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Name: Crousader
Temper: Distrustful
Mate: Amarinne
Children: Seresai, Amerlei, Tiarnan, Galahad
Familiar: None
Age: Adult
Breed: Dutch Warmblood
Type: Pure Wind
Theme Song: Until the end of time...

Personality: Hosting a perpetual stick up his craw, Crousader is not the easiest soquili to even be within sight of. He cares little for those he has deemed unworthy or 'weird' and has precious little tolerance for fools. Though he is capable of loving and of showing affection, he rarely displays those traits as they have caused him a great deal of grief in the past. One cannot question his honor or basic moral integrity though, as he holds himself to a high standard that often conflicts with the personal feelings of those he loves. He stands true though, still finding a way to uphold both the law and his 'humanity.'

History: Raised in a far away Eastern land, Crousader's parents lived the high life as middle class herd members in an influential herd of cloud white wind soquili. Chivalry and war craft were risen to states of art, and both were performed with all due diligence and honor. Crousader, having been trained in these arts after being acknowledged by superiors as a foal, grew up with a firm set of values and a very real sense of his own place in the 'world.'

Over time, the herd hierarchy changed, and as a young Lieutenant in the herd's defense force, Crousader took the opportunity to explore the expanding territory that now included an isolated temple inhabited by curiously orange clad humans. There, he befriended a pair of young monks, and would often escape from his herd during his free time to relax and listen to the monks' prayers.

Eventually the herd grew too large for on small group to control, and in the resulting turmoil, Crousader (now a high ranking Captain ) and those loyal to him from his command (and their families who wished to come) took up residence around the sky high human temple where Crousader's old monk friends were now venerable sages and where the white horses of the sky were treated as God's own messengers.

The years passed, and Crousader reigned over his rapidly growing group with a fair hand, eventually forced to chase of the old herd he had split from when their political schemes threatened the peace of his own herd and the temple he had grown to love and admire. By now the temple had grown to include one entire mountain peak, and became known far and wide as the Sky Temple of the Sacred Cloudsteeds, renowned for it's glistening white spires and the herd of wind soquili that often visited and transported the sages on their frequent peaceful pilgrimages to the lower Feudal Kingdoms of Men.

But with fame there often follows misfortune, and as is the way of the world, fierce warriors from the west sought the Temple in the Sky, setting siege against the peaceful monks who did nothing more but prayer for their attacker's souls.

Frustrated by the extreme show of pacifism, the warriors.. led by a fierce red haired witchwoman of obvious magical merit... set fire to the temple and resolved themselves to lay low and wait.

As for the wind herd, Crousader had already begun the annual migration to the foaling grounds in the higher altitudes.. but an uneasiness on the wind and a dark feeling in his heart sent him wheeling away from his family and friends, straight into the jaws of a vicious trap. The woman had been uncertain at first of her ploy to literally 'smoke out' the wind soquili, but when the proud patriarch of the herd descended from the heavens and desperately sought his friends out of the smoking rubble, she smiled.

Her plan was simple and well laid out, Crousader never stood a chance against the swift paralyzing spell followed by five burly soldiers who hurriedly chained and dropped him to the ground, binding his wings so tightly against his side the thin bones fractured. Lacking the time to even cry out, he was forced inhale a herbal smoke that kept him numb and delirious... with his final vision of his homeland coming from the back of a rickety mule cart.

From there his memory grew dim and distorted, often plagued by nightmares of the resulting fires and the inevitable collapse of all he held dear. At times he had glimpses of his surroundings.. rolling countrysides, deep hardwood forests, and a biting cold that only worsened the fever he was slowly falling victim too. Finally someone took heed of his condition and he was treated soon enough to keep him from passing on.. though he wasn't sure if that was for the best.


Eventually the caravan he had found himself an unwilling guest of reached it's destination, and even Crousader.. long since desensitized to the ways of man, felt a creeping of fear in his heart as he glimpsed the great buildings of stone that towered over him... and in particular the massive stone dome directly ahead. Calling it a premonition, Crousader wasn't at all surprised to learn that the dome was his destination, and he resolved himself to give it everything he had when they pulled him off the cart.

The time came, but with a start he realized that the witchwoman was once again present, along with her spell, and he couldn't shake the paralysis no matter how aroused he became through sheer anger. Desperately he fought the bonds mentally as more dirty humans came forward and along with a pair of mules, dragged him from the cart and into the deep abyss of the Dome where they left him in a damp windowless cell.

