Angelo Della Morte

Posts : 3 Join date : 2012-09-02 Age : 31

--Horse Name Morte

--Breed Clydesdale x Gypsy Vanner x Freisian x Shire x Suffolk Punch x Percheron

--Gender Stallion

--Height 18.3 hands

--Relationships N/A

--Personality Morte is stand-offish; he is hard to approach due to his sheer size and the scars that flaw his muscular body. A look of solemnity always covers his face, and he is hard to read. He finds the show of emotion to reveal vulnerability, and refuses to nothing of the sort. Nothing at all can faze him, and in fact, it is hard to get a reaction out of the stallion. He expects everything, and can detect others easily.

Morte is unpredictable - one minute he can be calm, and then the next he can be completely outraged. He has a wild and untamable temperament. It is not so easy to provoke his temperament, but once his anger has bubbled out of control, he will stop at nothing until his point has been made clear.

Morte is serious and is incredibly mature. It is practically almost impossible to make him laugh; he doesn’t play games. Morte is wise and gives out good advice, though if you’re the type that won’t take his opinion or perspective on a situation then he won’t give it, and will dismiss you from his presence.

Morte is powerful both inside and out. He’ll do whatever he can to protect the other beings that mean the most to him; however, most of the time these beings are foals. He spends his time and favors to be surrounded by a group of foals. When he’s around them, his defensive and cold demeanor falls completely, and he becomes a big, playful male, though foals are the only ones to make him laugh heartily. There has always been something about foals, and they can look past the scars, and approach him with ease. It’s something about their wondering mind, that constantly asks questions, and he knows they strive to learn. Morte – if he sees an abandoned foal – will in a heartbeat take them under his nonexistent wings. And those that he “adopted,” will be protected for as long as they decide to stick around.

Morte is stubborn and determined, and to a certain degree he is anti-social. When he wants something bad enough, he’ll go to any measure to get it. He is opinionated, and those who do not respect him in general might as well not speak to him or look at him. Though he tends to avoid confrontation, he will be the first to confront you on anything he may have heard from another being. If Morte has a problem with you, you will be the first to find out. He doesn’t and never will care for what others think about him, and their opinion on who he is has never affected him in any way, and it will certainly not start now. Morte is definitely mysterious and dark in a way which makes it that much harder to approach him. He rarely speaks, but when he does he’ll make sure you’ll listen to what he has to say. To him, actions speak louder than words.

He acts on impulse, and thrives off of adrenaline rushes. Morte has no fears of anything or so it seems, but these fears remain hidden. He is far from open, and tends to keep everything locked away. To him, he has no soul, and if any it has been buried away. His heart is genuine and he has others interests in his favor. If you befriend Morte, you have found a loyal and trustworthy friend who will – no doubt – be there for you until the end. He cares for others before himself, and cares for himself last.

Morte has issues in and out of himself, but he refuses to share anything about his past. Due to these “problems” he has trust issues. Trust is earned and not magically given over, and it will take a good amount of time and effort to gain his entire trust. Foals gain it almost instantly, but others must gain it. Morte is mainly level-headed, and prefers to listen to each side of the story rather than taking the violent way out, though finds himself doing that when his temperament is out of his control. Morte is also a realist; he will never sugar-coat the truth, and will be upfront about things. The truth hurts, and reality does too. He is also a strong believer in the ideology of “An eye for an eye.” You treat him badly; he’ll treat you badly – if not worse – in return. He will give you the bitter taste of your own medicine to make you learn a lesson. Morte, no doubt, is aggressive in certain situations, and this will certainly keep one on their toes.

--History Birthed to two very devoted parents, Morte and his siblings were consistently showered with love and support. Morte was the more rebellious out of the two others, resisting the affection for more “macho” varieties. He often sparred with his father since he saw two other males doing do in the herd they resided in. Though Muraco, his father, was older and more experienced, Morte had an innate ability to spar rather well with his father. Rovinare, his brother, often took part in the sparring, occasionally trying to defeat his older brother who was the largest out of their family.

