Profile
Name: Vivaldi (Vivaldi VIII, or Viva)
Breed: Dutch Warmblood x Oldenburg x Andalusian x Hanoverian
Age: 9
Gender: Stallion
Alliance: Unallianced
Pelt Color: Flaxen Chestnut
Mane and Tail color: Chestnut
Eye Color: Orange.
Markings: 4 white stockings, odd black markings around knees/hocks, blaze, brand on his left flank, odd white markings
Hooves: Peach
Height: 17.1hh
Mental/Physical Conditions: None
Personality: Vivaldi would best be desecibed as untested. Due to his upbringing, training and the immaculate conditions of his existence prior to 'the incident', in this world, he is lost. Friendly, to a point, Viva's (a cute stable name acquired as a foal) good nature only goes so far. He is a proud being, perhaps too concerned with his looks and wellbeing for a life in the wild, but needs must. Viva is not wise, he does not know alliances, kingdoms or the wild world in itself. He has little in the way of tact and whilst able to hold his own to a point, combat, verbal or physical, is not a strong facet of his identity. Vivaldi has been loyal to the humans that cared for him, even those that pushed his ability to the top of his sport, but that only really ever felt like an obligation. They fed him, cared for him, only asked for an hour or so of his time every day. Every time he danced, he was rewarded. Every time he covered a mare, he was rewarded. Being the "king" of the stables went to his head and the arrogance from a lifetime of luxury will only take him so far in the world he now finds himself in. Viva knows little of genuine romance, friendship or otherwise. Those who associated with him before did so through the want to be held in high regard by their caregivers, not necessarily Viva himself. Viva enjoys his creature comforts - he doesnt like the rain, he doesnt like running water, he doesnt like it to be too hot or too cold. Hes very aware of his looks and can come across as pompous and aloof to many who meet him, especially those who do not know of or care about his upbringing.
History: Vivaldi is the result of generations of carefully selected breeding; his bloodline can be traced back through generations, all notable horses that throughout time showed excellence in one form or another. That wasnt to say that his breeders were not shocked when a leggy orange and white colt appeared in the broodmare field one spring morning. They had hoped for a black colt, darker dressage horses seeming to be all the rage, but his colours were endearing nonetheless, something that in time would only gain him more notoriety. Viva, as he came to be known in the stables, was cheeky as a colt - playful and endearing, with all the promise of generations before him. Generations that this particular stable had built their fame from. Generations that would predetermine all of Viva's life until the fire.
He was allowed to weather out three years, growing into himself, playing with the other colts, being handled by the yard staff and taught the basics that a foal could be. On his third birthday however, it all changed. He was brought in, trimmed up, brushed, shod. He was confined most of the time to a stable - something he rather enjoyed as opposed to being exposed to the elements. Tack was soon fitted and the breaking process began. Viva took to it like a Swan to water, his lineage evidenced in the refined movements he would come to perfect over the months and years that followed. He accepted a rider, albeit begrudgingly, yet over time that bond increased - perhaps a testament to the way in which he was doted upon. By age six, he was moving through the levels of the dressage world, gaining international acknowledgment for his skills and garish hue alike. Standing ovations, trophies, ribbons... it all became the norm for him. On the rare occasion he missed the mark, he felt it perhaps more than the humans who cared for him. He knew what he was about.
Alongside his dressage career, Vivaldi was a sought after breeding stallion, a part of the job he understandably quite enjoyed. No emotions, no getting to know the mares, just a brief hello before doing the job and returning to his stable with a pat and a mint. Vivaldi was excelling beyond expectation- he was the cash cow of the yard, their very bread and butter and he was treated as such. Win after win, Viva's ego only inflated more. But a humbling was on its way, one so devastating and final that no one could really have preempted it.
In the middle of the hottest and driest summer on record, a wildfire broke out in the woodland that surrounded the stables. It caught on the grass, the wood fencing, it travelled quicker than any could have anticipated. Some horses in the fields perished, as well as some in the barn. Viva however, using perhaps the only natural instinct he had left, jumped the burning fence of his paddock. Onlookers watched in horror and awe, some thinking perhaps his career as a dressage superstar could have been different. Yet, as the orange stallion disappeared into the flaming woodland, concerns mounted for safety. Viva galloped through the fire, smoke confusing him, dazzled by the flames he grew disorientated, powering through the woodland further away from home and further into the wild... search parties were risen for him, but to no avail. Vivaldi and all his greatness were lost for the humans, the end of a long and arduous era