The days seemed to go on forever, gradually bleeding together into one congealing mess of blood, humidity, and searing heat. Human attention was short lived, but brutal to the extreme since they had learned to fear him and his sharp hooves. Every once in awhile the witchwoman would appear, her eyes intent while her power swirled about and subdued him. These encounters would leave him shivering for hours after, with the aftershocks running through his body with alarming speed.

Then he came.


He was a young wraith of a boy, obviously starving and a slave, but then by this point so was Crousader... and he just couldn't bring himself to even consider sympathy for one of them. Yet the boy did intrigue him, as his behavior was quite unlike that of his masters. On multiple occasions he would sit patiently out of reach of Crousader's hooves, watching him, perhaps pushing a bit of his own meager dinner towards the stallion, but often he went just as hungry as the wind stallion. At first Crous would try to chase him off, but he eventually gave up in the face of the boy's persistence and his brave kindness. Months went by, and Crous stopped even acknowledging the boy's presence, even when the pale creature started sleeping in his pen to avoid the ire of his slave masters.

That changed though, when the boy's master's finally caught up with him.


The night had been as peaceful as the hell-pens got, and by the highest point in the moon even the loudest moaners had finally slumped off to sleep. Winter had set in, but despite the drop in temperature, the boy was still clothed in the scant garments of his caste. The relevancy of that would only come into play later when Crousader reflected upon the night's events.

Just past the midnight hour, and right after Crous had finally passed into his own nightmares, footsteps echoed hollowly down the line as a troop of guards formed up and prepared for their nightly walk-through. As usual, their racket woke the white stallion, so he paid particular attention to the sounds of their steps, waiting for that one particular guard who seemed to take a sick joy in waking the miserable creatures locked down here.

As predicted, the shouts and the roars started halfway to the stallion's stall, and with a heavy sigh, Crous brought himself to his feet and feigned sleep. The boy finally came awake, but instead of scurrying to the door and out to whatever rat's hole he usually hid in.. he remained, a fierce look on his face when he noticed the winged stallion standing.

"I'll get'm thi'ime, I pro'is" he mumbled, crouching near the door where the guard always stepped through too taunt the white wind. He had little to arm himself with, only a wooden bowl and a bent piece of iron he held two handed like a sword.

Shocked out of his masquerade by the boy's foolhardy courage, Crous's head came up just as the guard reached his door and opened it...

... then things happened to fast for Crous to process. The boy struck, and the guard yelled.. but then the boy yelled as the guard, bearing a bloody nose, attempted to pummel him into the ground of Crousader's cell. Another moment and the boy had wormed his way free, dodging the burly guard and running beeline for Crousader.

He was uncertain for but a moment, which for the boy was all to the good since the white stallion's eventual response was to attack the guard. Later he might wonder why he didn't take the opportunity to rid himself of two humans, but he supposed the pleasure of actually having a shot at the bothersome guard and his comrades who had also come pouring in was more then enough. That.. and maybe the boy wasn't so bothersome at a deep level. The guards were fearful of him, as well they should be, so it wasn't all the much trouble to rid himself of their presence, and for the boy... he was huddled at the back corner of the cell. Within reach, and now that the immediate threat had passed, fearful of him.

For a long moment the stallion regarded the boy, then without fanfare resumed his pose of false sleep, keeping his ears and half-lidded gaze trained on the door...

... and later that night, when the boy finally slept, Crousader had picked himself up and quietly levered himself down and around the tiny sleeping form. The chains binding him clanked and rattled mercilessly, but the boy slept on unawares.

Time wore on, and eventually Crousader came to rely on the boy. It had been a long time since human hands had carefully and gently unknotted his long white hair, or tended the many cuts and scrapes he had earned over the year spent in this prison. But he allowed the boy to tend to him now, and in return guarded him fiercely whenever the guards or the slave master revived their attempt to capture him. But such attempts eventually ceased altogether, and the pair were left in relative peace in the damp dungeon... with Crousader gradually growing stronger and stronger with both the boy's care, and a sudden increase in his rations.

That puzzle, however, resolved itself soon enough when the witchwoman returned... only this time she had words only for the boy... in a language Crous could not understand. His boy, however, seemed heartened by the woman's words, and that night he whispered to the white stallion of a promise of freedom, if only they could defeat a series of challengers to the Great Ring. The Great Ring was unknown to the stallion, but the boy appeared to know it well...and Crousader took heart from his Boy's optimism, and looked forward to the assigned day the Boy had marked in long stripes down the stone wall of the cell.

Finally the day came, and his Boy garbed himself in something other then rags for once... since the guards had left him a simple white robe and a rope to use as a belt. But for the Boy, what was most important were the pair of leather sandals also left for him, his first shoes ever! Which he happily told Crousader as he dressed.

As for Crous, they had left a few pieces of metal, and after clothing himself, Boy turned his attention to them, puzzling for a moment over their use before clapping his hands once in delight.

"For you!" he proclaimed, holding up a head shaped piece, which he then placed over his own head in demonstration before pointing at the stallion. Admittedly ill at ease with adding weight to his body when he wished to only be as light as possible so they could escape quickly, Crous stared dubiously at the helmet, but lowered his head anyway to allow the Boy to put it on him. Bands for his legs followed, along with a shining breast collar that had a small hand hold at his withers for the Boy to hold on to.

Stomping his foot, Crousader shook the rest of himself, assimilating the changes and preparing himself for the effort to come. Likewise, he missed the look of pride in the Boy's eyes, turning only in time to see the Boy hastily wipe his eyes and step towards him, laying a companionable hand on his shoulder.

"We'll show them." he whispered, his bright eyes fierce. Looking down on him, Crousader nodded once, shortly, startling the Boy with his comprehension, before swiftly bending one knee and extending a wing to balance himself, obviously inviting the Boy to ride. If the Boy had any doubt in his heart about mounting such a creature, he showed none of it; springing lightly forward, he positioned himself in such a sway so as not to impede the big white wings, and buried his hands in Crousader's mane.

Once he was settled, the white stallion started forward, where the guards opened the gate and motioned for them to proceed down the dark corridor... where a shining portcullis met them, barring them from a perfectly symmetrical oval of gleaming white sand.

They could not see across the other side clearly, but Crousader thought he could make out the imposing shape of three other gates, cut similarly to the one he and the boy where behind. He pondered the implications of this, before he noted once very disturbing fact a little higher up...

The Great Ring... had a roof.

Panic gripped him, and he turned to look back at the boy, wondering if this was a recent development he hadn't known about, but the boy only pat his shoulder and nodded fiercely. "We'll be free, but not out of this Ring. Too strong." He said, obviously having followed the stallion's gaze and divined his thoughts. Crous, for his part, only snorted once and turned to look back at the sand beyond the gate, just in time for the great metal bars to slowly rise on well oiled hinges.

Rearing back, he half spread his wings, (as much as the narrow corridor would allow) and bounced out of the gate, landing in the deep sand where he finally let his wings out fully, flaring them wide as he reared up and trumpeted a rebellious whinny to the stands of two-leggers who now rose to their feet and cheered. Unknown, but not forgotten, the boy ignored the crowds, whispering only to the stallion. "Be easy, we fight what comes, beat it, and leave this place a few times.. then red woman let us go."

Flicking an ear back, Crous acknowledged this by settling all four feet to the earth, where he stood quietly, blue eyes intense beneath the shinning helm as he watched the portcullis across from them rise.


What was beyond it fell to the sands of time, as did it's followers for a full two years. Crousader and his Boy were rightfully feared and revered by the people of the cruel society that had taken them prisoner and made them slaves to their sadistic and malevolent ways. And their promised freedom.. never came.

The Boy never lost hope, but Crousader felt the cruel bite of hope once again being dashed on the rocks as he never felt the cruel whips of the beastmasters when they insisted on fitting him for newer armor. The Boy was never far from him though, and would often step in and take a fair share of the beatings himself, begging the stallion to stop fighting them...

...reminding him everyday that while they were alive, hope for escape still existed.


...Funny how life works.


Four years of fighting, mauling, and killing... Crousader lost his boy to the very woman who had promised them both freedom.

She was a swift shadow in the dark, arriving at their improved cells which now sported straw for both of them to sleep on but little else, and whispered to the Boy in that unknown language of hers. He woke witha start, and went to her, whispering only that she must be here to tell them how they would escape...

Crous never saw his boy alive again, but he could smell the blood from outside the heavy door, and he heard the strangled gasp as she killed him. But what hurt the most was that even right before his death, his boy had only hope for freedom.

Crousader took that with him as he heard his boy take his last breath, and resolved to free himself, and his Boy's spirit. Carrying him with him forever when he finally took to the skies again.



