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Description

Soooo I've had Doc as a character for like over two years now, and I really hope he'll be accepted with his current design/info, since I'm not willing to compromise his original character ;n;

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Name: Doc

Breed: American quarter horse x appaloosa

Age: 9

Height: 16hh

Origin: Plains

Preferred Terrain: Plains and Forest

Color: Chestnut w/ minimal tobiano

Geno: ee Aa nT

Markings: Minimal belton spotting on his two front and right hind legs. A blaze and a spotty chin.
Eyes: Warm brown

Other: Scars on his chest and lower neck from feral dogs, a brand on his left shoulder with scars running across it from his life on the ranch. Scars on his flank from harsh spurs.

Personality:

Adventurous | Charismatic | Sly | Hard-shelled | Enigmatic | Liar | Chaotic neutral

      Doc's in the prime of his life, and boy does he know it. He has all the confidence, wit, charm, and mettle one would expect a stallion of his age and stature to have, and he's not shy about using it to his advantage. He doesn't seem to have any concrete goal he's putting all that towards however, choosing instead to take advantage of all the opportunities for fun and pleasure he can. That's not to say he's out to hurt people intentionally unless they deserve it but if it happens along the way, it happens. Morally grey is his favorite color.

      Layers of sass, arrogance, wit, and cynicism have formed quite the armor around Doc, and while this has benefited his survival so far, it certainly hasn't made for an outwardly compassionate or empathetic horse. He has all those mushy feelings, of course he's no sociopath somewhere deep down, they're just well hidden. But, anything can be broken eventually, right? Eh, you're welcome to give it a shot.

Doc prefers to observe and subtly influence rather than act, himself. He likes to be involved from the sidelines, and will avoid the thick of the action out of self-preservation. It's much easier to rely on oneself rather than others, he's come to understand, and very rarely do others deserve him to act on there behalf anyway, so he's not beat up about his decision.

History:

Doc was born and raised on a work ranch in the United States. He had an average foalhood, complete with a set of loving, proud parents. There was nothing extraordinary about them, but Doc loved them nonetheless. Once he grew into a yearling, he didn't speak to them as much anymore. The humans kept him and the other young horses busy; grooming them into what they hoped would become fine ranch work horses. Doc began to lose connections and friends he had made as a foal as he was more or less forced to focus on work.

      The first time he was saddled and ridden still lingers in his mind; he couldn't honestly say it was a pleasant experience, but it wasn't the unbearable torture some of the older horses made it out to be. From then on, he learned not all the humans were the same. Some of them were scared, even if they didn't show it to the other humans. They would hold tightly to the reins and sit rigid upon his back like a whole pack of coyotes were staring them down with hunger in their eyes. Then there were the confident humans, the ones that liked to ride hard and take risks. He didn't mind them much, and if they ended up pushing too hard Doc knew it wasn't their fault; humans weren't all that bright anyway. But, there were also the downright cruel humans to deal with, too. They came few and far between in his experience; like he said, humans weren't all that bright, but they were nice enough if you got them where they wanted to go without fussing too much. Usually. Once he was full-grown, a real nasty human became his most common rider. Doc couldn't stand him. He would stab at his sides with his spurs, or yank at his mouth, even when Doc was behaving. Doc had the suspicion he kicked and pulled just to get him riled up, and give himself a real reason to beat on him.

      Then Doc was introduced to guns. He'd heard the cracks and bangs and seen the poofs of smoke, but he'd never understood what it all meant until that human, the real nasty one, ended up on the receiving end of one. It happened one hot, dry afternoon. He and a few other horses were carrying a few humans into town when a group of horses and riders he didn't recognize came charging down out of the prairies. Next thing he knew, the cracks and bangs were starting up, and his human was yanking him this way and that, shouting out to the other humans. When the pulling and kicking finally stopped, Doc was confused when the human slid right off his back and into a heap on the ground. He finally made the connection between guns and death while one of the other ranchers led him and his empty saddle home.

      After that, things got better for him. His new rider was one of the most peculiar humans he'd known. He never yanked, and barely used his spurs. He would always mutter things to Doc while they were working, or traveling. Doc couldn't understand a word of it, of course, but he liked the man's tones. They were nothing like the harsh shouts of his old rider. And this human was smart. He knew all the ins-and-outs of the land, and Doc could respect that. They were partners for a good, long while, and Doc enjoyed almost every minute of it. He learned how to use his body to its full potential; his legs could run faster over longer distances, he could read the land for signs of predators, humans, and other horses, and on one dreadfully hot afternoon he realized he could swim.
      And when that human died, Doc wasn't sure he could bear it. They were alone when it happened. Camp had just been packed up, and they hadn't gotten more than a mile down the trail when three men showed up; Doc swore they came out of nowhere. It was the first time he'd heard his human truly afraid. He started talking, and the other men started yelling. Doc was getting nervous, but the other men's horses seemed to know what was coming. The first shot came, and Doc wanted to run. He remembered what happened the last time, and he wanted to get him and his human as far away as possible. He could outrun those other horses, he knew he could. Then the second shot came, and Doc was left with another empty saddle. Now, running was the last thing on his mind. He leaned his head down to sniff his human, and jerked his head back in fright as he got a sharp smack across the nose. He was confused, but he tried again. This time his human began to yell, but it wasn't one of the angry yells he was used to hearing from men. It was frantic, and he couldn't understand it until he felt a sharp yank on his reins, pulling him back. He reared in surprise as one of the men tried to lead him away, but he tossed his head and pulled them right back out of his hands. He tried one last time to reach his human, but he was yelling one of the only human words Doc had come to understand: Run.
      So he ran. He ran, and he didn't stop running until his sides were heaving and the sweat was dripping off him in small rivers. When he finally stopped, he realized he'd made it almost all the way back to the ranch. That's when Doc realized he had a choice to make. His precious human was dead, he had no close ties to any of the horses at the ranch, and there was no one around to stop him. So, with the ranch in sight, he turned his back to it and set off in the opposite direction. There was nothing for him there anymore.

Health: 100%

Stamina: 2

Speed: 3

Strength: 2

Stealth: 3

Band:
Mares: 0

Foals: 0

Stallions: 0

Description

Soooo I've had Doc as a character for like over two years now, and I really hope he'll be accepted with his current design/info, since I'm not willing to compromise his original character ;n;

------------------------------------------------------

Name: Doc

Breed: American quarter horse x appaloosa

Age: 9

Height: 16hh

Origin: Plains

Preferred Terrain: Plains and Forest

Color: Chestnut w/ minimal tobiano

Geno: ee Aa nT

Markings: Minimal belton spotting on his two front and right hind legs. A blaze and a spotty chin.
Eyes: Warm brown

Other: Scars on his chest and lower neck from feral dogs, a brand on his left shoulder with scars running across it from his life on the ranch. Scars on his flank from harsh spurs.

Personality:

Adventurous | Charismatic | Sly | Hard-shelled | Enigmatic | Liar | Chaotic neutral

      Doc's in the prime of his life, and boy does he know it. He has all the confidence, wit, charm, and mettle one would expect a stallion of his age and stature to have, and he's not shy about using it to his advantage. He doesn't seem to have any concrete goal he's putting all that towards however, choosing instead to take advantage of all the opportunities for fun and pleasure he can. That's not to say he's out to hurt people intentionally unless they deserve it but if it happens along the way, it happens. Morally grey is his favorite color.

      Layers of sass, arrogance, wit, and cynicism have formed quite the armor around Doc, and while this has benefited his survival so far, it certainly hasn't made for an outwardly compassionate or empathetic horse. He has all those mushy feelings, of course he's no sociopath somewhere deep down, they're just well hidden. But, anything can be broken eventually, right? Eh, you're welcome to give it a shot.

Doc prefers to observe and subtly influence rather than act, himself. He likes to be involved from the sidelines, and will avoid the thick of the action out of self-preservation. It's much easier to rely on oneself rather than others, he's come to understand, and very rarely do others deserve him to act on there behalf anyway, so he's not beat up about his decision.