Soon the sounds of play fights dissipated and his father no longer sparred with Morte. When Morte encouraged his father, he was denied. Rovinare was too busy talking with the females and was becoming less interested in play fighting. The now year old Morte huffed in irritancy, seeking another partner. When he challenged some of the younger foals, they shied away. With disappointment, sparring with anyone was few and far between so Morte then turned to scavenging and exploring the lands. Morte excelled well in scavenging and exploring as well as fighting when it happened upon him. At the age of two, he was fed up with the stifling ways of a herd and set off. Before he took off on an unknown journey with an unknown destination, his father stopped him with a warning. He was telling him that “Ringue” was coming for him. Morte ignored his father and set off into the night.

Months later and Morte was sleeping on the snow covered ground, shivering against the bitter breeze when he awoke to searing pain. Awake and alert, Morte nickered irritably, eyes darting through the dark to find the attacker. A low laugh arose from behind him and glanced upwards into sickly colored eyes. Glowing, dark yellow eyes sneered at him and Morte snorted, rising to his hooves. If this male wanted a fight, he would sure as hell get one. As Morte was debating on where to place his attack the unknown horse spoke.

“I assume you are Morte, son of Muraco,” his voice was a rasp. Morte grew defensive, once he confirmed that he was the son of Muraco, crazed males dashed out from their hiding spots. Morte knew well enough he was outnumbered and foolishly let them lead him to their herd. He soon knew that the pure black male with the dark yellow eyes was Ringue, the stallion his father warned him about. On the journey he was told that his father was a fine specimen and had flourished well amongst the herd, and was a fine killer. Morte was dubious of the killer part but voiced nothing. Apparently, Ringue’s herd took the first male from every offspring of their former killers.

He trudged through the snow lazily and was soon stopped by Ringue’s order. The blackened horse gave a simple nod and the males were upon him. Their teeth and hooves dug through his skin, and Morte gritted his teeth against the pain. He stood there dumbly, refusing to be beaten. Morte fought back and a pleasurable laugh left Ringue as he watched happily. Soon the males were too much and Morte collapsed to the earth with exhaustion. The males were called off on Ringue’s whim and they cackled proudly back into their lands. Ringue passed his bloodied body with a sideways glance before chortling dementedly and leaving him there.

When morning came around and Morte was claimed as alive, training began. Through however many months Morte was turned into a mindless and brainwashed killer to slaughter anything that lived, moved, breathed and got in his way. By the age of three, Morte was Ringue’s young prodigy for Morte excelled through all the deaths he caused. Sparring with his herdmates often resulted in their death, especially because Morte didn’t know when enough was enough until someone was dead. More unwilling recruits filtered in through the herd and Morte taught them their training. He barked out orders and by the age of four, blood lust took full control of him. Seeing lifeless beings gave him a thrill but soon the high was living on drifted away.

A herd member told him that his parents were dead and Morte froze, his eyes flickering before he set off at a full on sprint. He arrived to see Ringue smirking. “You won’t need mommy and daddy anymore,” he spoke harshly. Before Ringue could even touch his parents, Morte tackled the black male to the ground. The battle raged on for the two had similar techniques but Morte dealt the final blow. Ringue gasped for breath until he fell limp to the earth’s surface. Morte turned to his father who looked at him with confusion. His mother attempted to push his siblings away who looked at him with shock and horror. “Is it true,” he bellowed, rage quaking through his body. Recognition flooded all of their eyes and his father stepped forwards and nodded somberly. The words “I’m sorry” flooded Morte’s ears and he snorted, turning past them to disappear angrily from their sights.

Now at the age of six, Morte’s old habits still stick around but his killing is reduced to those that threaten him. He had adopted numerous foals and was slowly making a 180. In his attempt to find himself again, he comes here in hopes of seeing who he truly is and he’s secretly wishing he isn’t meant to be a murderer for the rest of his life.

Subject: Re: Angelo Della Morte Sun 2 Sep 2012 - 18:38

Accepted! Welcome to Myst, Morte!