mum. As Trou aged, he grew full of anger and hatred, frustration and annoyance. The little colt had learned to harbor his feelings. When he hit a year old, he was kicked out of his herd. His mother kicked him and his now ill father out. His father was too old to produce her more foals, therefore, he was of no use. Trou traveled with him, learning the ways of the lights, as his father, despite years of serving his mother, had many stories to tell him. At his second birthday, his father passed away, pneumonia finally taking its toll. Troubador was left alone. The colt had blossomed into his self, his muscles still forming, his body still growing, but he was becoming a fit, lean stallion, showing all signs of his Thoroughbred heritage while keeping a stocky build from the paint lineage that coursed through his blood.
RP Sample ::(From another site)
Silky tangles draped over his nape. Paper thins barely trembled with each passing breath. The atmosphere kissed the ground, a formidable and thick sea of fog dancing above the terrain. Even the home land that kept him safe knew what was happening today. Snake Eyes had just one thing in mind. Staying alive. He had picked a treacherous foe, but the czars pride and egotistical ways refused to let him back down. Once again, he'd be going off and left the herd in the hands of his queens and betas, a babysitter to watch over the brats he spawned and took to a long journey that would determine the ownership over one mare. Dreamer. Raven hued banner wiggled with each step the brute took. Vertebrae rotated and shifted with the movements of his hips and shoulders. He felt every motion.
Cerulean pools remained emotionless. This was going to be a boring venture. He only hoped the stud waiting for him would keep him on his toes. He was sure he would. The mammoth king towered over Snake. Snake sighed mentally. He'd have to use more brain than brawn for this. Brawn with the short stature he stood at against the gigantic framed monster would just bring misery and pain, a dishonorable end to the infamous Snake Eyes. No. He'd not let that happen. The brute sighed once again, a yawn emitting and he felt the satisfaction of the stretching muscles and he rubbed his salmon painted tongue over his kissers, velvety hairs tickling it.
The czar produced a snort and pushed onwards, exiting the boundaries of his Helkarean territory and left in the direction for the battlegrounds, where he was sure Xalias would greet him, twisted grin painted upon that ugly scarred facade, thoughts of blood and mutilation, maiming and breaking Snake dancing upon his mind. Snake would have shuddered, if he actually feared him. But truth be told, Snake was not sure if he did fear him or not. A wiser horse might have, but Snake was too proud, too egotistical to let fear get to him. He refused to let it even brush his mind, no matter how soft and smooth the hand of fear was. He kept it at bay, gritting his teeth and chewing his lip he kept himself focused. The task at hand was a simple one. Get there, either kick butt or get butt kicked and go home. He'd not die. Not yet. It was not his time. The stud shifted his position and kept walking, more chewing on his lip, feeling a trickle of blood sting his tongue as he bit too hard and chewed too much.
Thorns were pinned, hidden amidst the thick tangled bangs he called a mane. Voids were set to focus on only the path to the play ground for the adults, where fights pursued and deaths took toll. He'd know when he got close, the stench of rotting bodies and stale blood would flood his nares, cloud his mind, and would make the squeamish gag and flee. He slapped his haunches with his hock kisser. Chest moved with every breath he took, knives gently made love with the turf, soft thuds could be heard. An owl watched him keenly, interested for only a moment before a field mouse caught the bird of preys attention, and without a moments notice, the owl swooped down and scooped it up. Dinner was served. Snake snorted softly and kept moving through the lands. He was silent for this journey, he kept his mind blank and did not intend on letting anything fog his thoughts. No, he needed his concentration tonight.
Shifting his direction once more, knowing he'd get there to find a rather impatient foe, he took his time. It was a mere hobby of his. He rarely went faster than he needed to. He was in no rush. heck, he'd have just given Dreamer to Xalias without anything in return. All the fucker had needed to do was ask. Snake rolled his shoulders, the enemy he knew he created was not that bright. No. Clearly not. Snake was a very negotiable stallion. Extremely negotiable. He liked to barter, but in this case, he had grown quite irritated with the mares presence, and would have just let her go, no words necessary, no sappy goodbyes, and he'd expect them to leave his lands before giving each other their reunion kisses. He did not mind romance or watching others happily reunited, but he was not in the mood for watching them. Not at all, he would rather watch a wolf mating ritual. He shrugged it off, he just did not care right now. Why should he?
Does the whole "Being tired of her presence" mean he was going to play the fight like the audience wants, but lose it on purpose? He was not sure what he would do. Determined to put on a pretty show for the ones watching in bated excitement, he'd deliver. But would he throw in the towel? Would he make himself lose just rid himself of the painted vixen? Snake snorted. That was something he had yet to decide. He was not one to normally plan these things out, he usually just planned as he went along. Plans went astray, they never stuck. So he had given up on planning his days out. heck, he planned on a lazy day and got stuck with intruders or mares fighting or other harem issues. He did not get many lazy days since having Kenshin. Kenshin was, so far, his most difficult kid. Mississippi River was his quiet young filly, older than Kenshin, but still she was so young and quiet, she kept herself reserved. He was sure she was the type to never let go of her virginity until she knew it was the right guy. She was the type, Snake was sure, that if she never found the right one, someone would have to rape her to get her. She had her fathers pride though and rarely went down without a fight.
Snake stopped his walking. Surveying his surroundings, he analyzed how far he was from the destination. Xalias had crossed here. He smelled the brute. The Arabian snorted loudly, snot droplets flying from his paper thins and he kept going. Knives slid silently over the ground. Thorns remained pinned, he had not moved them the entire journey. His mothers voice rang in his head with the whole process "They're gonna stick that way forever if you don't stop it!" A foreboding gate loomed over the terrain. The scent of death and decay rolled out of the district and tainted the air of the immediate areas. Snake had caught the scent a while back, but had bit his tongue from the thought of it. Now, it was near impossible to ignore. The wind caused a gate to shift, and the creak echoed. It was if the territory wanted everyone and their brother to know. . . Snake Eyes had arrived. Xalias was no doubt already aware now, certain from the creak and the calls of the scavenging birds that his victim, his target had arrived.
It was only a few moments before he caught sight of the stag that wanted his mate back. Snake Eyes yawned, bored yet again.
"You seeking a fashionable late arrival, brainless? It'll do no good, for there will be nothing fashionable about your departure, lest your broken and bloodied carcass being strewn from these trees amounts for 'in style.' " Snake held back the urge to roll his voids. He rolled his shoulders instead. "I would not say that..." He was playing with fire, but he pressed on. "I just had to give your whore a good fur, seeing as with you and your tiny prick gone, she's had to do without a good one for a while. She seemed to enjoy it." He cocked a brow, a smirk dancing on the corners of his kissers. He would never actually touch Dreamer, she was not what he wanted, nor did he deem her worthy of it. She had nothing beneficial to him. The foal would be more trouble than the worth and he'd just turn it away, sending it to find a new mother, new home, or let it die at the hand of Xalias or starvation and malnourishment.
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