Full Name: Santico
Nickname: the beast
Age: 7
Gender: brute
Breed: andalusian of pure spanish descent
Coat Color: dappled gray that has been lightened with age
Mane/Tail Color: white with a shining silvery sheen, and a fine, silky look to it, but very thick
Height: 16 exactly
Personality: Not one to be bothered; a proud stallion who can take care of himself. Does not bother mingling with other equines with the exception of certain mares that he hand picks. He will only stand for a certain variety of vixen, ones with a certain flare who can stand up for themselves and fight faithfully alongside him. Tough, strong, cunning, has very little mercy but has a strong love (if such a horse can have this feeling) for his offspring, for he believes them to be his legacy, the ones to carry out what he did not accomplish, the ones to seek revenge against those that he could not. He does not usually kill without reason, but if he has a mind to, a reason can very easily be found. He is a true Hellion.
Alliance: dark
History: Born of parents he cannot remember, the brute was pretty much on his own after his weaning. He learned to survive and fight in his wanderings, and how to deal with mares, but only now has he come to desire his own herd. He has ventured to this kingdom in hopes of finding his own territory.
Picture: in the making
Example Post: Not much muse, so here is a post from another rpg.
Well then. Shall we? The vixen cocked her head in the direction of the jagged cliff walls. She shot him a matter of fact look. I'm tougher than I look. Though short in stature, the mare was strong and surefooted; she was used to hardships, and difficult tasks came easier to her than to others. She took a step back and waited for the brute to lead the way, for she would have to follow him to find her way to her new home. A cool breeze wafted across the clearing, and it blew her long forelock aside from her eyes, and she threw a shy, secretive glance at the stallion. Her forelock usually hid her eyes, concealing any feeling she might have at that particular moment. The long tresses were her shield, and it was rare to get a glimpse of what lay behind the mask. Only the lucky ones ever got to. Though whether they considered themselves lucky or not was their decision. The vixen twisted her neck and stared out at the rippling grass, while her whipcord swayed slowly as she waited with patience.