In a cruel twist of fate, the witchwoman later proved to be the only human capable of controlling the white stallion's rage, and she rode him daily into the Great Ring to face the poor wretches pulled from this cruel city's prison and set into the colosseum with only the clothes on their backs, and long-swords commoners were never allowed to learn how to use.

Daily, Crousader made every attempt to kill her, and daily she added another piece of skin from his hide to her collection.

Until finally he met his match in an opponent other then her, and they both faced the Dragon Myrrdin in the Great Ring.

RP Logs:
The Great Ring
Sky King
Dominance
Virtue
Heartbreak
Falling Up
Not Your Average Bear
Healing
Lifetimes
Master and Disciple
Out in Orbit
A Theory on Probability
Art of War
The Truth is in the Cacophony
The Hurt is in the Silence
Journey to the Past
Bring the Rain...(Crous and Rine)
This is me...(Crous and Rine)
So who are YOU?...(Crous and Rine)
We're neither what we thought...(Crous and Rine)
Wing Child, there is no reason to step aside...(Crous and Rine)
Fly Away...(Crous and Rine)
Look Above You...(Crous and Rine)
I Am Your Guardian Star...(Crous and Rine)
This is US.... (Crous and Rine)
A Voice Upon the Wind
Warrior's Spirit
Worlds Away
A Gentleman and a Lady
Blazing Glory
Train the Trainer
Dark Pride (Blais, Bonfire, Crousader)
Dark Allegiance ( Bonfire and Crousader)
Crousader's Dilemma
Daddy's Fightn' Gurl
She's not coming home...
It's my life...
A Father First
Harvest Moon

Name: Amarinne
Temper: Mysterious
Mate: Crousader
Children:Seresai, Amerlei, Tiarnan, Galahad
Familiar: None
Age: Adult
Breed: Hanoverian
Type: Pure Unicorn
Theme Song: Sora

Personality: Initially a naive and confused young mare, Amarinne has gradually matured into a quietly refined mare with a strong sense of self and a heightened spiritual awareness that focuses on and sympathizes with those of a basically good nature who are conflicted either through training or life's hard edges. She has an edge to her now, with the birth of her children and the very real threat the world poses for them, though she still tries to maintain an optimistic outlook for their sakes.

History:
Raised to follow in the footsteps of an aging and selfish generation, Amarinne had little going for her but the sheer depth of her beauty... which among her family herd was something of a requisite for success.

The herd at large was a richly pagan society, worshiping the Great Spirits as a whole, but paying particular mind to a sect of Fertility Gods whom they believed had bestowed great treasures on the herd in the past. Perhaps the older generations knew more of these great 'Happenings' but the younger generations were deliberately kept in the dark, and forced from a young age to partake in several years worth of lessons.

As for Amarinne, her parents loved her fiercely, but she had been deemed pliant and pretty enough to undergo a special sort of training from the matriarchs of the herd.. and was thus taken from them when she was a yearling.

What that special training entailed was something even Amarinne was uncertain of years later. Sure she had learned multiple methods of persuasion and seduction, but the WHY of her lessons eluded her. She had literally been programmed as a tool... a deceptive one that was used purely as a means to insure the survival of the herd and it's twisted ideals.

By her seventh year, she entered the final part of her training, wherein she was charged with the duty of going out into the world bringing back (or sending back) males of appropriate temperament and physique. But rather then continue on as the mindless drone the matriarchs had tried to turn her in to... she evolved slowly during the time she wandered alone. She had always questioned the decisions made for her , but being of mild temperament, she allowed herself to be satisfied with the general (but firm) replies she got from the herd matrons. Now, though, with no one but herself to find the answers... she finds herself not only questioning the policies of her herd.. but the fundamentals of her own thoughts. Where does SHE begin and the HERD end?

It is at this point that Crousader stumbles across her... when she has allowed her beauty to shrivel, and her self esteem has crumbled into something akin to pure self loathing.

