Post by ren on Nov 7, 2011 18:17:37 GMT -5
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[/color]THORN![/i][/color][/color][/font]pay no mind what other voices say, they don‘t care about you like I do.
[/CENTER]i'm sending you away tonight, put you on a bird's strong wing
and i forget, how fragile are the very strong
PERSONALITY: thorn is a conglomeration of a thousand different traits, thrown together, each fighting for dominance over the others. he's a loose canon, but boy does it suit him. his true persona has been lost over the years, replaced with a mixture of all the people he has pretended to be to further his own existence and standing. a cunning brute, he is the master of disguise, and can be whomever suits him best for what ever task, though this has come at a price. he wanders now without his own sense of self-priority, lost long ago when he was forced to fake his entire life, and most importantly, his deepest desire: pain. it drives him like nothing else ever has, can, or will. despite his age, he stills craves it much the same as the day he was made to be the wolf in sheep’s clothing. perhaps addicted to the rush as he attacks, or perhaps just addicted to the kill. there is nothing thorn loves more than to hear the heart of his victim falling into that terrible rhythm, slow and labored. it is his music of choice.
oh, yes, he is sadistic. cruel, sardonic, downright evil. he has embraced everything about his life, thriving in the freedom it brings him. he does not, it would seem, take note of the chains his bloodlust wraps around him. thorn is a prisoner to his own madness; caught, possessed by the aspect of his animalistic nature. far too ruthless, far too unforgiving; he sought the world like it were a new found tryst. one that he'd abuse at whim, to any ends of oblivion. the cannibal king finds that in every fleeting, desperate breathe, there was beauty in torture. animosity was always the little niche that seemed to work it's way into every dauntless step this white devil took.
thorn is a creature wild and untamed. though he spent many a year convincing those around him that his upbringing had taught him the importance of maintaining dignity and reputation through eloquent speech and genteel actions, it was, of course, a lie. he will often slip his collar and embody the very soul of an animal. a wolf in a sheepskin. a lion amongst lambs. when displeased, he will roar and slash out at those who have wronged him. when satisfied, he will purr in utter contentment. he cannot be underestimated for he is as unpredictable as the wind, gentle one moment and the next, a tumultuous storm bent on destruction.
there was something so endlessly endearing about the art of destruction, the demise of a mortal being; in all it's crunch and savagery. there was no less a mercy then a vengeful god when he touched to break his desires. with an acute precision, he dismembered without a notion or conscience. his opponent's faces, he can never take his eyes off them. violence was welcoming, it was the knife to which he cut. it was his forever lover, mother, his venus. the sinister brucephalus, the ever stone soul, bound by the art of torture and gore. a sadist, with a few masochistic fetishes, which believes in the technique of ruin; livid in the twist, in the choke of torment
at the heart of his beats a conviction of steel. once something is set in his mind, he pursues it relentlessly with a lust that drives all other matters into the shade. he is goal oriented and remains steadfast to that goal once he puts his mind to it. it would take the shattering of the world to gain his notice away from what he desires and even then it is very possible he would ignore the apocalypse entirely. this applies not only to his goals in life, but to small things, like his prey.
on the subject of prey, he loves to play with his victims. torturing them, pushing their boundaries, inflicting hope until they beg for release, then inflicting pain until they beg for death. cruel, unnecessary, but thorns way regardless of the opinions of others. he is not governed by the morals which, in his opinion, plague other horses. most will, to his knowledge, not attack a yearling or foal. thorn does not distinguish between adult and foal. he has never once felt guilt or shame for his actions, and after nearly two years of being a cold blooded killer, it's highly doubtful he'll get a sudden pang of conscience anytime soon.
the prospect of morals never arise, and he teases without consequence the epitome of god's greatest shame. he rebelled any idea of sanctity; becoming a parody of what reaped the universe of such onslaught. it was nothing to him; peace, it would never be a man's will. and the need to seize and destroy common tranquility. because without that, modesty would drive him to the endless pits of depravity. not that he isn't already mad. he loses himself in the appetites of the dead and dying, sucks the meat from their bones after loving every inch. monsters like him don't believe in law, but write their own paths, burn their own ravenous wake. regret is the weakness to feeling, and so he never feels such; instead takes what he wants without the fear of never knowing it's loss. and that whatever road it may lead him, he was livid for the next, and the next moment after. for he reveled in chaos, found humor in horror, and catered to every fickle want. meet thorn ; your antagonist, and most nefarious of heart-breakers. the tyrant which kissed and ripped the still beating heart from your chest.
