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Post by SpotLover on Nov 13, 2011 0:42:09 GMT -6
 Curse entered the area, his body covered in sweat from the heat of the soon-coming summer. He flicked his tail at the surrounding flys, irritated by them. His jet black pelt glissened in the sun, under a week ago his summer coat had finally came in. Within his few years of life, he was covered in scars. From his past, he was now a rebel right to the heart. Nothing would ever change him. He was a monster, that is why his father had named him curse as a foal. He was a curse to all around him. He scouted the area for anyone to challenge. He had not had any fun in many days. Weeks, for any encounters with mares. His father had finally been beaten by him, and was left to rot in his land. Curse, was not ready to deal with any of the horses his father had, so he left. The mares and dying foals could deal with their problems alone. OOC: John Wagner is a spectacular photographer and has given me many different photos to use for Curse, so each post, depending on what he is doing, will have a different photo of him. |
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Post by Kailolu on Nov 17, 2011 23:57:18 GMT -6
Adarth shook his head as he re entered his home. Nothing had changed. It was the same damn thing, the forest, the plane, the hidden lake, the willow tree. The Friesian stopped and looked at the willow tree. His heart throbbed. That was Libra, she had grown so beautiful. The aging stallion walked to the large tree, feeling the leaves tickle his sides. He looked at the base of the tree. Her skeleton was gone. That was expected. Adarth touched his muzzle to the tree, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He could smell her, his beautiful Libra. “Soon, my love, we’ll be together again.” He whispered, stepping back and smiling. A scent suddenly hit his nose and a feeling of protectiveness and adrenaline shot through his body. There was another stallion? Adarth laughed mentally. No way in hell was some puny thing going to come in and try to take his throne from him. Adarth was the original, the first real rebel. He was the king, and he was going to stay that way. Off to defend his title, the large muscled Friesian set off at a trot to find the stranger. The closer the got, the more hyped up he was. He was ready for a fight, to unleash some anger, seeing the willow tree brought up tender feelings and images that he delicately tucked away.
Adarth was ready to kill the puny stag if he thought he could overthrow the massive stallion. Standing at 18 hands, and packed tightly with muscles and looks, he was truly a sight to behold. Nothing and no one dared to stand against him, and those who did were punished. Ever since Libra left him, Adarth got a tight grip on his rebel side again. He loved the feeling just as much as he loved her. He was ready to assert himself again, and to let his name spread a new wave of terror through the new blood that roamed Horse Mountain. No, Adarth wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to die here a king. It didn’t take long before Adarth came upon the intruder. Yes the Rebel Lands were for all horses who thought they had what it takes, but it didn’t stop the instinctive urge to display his dominance. The horse wasn’t much smaller then Adarth, but stature wise he didn’t even compare. His legs were thinner, his body wasn’t as thick, but that was because of his breed. Something the rival had no control over. Adarth was born from a Friesian mother, sired by a Clydesdale. He was built to be big and powerful, but he wasn’t as fast as he’d like. His only disadvantage that he could see in himself.
The black stallion puffed out his chest and perked his ears forward. Either the black and white rival was going to submit or fight, and Adarth hoped he’d pick the right choice. For his own benefit. “What are you doing here?” Adarth’s voice wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t exactly aggressive either. It was a simple question that he demanded be answered. Surely he was here to become one of the big boys, and Adarth didn’t care. As long as he was in charge he didn’t care what went on. The stallion stood, head high, body stance in a dominant way. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. He could bring up a triumvirate, but for that he’d need another stallion. Adarth sure as hell wasn’t going to search for once, so two could work. He had no clue where Comet and Cowboy Casanova had run off to, and he didn’t care. Adarth came back to his home, and he was going to stay.
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Post by SpotLover on Nov 20, 2011 19:49:49 GMT -6
Curse looked up. A large stallion stood before him, gleaming black coat, but smothered in white hairs from age. Despite the stallions age and deteriorating body mass, he was still seemingly powerful. Curse did not hesitate when speaking. "This land is free for all rebel stallions. I am here because I choose to be."
Curse was not afraid of the larger stallion. He was younger, himself, and could take more physical conflict then that of an older stallion. He huffed loudly, irritated by the stallions presence. He should not have to deal with another stallion when the land is for all.
He needed to get mares soon, and this brute was in the way of his success as a rebel. These new lands were barely inhabited, so any chance at a mare or two was rare.
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