RP Logs:
Before the dawn... (Rine and Azumoth)
Tell me of your dreams...(Rine and Flame)
Golden Memories ...(Rine and Tai)
Mysterious Illness...(Rine, Celei, Tai)
Welcome to My World...(Rine. Crous, Blais)
First Vision...(Rine, Flame, NPC)
This is MY World...(Rine-self)
Tell me of your sorrow...(Rine, Tai)
Skylight...(Rine and Crous)
It was only dark outside...(Rine and family.)
There is a silver lining ...(Rine, Seresai, Crous)
Wanderlust.. brings tears...(Rine, Crous, Family)
Taking Wing...(Rine, Seres, Crous, Wildfire, Toujours)
This and that...(Rine and Crous)
Amerlei Comes Home...(Rine, Crous, Merl)
The Soul is Everlasting...(Rine, Crous)
But A Son Carries His Heart...(Rine, Crous, Boys.)
His True Colors Are Monochromatic...(Rine, Crous, Boys)
A Mother's Son...(Rine and Tiarnan)
Ginkgo ... (Rine and Tiarnan)
Angel Wings ...(Rine, Seresai, Sandsablaze)
Her Broken Heart...(Rine, Crous, Seres, TJ, Sandi, Wildfire)
His Broken Wings...(Rine and Crous)
Please come home to me...(Rine, TJ)
Our Last Chance...(Rine, Tiarnan, TJ)
Political Battleground...(Islagiatt Herd Intervention)
Seresai Sil Marisel...(Rine and Seres)
Cry Havoc...(Rine, various soqs)
...And Let Slip the Dogs of War...(Rine, various soqs)
Unleash the Sun... (Rine, family)
Our hearts Will Go on...(Rine and Crous)

Name: Blais
Temper: Proud
Mate: Lifemating broken, drowning self in Duty.
Children: Bonfire, Eve, Caelyndei
Familiar: None
Age: Adult
Breed: Arabian Cross
Type: Pure Regular
Theme Song: Indestructible

Personality:
Proud to a fault, Blais has not always been the beacon of honor and integrity that his is now as the Islagiatt protector. In his younger days, his mind was often clouded by the red fog of rage, and with no direction in his life but a need to seek revenge for the wrongs done him... he set his goal as ending the life of his estranged father Flame.

..What greets him though, when he finally does come across the stallion of fire, is NOT what the herd elders had told him. Flame was mortified to learn that he had had CHILDREN, let alone leave a mare with child.

Add to that the obvious need of a wounded wind horse and the great lengths Flame and his companions go to save said stallion... they all leave Blais more then a little confused.

In the end, Crousader (the wounded wind stallion) takes the big painted colt under his wing and tutors him in the art of war and later gently crafts the beginnings of a relationship between Blais and his real father Flame.. since they had only settled for a polite distance.

History:
As a youth, he was as reckless and jubilant as any proud parent could wish...

But such parents did not exist for Blais.

His father Flame had run from the herd before Blais was born, and the young painted cold was raised on the stigma that HE would be just as ... rogue... as his father was. The herd itself was a typical patriarchal herd, where the females caved more often then not to the whims of the males, and the notion of 'chivalry' was reduced to the bare minimum to please a doting father. Flame was, in truth, not a true rogue, but rather a free spirit who found the selfish and insular doctrines of the herd suffocating.

Blais...

Well Blais had little option but to remain and bear the brunt of his father's shame.. though he never learned the reason behind the constant teasing and punishments.

As a result he grew to be extremely bitter towards the memory of his father, and when he became a full stallion, he was charged by the herd patriarchs to find the stallion of fire and bring him to task.

What Blais didn't know was the real reason behind such a task. The herd elders did not really care if the rogue Flame was ever reprimanded, they only knew that such a strong powerful personality as Blais's would soon revolt if they did not give his rage an outlet. The double success of not only setting the son on the father but ridding themselves of the burly young stallion was particularly attractive.

Oblivious, and very.. very.. angry, Blais set off into the wide world for all the wrong reasons.

As time went on, he did eventually meet his father, and in the resulting turmoil.. he learned a little of himself. Between the rough training her received from Crousader to literally pound the vicious anger out of his head and his blooming true personality, Blais did eventually come to terms with his father, and he even met his future lifemate in the form of Cynara.

Their courtship was interesting, at least for Blais, and they finally wed and had three beautiful children. But as with his 'uncle' Tai, duty and the needs of his herd drew him farther away then he ever intended to be, and their parting was inevitable. Unlike Tai, Blais refuses to stagnate in his own pool of self doubt, opting instead to drown himself in his duties...

..though he does flinch every time Bonfire turns around or says something her mother would say... since his daughter is the near spitting image of her mother.

