Like a moth to flame; ANY

[Vitalo]

The world is graying, dark circles forming in place of once brilliant colors. His sky is giving way to ink colored depths that pull the stallion into nothingness. He has passed. A door way he has stepped through hundreds of times reopening. Calling to him as though he were late for some important gathering.

Then the darkness breaks, his world reforming in magnificent shades of red and orange. The flames that tickle his spine push him from the earth, into something new. A beautiful mold of gray and alabaster. He is reborn, a reformed version of his past life. 

Much unlike his first trip back from death, his is unafraid. This new body, one with strong muscles and deep green eyes pulls him onward, across the barren land of his old home. The lands name is long forgotten to the stag as he makes his way too his new home. A land far from his previous residence. 

His journey is a long one, lasting long enough for his mind to wander.

What was he to call himself?

Life had brought forth so many different names.... Possibly.. Yes. yes that was it. He was to call  himself Vitalo. 

Vitalo. I strong name for a strong life. One he planned to fill with experiences. 

It is now that the grullo stallion takes account of where he is. A field stretching deep into the horizon dotted sparsely with trees and cracked open with a creek flowing like blood. The earth here is blanketed with contempt, equines grazing peacefully in the grasses that reached for his belly.

Beqanna

The name is a whisper upon the wind's soft breath. A smile grows upon his pale lips as he watches those in the field. This land.. This beqanna is where the earth had sent him. A new land for a new life. 

((Still feeling this boy out, BUT Vitalo will certainly be a sweet guy *gentle giant maybe?* but who knows. Feel free to throw anyone at him! UNEDITED)) 

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take This is not the black stallion’s first venture to the Field, but it is still far from familiar. There is a sense of transience here, an appealing impermanence that hints at the everyday novelties that happen on this great empty plain. Ivar arrives in the wide land, dotted here and there with strangers, and wonders how he will leave. Alone or with a companion. Either might be considered a success, he muses, depending entirely on these horses that mull through the belly-deep grass. This time of year, there are plenty of mares with children at their sides, and those he avoids. Too touchy – he has learned – prone to take offense to even accidentally impeding their line of sight with their child. The lone mares he avoids as well (though for an entirely different reason), which leaves him only the stallions of the field to assess. A few he dismisses; he is picking his future kingdom mates, he tells himself; it is alright to be choosy. He’d rather not deal with that appaloosa who is refusing to accept a polite dismissal from an irritated looking mare, and the chatty bay looks like he might wander off a cliff as readily as walk a patrol. There. A tall stallion his own height, more brightly colored than the matte black and white Ivar. He is smiling, but not overly so, and his demeanor is pleasant enough that Ivar sets off toward him with a matching expression. “Hello there,” he says to the stranger, dipping his head in greeting. “I’m Ivar.” kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis

[Vitalo]

It is not long before the stallion is joined by another. A gentle-looking fellow of his own stature. He greets the gray stag politely, offering up a name. Ivar. A calling card to match the monochromatically scaled stallion whom had approached.

"Pleasure to meet you Ivar, I am Vitalo."

He returns the other's nod, a small show of respect towards him. He takes a moment to look over his company. He is certainly an odd one, scales took place of soft hide, though Vi had seen this before.

In another life, one long since lived and faded in his mind he had met an equine such as Ivar. A curious woman who shared many pleasant days with Vitalo. She had borne him a son, a son long since deceased. 

Despite his guest, he is momentarily seized with sadness. A small grip of the ironclad bars of his immortality to remind him what he has. A gift not many others share. A gift he is reminded of everytime his world is bleached of color and he is born into a new life where his loved ones do not exist. 

Where he does not truly exist.

"I do not mean to pry, but these lands... You are a native of them, no?"

The question breaks the hideous thoughts that plague his mind, and he offers Ivar a kind eye. Emerald eyes find the other's sapphire gaze. His attention is captured, a polite way of waiting.

((OOC: I feel really dumb for not seeing this XD @[Ivar] ))

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The grullo stallion returns Ivar’s smile, and the young stallion is glad. Judging by appearances was not always a safe task, but it is necessary one here in the Field, when one dopes what Ivar is here to do. The friendly greeting from the other tobiano is a pleasant one, and Ivar repeats the other horse’s name to himself. Vitalo. He does not mind that the other stallion is giving him the once over – he’d done the same thing while approaching, albeit from a distance. It is only responsible to get to know those near you, after all. For a moment the other male is quiet, but he breaks the silence with a question, and Ivar looks up curiously. The scaled horse is nodding before he speaks, a nonverbal conformation that “Yes, I was born here.” He pauses for a moment, and decides that if this stranger is a newcomer to Beqanna, perhaps he’d best clarify. “Well, not here, exactly. But here in Beqanna, yes.” The wind is not with him today, but they are close enough that he can tell that this stranger does not smell of any of the kingdoms (or common lands) of Beqanna. An outsider then; Ivar is immediately curious about what lies beyond the sea. “You’re new here then,” he surmises aloud, “and perhaps looking for a home?” The words are curious , though Ivar does except that he knows the answer. There are always those who would rather wander though, and Ivar does not blame them. There is much to see here, especially for a stranger to Beqanna. kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis