Post by +Eternal Sorrow+ on May 2, 2007 10:34:19 GMT -5
OOC: everything should be the same. It's just different titles to match her dark persona. If you want it your way, I'll change it.
.x.Cristen me.x.
Euthanasia
.x.Survived.x.
7 Glorious Winters
.x.Lineage.x.
Andalusian
.x.Tainted.x.
Palomino.
.x.Tresses.x.
Flaxen
.x.Banner.x.
Flaxen
.x.Smudge me.x.
Blaze and Snip
.x.Raise me.x.
16.3hh
.x.Humor me not (persona).x.
Should you ask her for her persona and your throat shall be ripped from your neck. Euthanasia is and bitter and dark as her name describes. Her killing pattern is slow and excruciating, not like her name suggests. Wild is her heart and untamable is her will. She is strong both mentally and physically with very little sympathy is left for smaller horses. She likes things her way and would make a very capable lead mare for any stallion she thinks worthy; yet, there have been none laudable in her blackened eyes. She picks at other mares, especially the lead, in order to gain a higher position. She has been kicked out of several herds for her behavior and admired by others for the spitfire in her carcass. She makes it known who is boss when she is lead by degrading other mares because she knows it only makes them stronger and better fighters as time seems to pass. She is quite a complex mare and will do all it takes to get what she wants. She holds her head high and answers to no one. She is also very independent, but her fuse is dangerously short. She is a very competent fighter and has had her share of kills in the past, though they were mainly deer and just simple play toys like that.
Her attitude towards other horses can be composed, but hardly ever is it kind to those below her.
.x.Forgotten (history).x.
I suppose it started when my herd was formed back in Old Spain; although, why should you care? You know nothing of me nor my past so why should I even begin to tell you. All you need to know is that my name is Euthanasia and I am a ruthless, quick killing machine that is as fierce some as a tornado. Since you got me in a good mood, however, I’ll oblige your pathetic cries for my history. It was in the valleys of Old Spain where my parent’s herd was formed. Most all of them were pathetic lights and weak neutrals. None with a bit of evil blood within their carcasses: all, but one. My father was named Tornado and plainly for a reason. But one day he was bashed on the head by an opponent’s hoof and remembered nothing of who he was or what alliance he was. When my mother Desire found him, he was oblivious to everything, except how beautiful she was to him. She saw this as an advantage and took him under her wing, or so to speak. Dam.n b.itch. Corrupting my father, the most evil horse in Old Spain and making him her own personal love slave. Yes it’s quite sickening isn’t it? Although I never knew him, I knew what my mother spoke the day he came to his senses and left her for dead. The b.astard was a coward like no other and I hate him for leaving me with this god awful wench. Though he had little choice.. He could have killed us both, but I am glad he did not. He could have killed the thing he loved most with no one knowing and it would have made no bit of difference. I frown upon what he had done, but I wasn’t even born so I could have no say in what became of me. When he left, my mother laid down, expecting to die, but instead she foaled me and I was brought into this d.amned place. She called me Windsong’s Desire, first after my father and then after her. Why she wanted me to have her name, you’ll have to decide that for yourself. She was a light enough mother, always grooming me in prospective young colts and making me look like a complete imbecile. She thought it cute the way my fuzzy mane looked like a Mohawk down my neck. Snort.
By the time I was two years old, it was time for me to leave the herd and travel Old Spain by myself. To this day hroses ask me whether or not I was scared.. Why should I be? I had my mother’s teachings of survival and all her infinite wisdom, which was about as much as a small rock weighed. As I traveled the countryside, I came upon my father, broken and barely alive. He didn’t know who I was at first, but as I told him what had happened and who I was mothered by, he became angered and rose to kill me. As I backed into a cave, a large branch fell from a lightning struck tree, landing on his back and snapping it in two. That was the death of my father and his ways of old. In a way, I was saddened that I could not have learned from him, but maybe if he wasn’t such a d,amn fool, maybe he would be alive and I would have learned from him, if he had not killed me first. So I gave up on parents and headed north for the mountains. The storms there were horrible and survival was minimal: all in all more to my liking. I ascended the tallest peak and as I lay in the snow, half frozen and barely alive, an evil behemoth by the name of Shadow Maker took me to a cave where I could heal. I had only heard of this stallion a few times in legend, where he had fallen in love with a mare called Softwind and thus killed himself when he found out she had left him for another stallion. But he was alive? He told me the story and I listened half-heartedly as he rambled about five years of his life as I ate some lichen from the cave walls. After he finished, he told me to stand. I was still exhausted, but he bit my nape, yelling at me to rise. He backed me up into the cave and mounted me, force breeding me on site. From that day on my hate for stallions and mares alike has grown. I come to you with a heart of ice, bitterness and anger that beats with the drum of my grim reaper, whoever he may be.
