Full Name: Broken Devotion
Nickname: Omen
Age: Seven
Gender: Stallion
Breed: Friesian [ undiluted ]
Coat Color: Black
Mane/Tail Color: Black
Height: 16hh
Personality: Coy, seductive, intelligent, refined
Alliance: Dark
History: None to speak of. Travelled through a few herds, creating hassles and starting fights. An undesirable herd member.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------>

Cruel vermillion eyes ravaged the desolate terrain, each bent and broken tree, every fallen leaf and every pebble was taken in. The beast took in great detail of the possible escape routes, though he deemed that flight would not be needed tonight. Tonight he would wait until his presence was noticed, by mare, stallion, or babe. It would do the mothers well to keep their young from the reach of this beast, for dark heethans like himself rarely took well to foals. Broken Devotion had never fathered any foals, he had only created them. Smirking, his onyx irons stabbed powerfully at the soil. His 'aura' was none-too-friendly, with his tattered ears glued to his apex, his crested name drawn tight to his chest, and his black lips trembling over his stained enamels. He was polite, he was caring, he was kind and of course he was attentive. He was also a liar, truly insincere. He toyed with the minds of his targets, no matter how well guarded their thoughts, Broken Devotion read them with ease. His tongue was predominantly foul, less surrounded by tasty vixens, though stallions often received the bitterness kept within him. He wasn't a desirable stallion to have in a herd, for he was dishonest and loyal only to himself and his needs. He didn't care, he just didn't care.

For a Friesian, he was just above average height, gliding sixteen hands above the dirt. He knew several other Friesians who towered at seventeen hands or so, but they could hardly call themselves purebloods, for that was what he was. Purebred, pureblooded, pure in every essence. His passion was to seduce, disarm and dethrone, and perhaps that was what he intended to do here. His stance was relaxed as he ground to a restrained halt, his right hind leg pitched forth onto it's tip. His tail's sable fibers were tossed about in the light wind, as was his shaggy, unkempt mane. He had the look of a rogue or a pilgrim, but at heart he was a herd lover. He just kept his stays short in every visit, and the leader of this land should have hoped that his stay would be very, very... very short. His scarred flanks rose in a rhythm of one, two, one, two, portraying to any onlooker that he was calm and well collected, and foolishly unwary.

"Get out of the shadows" His crimson tongue slithered back into his jowls and he eyed the bleak horizon for company. Come on, he chided, come and play with me...

The stag waited, the harsh sun beating down onto his ridged back with a strong intensity. Tiresome, the beast began to glide towards where he believed the herd would be nestled. In the heart of the valley, the cliffs pitched inwards, making it almost impossible for any intruder or escapee to run anywhere, anytime. He made his way cautiously down the slopes, his long spiraling tail held high above his ramp. Pride and conscious arrogance was portrayed through his collected, determined movements. Enough.

In one fluid movement his forelegs unfurled and sliced into the supple yew tree trunk. The serrated edges of his hooves raked furrows into the bark and he swore viciously as he crashed back to the ground. Savage eyes bored into the still standing tree. This just would not do. His nostrils pumped in the crisp air, dilating and flaring rapidly, the more oxygen filling his lungs, the better. The yew towered a further two meters above his trembling carcass, and soon, he reminded himself, it would like beneath him. Unlike other vocal heethans, he kept all bellows to his inner ear, and no further sounds slipped free. He pitched forwards, his deep chest lowering as he spun. His hind legs slammed into the tree with a force that surprised the attacker himself, and he pushed. Snorting his pain, he pummeled the trunk at speed until it fell. And when it fell, it fell hard.

Lone clouds of unsettled dust wafted through the air, cloaking the scene expertly. Whatever sudden impulsitivity and rage had fueled him, had vanished almost completely. His muscles, enlargened by the extreme amounts of blood rushing through them, pulsed with his strong heartbeat. In the shade he stood, another tree too strong for the vandal. His mood, well, what mood? Bitterness, hatred and the faint edging of pain confusion traced the creased brow of the beast. Only fools would approach him now. He had made it clear, that he was not a happy chappy.



NOTE: PLEASE don't bring any charrie in here just to talk, i wanna plot xD He'll be starting some fights soon these days -evillaugh- I'll post a message up in ideas or something if you're interested in Broken Devotion :]

FIN :] Most of it was a default intro for him -beatsself-