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Nov 30, 2009, 3:53am

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Apocalypse Hoofbeats :: Diving into the Depths :: Fighting for Your Status :: ;; mineral lord

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Topic: ;; mineral lord (Read 97 times)

firebrand
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;; mineral lord
« Thread Started on Mar 3, 2007, 11:53pm »

||OOC|| I've made a couple of changes for Firebrand if he becomes Mineral King...these are them. If not, his stats will remain the same as on the Creating Visage board!

Cursed || Firebrand

Lived || Four years

Blood || Arabic Mix

Stands || 16 hh

Stain || Liver Chestnut

Visual || A tall, slender Arabic mix. His head is delicate and refined, as his body is. Don't be fooled; his endurance is utterly amazing.

Mental || High strung, hot tempered, bouncy, normally unkind, however he makes a good King. He is sometimes unusually quiet, especially when he his alone on his mountain. He is completely unpredictable, and is not to be trusted.

Long Ago || Firebrand was born in one of the most inhospitable areas of the Sahara Desert, where nothing was thought to live. Who ever came up with such a statement was wrong, as there was a small band of wild horses. These horses were the toughest of the tough, thier pelts like leather and thier muscles like steel. They'd suffered much through thier lives. Droughts, sandstorms, teetering on the lip of extinction but always managed to pull through. They were bitter animals with little compassion and little time to think about eachother. When Firebrand was born, he was nothing special, just another mouth to feed and another animal that would not be of use for a few years. Unlike the other young'uns, he was spirited. Even as sandstorms slashed and hacked away at them, he remained somewhat upbeat. For this, he was often beaten. Deep scars remain engraved into his hot pelt even to this day from serrated enamels and iron cast flints. So, as he grew, his spirit was extinguished and replaced with a sour outlook on his somewhat crumbling life, and somehow, he turned out more brutal and more high strung than his brothers and sisters as he became a yearling. He often was involved in serious scraps that needed a forceful breaking up from the rest of the band members, and became more of a friction to the herd life than a help. Then, one particularly hot day, he snapped at his brother over a small patch of dead grass. It began to escalate into a vicious, full on slam. Blood spilled across the sand, flesh was torn, bones were broken. Blood and sweat cascaded into Firebrand's dark orbs as he flailed around, serving a fatal blow to his brother. His brother staggered backward, his features fixed into a devastated look as he crumbled away into a bloody heap on the sand. The crimson yearling had never meant to kill him and started to beg for mercy but it was no use whatsoever. Firebrand was banished from the small harem. He fled from them in anger when they vowed him forever banished, desperatly trying to patch up the glaring past that haunts him day in and day out of a murder he never meant to commit.

A Day in the Life ||

Sheer plates of earth being thrust up with the force of fifty thousand equines slicing the skin of the earth, smashing and moulding into one another, clawing the skies and ripping the clouds. The teeth of Gaea herself, nothing rising above them, all living in thier shadows. The mountains, they were. Tall and mighty, they were his solace. The rocky towers were braided into ranges that spanned hundreds of miles, killing the weak who tried to cross thier inhospitable path and only allowing the very elite to pass. Frozen storms lashed across the mountain ranges like icy whips of certain death, rejecting all life that proposed to living on thier jagged flesh. Avalanches thundered down the creases in the rock, devouring all in its fatal path and obtruding them to an icy tomb of suffocation and hypothermia.

Yes, the mountains were truly the most powerful force of them all.

Firebrand had known this since the dawn of his own existance, and often pondered why others did not accept the same idea. He pondered why some lived under the rule of the petty seas, or the empty skies, or the mere flame all of which succumb to the greatness of the land. Nothing vanquishes the superior prowess of the mountains...they are the first sons and daughters of the land, the land which gave birth to all. Earth and her mountains were truly the supreme rulers.

The rich hued liver czar spent many long afternoons on a shard of granite which jutted out of the mountain side, watching over the lands in his mountains great shadow. He did not mind the algid winds of the benumbing frosts, but enjoyed the icy tone of the atmosphere pressing against his hardy skin. He did not mind the lack of edible food or water; one with stamina can dismiss such needs for a while. This was unusual for an equine of hot bred desert lineage. Firebrand was born and bred in the vicious heat of the Sahara, growing up in its thermogenic clutches. Perhaps it was to try and escape his haunting youth which chained him down day after day? He chooses not to say.

Coal coloured occuli peered over the rock in which he stood, gazing down the vast space between him and the earth. He chuckled, throwing his thick tendrils back contemptuously, briefly wondering how many dithering fools had wandered over the serrated wall of rock. His own splintered talons were accostumed to the rocky, uneven land, so such a humiliating death would not befall him. Adapted enough to feel out what was coming, to catch himself when he slipped and feel the heartbeat of the land beneath him. Yes, he knew the mountains well, almost more than he knew his own complex soul. They were his home. Firebrand lifted his dished crown, delicate nares inhaling the dry, pine like scent of his sanctuary, which he had come to know and love so well. A cool vent of wind curved over the mountain face, rushing through his locks, its cool fingers embracing his slender frame and making him feel more at home than ever. He watched the current cruise through the brances of a small, hardy group of trees, thier limbs waltzing to the path of the breeze. He watched it whip up a torrent of snow, then depart without a trace, only to leave the tiny snow crystals falling gently through the air. The jetstream arched its way over a cuspate, uneven ridge, then disappeared. The windless slab of granite was quiet as could be.

Firebrand took a deep breath, turning away from the panormic veiw spilled out before his feasting gaze and began to walked slowly away from his veiwing spot. Picking his way over the rocks skillfully, tough ribbons of muscle contracted powerfully within his toned pinions. His auburn banner swirled about his smooth limbs as he walked away from the mountains steep cliffs, heading into the blizzardy bowels of the mountains range. Where was the liver chestnut steed going? No one knows. Some have tried to follow him in these strange excursions where he dissapears into the jaws of the mountains...

But none have made it out alive.

« Last Edit: Mar 4, 2007, 2:56am by firebrand »

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