.x.I Follow.x.
The Condemned
.x.Cristen me.x.
Euthanasia
.x.Survived.x.
7 Glorious Winters
.x.Lineage.x.
Andalusian
.x.Tainted.x.
Palomino.
.x.Tresses.x.
Flaxen
.x.Banner.x.
Flaxen
.x.Smudge me.x.
Blaze and Snip
.x.Raise me.x.
16.3hh
.x.Humor me not (persona).x.
Should you ask her for her persona and your throat shall be ripped from your neck. Euthanasia is and bitter and dark as her name describes. Her killing pattern is slow and excruciating, not like her name suggests. Wild is her heart and untamable is her will. She is strong both mentally and physically with very little sympathy is left for smaller horses. She likes things her way and would make a very capable lead mare for any stallion she thinks worthy; yet, there have been none laudable in her blackened eyes. She picks at other mares, especially the lead, in order to gain a higher position. She has been kicked out of several herds for her behavior and admired by others for the spitfire in her carcass. She makes it known who is boss when she is lead by degrading other mares because she knows it only makes them stronger and better fighters as time seems to pass. She is quite a complex mare and will do all it takes to get what she wants. She holds her head high and answers to no one. She is also very independent, but her fuse is dangerously short. She is a very competent fighter and has had her share of kills in the past, though they were mainly deer and just simple play toys like that.
Her attitude towards other horses can be composed, but hardly ever is it kind to those below her.
.x.Forgotten (history).x.
I suppose it started when my herd was formed back in Old Spain; although, why should you care? You know nothing of me nor my past so why should I even begin to tell you. All you need to know is that my name is Euthanasia and I am a ruthless, quick killing machine that is as fierce some as a tornado. Since you got me in a good mood, however, I’ll oblige your pathetic cries for my history. It was in the valleys of Old Spain where my parent’s herd was formed. Most all of them were pathetic lights and weak neutrals. None with a bit of evil blood within their carcasses: all, but one. My father was named Tornado and plainly for a reason. But one day he was bashed on the head by an opponent’s hoof and remembered nothing of who he was or what alliance he was. When my mother Desire found him, he was oblivious to everything, except how beautiful she was to him. She saw this as an advantage and took him under her wing, or so to speak. Dam.n b.itch. Corrupting my father, the most evil horse in Old Spain and making him her own personal love slave. Yes it’s quite sickening isn’t it? Although I never knew him, I knew what my mother spoke the day he came to his senses and left her for dead. The b.astard was a coward like no other and I hate him for leaving me with this god awful wench. Though he had little choice.. He could have killed us both, but I am glad he did not. He could have killed the thing he loved most with no one knowing and it would have made no bit of difference. I frown upon what he had done, but I wasn’t even born so I could have no say in what became of me. When he left, my mother laid down, expecting to die, but instead she foaled me and I was brought into this d.amned place. She called me Windsong’s Desire, first after my father and then after her. Why she wanted me to have her name, you’ll have to decide that for yourself. She was a light enough mother, always grooming me in prospective young colts and making me look like a complete imbecile. She thought it cute the way my fuzzy mane looked like a Mohawk down my neck. Snort.
By the time I was two years old, it was time for me to leave the herd and travel Old Spain by myself. To this day hroses ask me whether or not I was scared.. Why should I be? I had my mother’s teachings of survival and all her infinite wisdom, which was about as much as a small rock weighed. As I traveled the countryside, I came upon my father, broken and barely alive. He didn’t know who I was at first, but as I told him what had happened and who I was mothered by, he became angered and rose to kill me. As I backed into a cave, a large branch fell from a lightning struck tree, landing on his back and snapping it in two. That was the death of my father and his ways of old. In a way, I was saddened that I could not have learned from him, but maybe if he wasn’t such a d,amn fool, maybe he would be alive and I would have learned from him, if he had not killed me first. So I gave up on parents and headed north for the mountains. The storms there were horrible and survival was minimal: all in all more to my liking. I ascended the tallest peak and as I lay in the snow, half frozen and barely alive, an evil behemoth by the name of Shadow Maker took me to a cave where I could heal. I had only heard of this stallion a few times in legend, where he had fallen in love with a mare called Softwind and thus killed himself when he found out she had left him for another stallion. But he was alive? He told me the story and I listened half-heartedly as he rambled about five years of his life as I ate some lichen from the cave walls. After he finished, he told me to stand. I was still exhausted, but he bit my nape, yelling at me to rise. He backed me up into the cave and mounted me, force breeding me on site. From that day on my hate for stallions and mares alike has grown. I come to you with a heart of ice, bitterness and anger that beats with the drum of my grim reaper, whoever he may be.
.x.I Follow.x.
The Condemned