RP Logs:

Name: Bonfire
Temper: Presumptuous
Mate: Killian
Children: None
Familiar: None
Age: Young Adult
Breed: Arabian/QH Cross
Type: Pure Regular
Theme Song: Dare

Personality:

History:

RP Logs:

Name: Seresai
Temper: Aristocratic
Mate: None
Children: None
Familiar: Sil Meirsá
Age: Young Adult
Breed: Warmblood
Type: Wind x Unicorn: Showing Wind
Theme Song: On Ne Change Pas...

Personality:
A born leader and the keeper of a fierce will to survive, Seresai enjoys challenges and is rarely caught without a response to a critical situation. She is dependable and loyal to her superiors and colleagues, and is always more then willing to shoulder the burdens of others for the common good, as well as for those who can no longer carry on. She wants... no.. needs, to be helping someone or she feels inattentive and lazy. But she has a lonely side, mostly brought about by her own pride and a series of troubling events in her past that she rarely shares.. even with those who are closest to her. As much as people need her, she needs people, and it is this give and take that keeps her going.

Often taken in her youth to be a young hothead, Seresai has grown into a more subdued version of her youthful self. She carries herself with a quiet air of confidence now, even if it is tempered with a sadness whenever she sees her brother Tiarnan. She has long since forgiven her father for what he did to her, but she hasn't forgotten that the crotchety old wind stallion has yet to come to terms with his son. As both the Elderwillow Heir and Tia's sister, she sees it as her duty to bring about some form of reconciliation between the two.

History:

RP Logs:

Name: Tiarnan
Temper: Distant
Mate: None
Children: None
Familiar: None
Age: Foal
Breed: Warmblood
Type: Wind x Unicorn: Showing Alicorn
Theme Song: Key of Twilight

Personality:
Distant and aloof, Tiarnan does not actively avoid contact with those of his kind, it just kind of happens that way. Often described as being as faraway as the distant sky, it shouldn't come as a surprise that this young stallion spends most of his time on the wing. On the wind, he can let his heart guide his wandering thoughts, effectively silencing them and bringing him closer to the Spirits.

History:
Born of Amarinne and her mate Crousader, Tiarnan and his brother Galahad are a miracle of sorts to their father... though time will lay such stereotypes high and dry.

Born with both the wings and horn of his parents, Tiarnan should have been the apple of his father's eye. But the young colt was far from the masculine mini-me Crousader had been hoping for. All in all, Tia turned out to be a lot like his mother, whereas Seresai and Galahad had apparently inherited varying portions of their father's militaristic streak. Such fundamental personality traits couldn't be changed, no matter how hard Crousader tried to mold his children into the images he wanted. Tiarnan and Seresai often suffered the most from this, with Tia being the one striving to avoid his father's eye... and Seres trying desperately to gain it.

In the end, Tiarnan has set off on his own, remaining within the Islagiatt territory, but staying far away from his father's influence.

RP Logs:

Name: Ajax
Temper: Resilient
Mate: None
Children: None
Familiar: None
Age: Foal
Breed: Wind
Type: Horsebreed
Theme Song: - -

Personality:

Manly man, will have a powerful and deep voice as an adult, very responsible and incredibly serious about matters that impact himself or his family. His sense of humor is alive and well, and he enjoys family time. He laughs easy, but doesn’t necessarily come up with the jokes himself. Is a very good listener and is popular with small animals and youngsters, as well as his peers. Has issues dealing with females that are not his family so he morphs into a bumbling idiot who has a perpetual foot in his mouth. Is decisive and does not hesitate when it comes to combat, though he general prefers to avoid violence. He won’t get into the whole sparring thing until his early adult years, and only after it dawns on him that in order to be a good protector, he has to train his mind and his body for every situation. He’s a fairly good diplomat, given his generally neutral opinion on most things, and is a good guy to call on to referee a duel given his abundant strength an impartiality. Relishes a good rainstorm, and is a bit of a mud-dog. He doesn’t care much for his appearance, which has a lot to do with his issues with females.

Foal Notes:
Will be a serious momma’s boy growing up. He will loathe leaving his mother’s side, and when he does it is usually because she sent him on an errand or he was tricked into going somewhere with his brother and sister. He’ll be intensely suspicious of adult strangers, even those introduced to him by his parents, and will only speak in monosyllables. Will open up to other foals slowly, though it is mostly just normal shyness. The more interaction he has with others, the easier it will become for him to be social.

History:

Basketu

RP Logs: