Hound

Name: Hound

Breed: Andalusian x Dutch Warmblood x Trakhener x Peruvian Paso x AQH x Westphalian x Belgian Draft x Percheron x Kladruber

Age: 11

Gender: Stallion

Alliance: Dark

Pelt Color: Seal Bay Roan

Mane and Tail color: Almost black

Eye Color: Orange

Markings: Black odd markings on chest, underbelly & hind quarters. Heavily scarred on face, left ear, shoulders and flanks

Hooves: Slate

Height: 21.3hh

Mental/Physical Conditions: Vampirism. Sociopath.

Personality: Hound is best described as hollow. He has never encountered love, he has never known warmth nor affection. A burden since he was born, Hound has only known survival. His entire psyche has evolved around survival, of being the best he could be, of being top dog. Hound is very aware of his capabilities, he is aware of the fights he is likely to win alone and those that would require additional input, regardless, he will win somehow. With little regard for authority, Hound can be somewhat unmanageable to many. He is crass, abrupt, rude and sometimes downright offensive. He cares little for the feelings of others, if they are not beside him then they are in his way, his goals are what matters most and he isn’t afraid of using others to achieve them. Hound is loyal to those that are loyal to him and even then, many are disposable to the beast. Hound has little interest in romance, mares have shown to be just as empty as he, he sees them as a means to an end unless they are of a likeminded disposition to himself. Power attracts power and he is not afraid to rise to the challenge if it is asked of him.  Hound is cold, arrogant, calculating with a taste for chaos. Whilst victory is where his sights mostly lay, the sheer adrenaline that comes with chaos and discord is the real driving force behind his actions.

History:

TW Rape/Violence.

Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

The first words ever spoken to him, under the cold winter moon when he arrived upon the earth. Hound was the product of rape, a violent assault that left his mother a changed woman. She could not love for Hound as he only reminded her of his sire. That was where it all began. Hound was his name simply because Dog felt too callous. His mother nursed him so much as to keep him alive, she remained close enough to keep him warm but she prayed every night that the wolves would take him. When he was old enough to stand alone, to fend for himself, she left. No word, no parting wisdom. Hound awoke that chilled autumn dawn to find he was alone. He waited, dutifully yet without expectation, to see if she may come back for several days yet, when she didn’t Hound knew he had to move on, for his safety, if nothing else.

Hound travelled alone until he was eighteen moths old where he found himself picked up by a band of rogue stallions, all varying ages, all cast out for various reasons. For the first time, he felt like he belonged. The band of stallions were headed by a beast called Darius, an unruly dangerous stallion that answered to none but himself. He was the first into a fray and usually the last one out, leading the herd often blindly into battles that were at best unnecessary. It was during one of these battles that Hound discovered his ‘quirk’. An unending hunger, a thirst that ached to the core of his soul, both present in the midst of battles, most notably when blood was spilled. For days after battles, he ached and writhed, the herd unsure how to help the stallion. It was during one particular battle, when blood finally entered his system, did he realise what he needed.

However, once realisation dawned, he found it to be addictive. Hound needed to feed daily at best, twice a week at worst, to survive. His herd did what they could to help, hunting deer and other animals in a bid to keep him from their own throats. However, it didn’t last long. Hound soon turned on Darius, his size, youth and skill working in his favour to overthrow the mogul, feasting on his blood as a sign of dominance to the other stallions. He was not to be fucked with, even at the tender age of three.

During a particular raid on a herd of mares, Hound bedded a mare, a consensual agreement yet, as his mother had hoped to do to him, come the morning he was gone. Two years passed uneventfully until he decided to return to the lands, alone, curious to see what had become of that night. He found his son, a curiously marked colt who barely resembled him, yet his mother had told him stories of his father and so Hound took it at face value. Hound informed his son, Belial, of the sickness that plagued him, he told him of his methods to manage it and then once again, much as his mother had done, he left. Belial was left to fend for himself, whilst Hound returned home.

His blood thirst was maddening, it captivated him and he became it. War after pointless war came into play for years; the group would win, take the orphaned colts with them and bend them into shape. The band were unstoppable. With such a towering beast at the helm, many herds simply buckled before the first threat of a fight however that was not enough for Hound and he pushed and he pushed. His reign was challenged, and whilst he never walked away unscathed, he also never lost. He was a tactician, he could orchestrate war for no other reason than to create chaos. And he was good at it.

Hound ran with the stallions for many years to come, yet one particularly rough winter saw influenza spread within the group. He did all he could to avoid it, yet with the desire for blood stronger than ever within the depths of winter, he could not avoid it. The sickness weakened him, put him closer to death than any thing he had ever encountered before. Sickly, and almost beyond help, the band of stallions deserted their ruthless leader, another taking the helm as they left him in the snow. Feeding off small animals that dared to come near him, he maintained enough strength to pull himself into a near by cave, fearing that this would be his tomb. Life wasn’t through with him yet, and after several weeks and the warmer weather beginning to show promise, Hound began to regain his strength. It took time, he couldn’t push himself as hard as he once did for his lungs just couldn’t cope. Not to begin with anyway. As Spring past and summer threatened to burn him alive, he found himself once more physically fit yet this time alone, without direction.

Children

- Corvid (Wolf x Hound)