Post by Poseidon Abatos on Apr 9, 2007 5:22:13 GMT -5
[ooc: Excuse me if this post isn't as good as it could be. This's my first very first attempt at roleplaying a horse. =) *is proud*)
Night had fallen. One often compares night to that of wickedness, another world which we do not understand, a world which we have forced our minds to associate with evil, with despair, a world our minds have created when we find ourselves alone, and leaves us to perish of our own demise.
And then there are those who see it as a time of peace, serenity, a time where we can lay our minds to rest, where we can forgive and forget that which troubles us. So was the view of Poseidon Abatos. In the light of the day he was merely a name, a memory forgotten by the world. And when night would come, engulfing the world in darkness, he would be alive. But not in the sense "alive" that we as beings associate with as liveliness, joy and happyness. But alive in the sense that he could roam, be left to his content, and do as he pleases. Often he would sit hours upon hours contemplating. Not about anything in particular. Just contemplating.
The raven hued stallion lifted his crown to the moon, the spherical body of the moon reflecting in the equine's orbs of gold. He blinked. The frigid chill in the air carried a gentle ghost of a breeze which brushed through his thick ebony mane. Little clouds of steam appeared infront of his maw and nostrils as he breathed in the cool and refreshing night air. He pawed at the ground with a powerful hoof, disturbing the dew-covered grass and looked about him. The terra was deserted, yet he was not at peace. Why was this? Perhaps there was somebody else with him of whom he was not aware?
Night had fallen. One often compares night to that of wickedness, another world which we do not understand, a world which we have forced our minds to associate with evil, with despair, a world our minds have created when we find ourselves alone, and leaves us to perish of our own demise.
And then there are those who see it as a time of peace, serenity, a time where we can lay our minds to rest, where we can forgive and forget that which troubles us. So was the view of Poseidon Abatos. In the light of the day he was merely a name, a memory forgotten by the world. And when night would come, engulfing the world in darkness, he would be alive. But not in the sense "alive" that we as beings associate with as liveliness, joy and happyness. But alive in the sense that he could roam, be left to his content, and do as he pleases. Often he would sit hours upon hours contemplating. Not about anything in particular. Just contemplating.
The raven hued stallion lifted his crown to the moon, the spherical body of the moon reflecting in the equine's orbs of gold. He blinked. The frigid chill in the air carried a gentle ghost of a breeze which brushed through his thick ebony mane. Little clouds of steam appeared infront of his maw and nostrils as he breathed in the cool and refreshing night air. He pawed at the ground with a powerful hoof, disturbing the dew-covered grass and looked about him. The terra was deserted, yet he was not at peace. Why was this? Perhaps there was somebody else with him of whom he was not aware?