HISTORY: The anomaly of a mare giving birth to two foals (twins) is a rarity in deeded. However, Levana did just that on an early morning when the sun was just peeking over the horizon. The nervousness she felt before birth was but a habit laced with fear. Years of being forced under the Helghan’s hooves had a way of making a mare a little leery. You see her mate Abraxas loved her, oddly enough but love just the same and when she was to give birth to a foal, he and his mate fled their land and their Kind and Lord to take refuge with the Rebellion. Their adventure and flight had only been a few months before Levana was to give birth so as you can see the fear had not yet left. Her mate stood guard, waiting carefully for anything that might harm her and disturb this wonderful morning. The day was defiantly joyous; she not only gifted her mate with one son but two, both strong and robust colts but twins they were not.
Have you ever head the saying ‘when the stars align’ well the stars forged together in one brilliant display of beauty the moment Thorn was born. The gathered mares and stallions waiting in reckless excitement for the birth of new foals, a timeless tradition that promised hope to a herd. A chance to forge on, gathering strength in knowing their numbers were growing, thanks to the gods. However, when Thorn was born a cluster of gasps could be heard, he was beautiful, so much so that one mare had called out in thanks to the gods. While his brother was born first and was the first to stand it was Hannibal that won their attention and heart.
Through out the years the two display a strong rivalry, at first it was on mock fighting, both could not win seeing as how they were so evenly matched. You see, while Thorn’s brother was stronger and larger then Thorn it was clear where he lacked in brute strength he made up for in adaptability and wit. Hannibal had a knack for thinking at least three moves ahead. Time and time again the two brothers fought for their chance to shine, for their herds favor and time and time again it was Thorn’s brother that won even if by a hair. This was because his brother was first born and yes Thorn resented his brother, hated him for being the first.
In their first year his brother started to take a shine for a filly, she was pretty, perfect body shape, a born leader of other mares and displayed a sense of independence that both thrilled and annoyed him. What was worse was that she seemed to enjoy his brothers attention. While Thorn had not real interest in the pretty filly he could not stop the feeling of jealousy that washed over him like a tidal wave. For months he tried his best to curb his distain until he could not take it anymore and his temper got the best of him. That was when he met Gunslinger. The brute happened to find Thorn stomping on a buck, keeping it alive so that he could take out his frustration on something that would feel the pain. Yes he was slightly twisted but this beast in his was something he could not lock up. Gunslinger talked to him for a while, Thorn was respectful and in fact was a little in awe of the brute but he did not join the stallions heard when asked.
A year or so had passed, his distain and rivalry with his brother grew into something ugly and brutal. Both fighting, his brother doing his best to make Thorn look the fool. His mothers love given to his brother, his heard carried his brother on this shoulders like a king. He hated them all, but mostly he hated his brother. It should be Thorn they loved, why could they not love him too? Their love was fake, he knew it. So without thinking he ventured onto Gunslingers lands, spoke to the stallion, became a king of spy and when all the information was given and there was nothing left to gain Thorn asked for his Kings help. The stallion agreed and the two set off to hurt his brother in the worse possible way.
Another five months later Thorn asked his brothers mate to take a walk with him, that he wished to talk about a mare. She was delighted that he finally found someone that sparked his interest and was more then happy to talk with him. The two walked, she mindlessly followed where ever Thorn took her, took worked up in her excitement to see that they where nearing the edge of Gunslingers lands. In the shadows Gunslinger waited, Thorn nodded and chuckled at what she said and then the moment they stopped she looked around. Telling him they needed to go back, this was dangerous and that both of them were to excited to see where they were going. Just when she turned and started into a natural trot Thorn charged her in the side and knocked her over, sending her to the ground. Shocked and foolish she asked if he was ok. That was when Gunslinger came out and the two beat her to the point of death. Thorn wanting the mare to live long enough to take her last breath in front of his brother.
Thorn wanted to wait for his brother to come so he would see his mate scream while Thorn toyed with her. When his brother did show up the shock and horror on his face was what made Thorn laugh that wicked laugh. A few choice words were offered and in a slow turn Gunslinger and Thorn walked off.
Ren[/font]
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