History:

Doc was born and raised on a work ranch in the United States. He had an average foalhood, complete with a set of loving, proud parents. There was nothing extraordinary about them, but Doc loved them nonetheless. Once he grew into a yearling, he didn't speak to them as much anymore. The humans kept him and the other young horses busy; grooming them into what they hoped would become fine ranch work horses. Doc began to lose connections and friends he had made as a foal as he was more or less forced to focus on work.

      The first time he was saddled and ridden still lingers in his mind; he couldn't honestly say it was a pleasant experience, but it wasn't the unbearable torture some of the older horses made it out to be. From then on, he learned not all the humans were the same. Some of them were scared, even if they didn't show it to the other humans. They would hold tightly to the reins and sit rigid upon his back like a whole pack of coyotes were staring them down with hunger in their eyes. Then there were the confident humans, the ones that liked to ride hard and take risks. He didn't mind them much, and if they ended up pushing too hard Doc knew it wasn't their fault; humans weren't all that bright anyway. But, there were also the downright cruel humans to deal with, too. They came few and far between in his experience; like he said, humans weren't all that bright, but they were nice enough if you got them where they wanted to go without fussing too much. Usually. Once he was full-grown, a real nasty human became his most common rider. Doc couldn't stand him. He would stab at his sides with his spurs, or yank at his mouth, even when Doc was behaving. Doc had the suspicion he kicked and pulled just to get him riled up, and give himself a real reason to beat on him.

      Then Doc was introduced to guns. He'd heard the cracks and bangs and seen the poofs of smoke, but he'd never understood what it all meant until that human, the real nasty one, ended up on the receiving end of one. It happened one hot, dry afternoon. He and a few other horses were carrying a few humans into town when a group of horses and riders he didn't recognize came charging down out of the prairies. Next thing he knew, the cracks and bangs were starting up, and his human was yanking him this way and that, shouting out to the other humans. When the pulling and kicking finally stopped, Doc was confused when the human slid right off his back and into a heap on the ground. He finally made the connection between guns and death while one of the other ranchers led him and his empty saddle home.

      After that, things got better for him. His new rider was one of the most peculiar humans he'd known. He never yanked, and barely used his spurs. He would always mutter things to Doc while they were working, or traveling. Doc couldn't understand a word of it, of course, but he liked the man's tones. They were nothing like the harsh shouts of his old rider. And this human was smart. He knew all the ins-and-outs of the land, and Doc could respect that. They were partners for a good, long while, and Doc enjoyed almost every minute of it. He learned how to use his body to its full potential; his legs could run faster over longer distances, he could read the land for signs of predators, humans, and other horses, and on one dreadfully hot afternoon he realized he could swim.
      And when that human died, Doc wasn't sure he could bear it. They were alone when it happened. Camp had just been packed up, and they hadn't gotten more than a mile down the trail when three men showed up; Doc swore they came out of nowhere. It was the first time he'd heard his human truly afraid. He started talking, and the other men started yelling. Doc was getting nervous, but the other men's horses seemed to know what was coming. The first shot came, and Doc wanted to run. He remembered what happened the last time, and he wanted to get him and his human as far away as possible. He could outrun those other horses, he knew he could. Then the second shot came, and Doc was left with another empty saddle. Now, running was the last thing on his mind. He leaned his head down to sniff his human, and jerked his head back in fright as he got a sharp smack across the nose. He was confused, but he tried again. This time his human began to yell, but it wasn't one of the angry yells he was used to hearing from men. It was frantic, and he couldn't understand it until he felt a sharp yank on his reins, pulling him back. He reared in surprise as one of the men tried to lead him away, but he tossed his head and pulled them right back out of his hands. He tried one last time to reach his human, but he was yelling one of the only human words Doc had come to understand: Run.
      So he ran. He ran, and he didn't stop running until his sides were heaving and the sweat was dripping off him in small rivers. When he finally stopped, he realized he'd made it almost all the way back to the ranch. That's when Doc realized he had a choice to make. His precious human was dead, he had no close ties to any of the horses at the ranch, and there was no one around to stop him. So, with the ranch in sight, he turned his back to it and set off in the opposite direction. There was nothing for him there anymore.

Health: 100%

Stamina: 2

Speed: 3

Strength: 2

Stealth: 3

Band:
Mares: 0

Foals: 0

Stallions: 0