Without the knowledge to lead, so you just follow the sheep.
Making sure your lame swag is all polished and clean.
Tannor had recieved one of the most unusual upbringings of his time. The stallions that had raised him had been possessed or cursed by the demons and with these "gifts" as they so called them had raised him with a different outlook to the world than most. They had used his anger to fuel the possession that came along with his entering their clan and with that anger had come rash decisions, choices made based off of hatred for others.
Then the changes had come and with it came a new form of the silver stallion. One where the beast had been ripped away and for the first time in his life he felt at peace. Many have always said that others aren't capable of changing, but in reality, it's only when we truly want to change ourselves that we are capable of it. Change won't truly happen unless the one that needs to change, chooses to do so themselves... You could say that's exactly what happened with our silver stallion here.
With this change came exploration of the new Beqanna. For years he stuck to the forests surrounding the mountain until finally he decides to branch out further, one of his first places he comes across being the newly shaped adoption den where the unwanted or unable to be cared for properly were left to find a more suitable parent or role model. It is possible this is where he had first been himself, though he cannot remember. He had never known exactly how he had come to be with the group of stallions, each of whom had insisted that he call them father rather than by their birth-given name.
He can remember each of their faces clearer than ever before as he stands there, staring blankly out across the fields of the den. One white, one tan, one brown, one red. Father, father, father, father. And yet even though he can remember their faces, their voices are fading quickly from his memory. With the loss of their demon came the loss of their voices as well. The only thing that pulls him from this train of thought is the sudden warmth of a small body pressed against his side and the gentle tone of a youngsters voice and for a moment he ignores it before slowly turning his shining silver head towards her.
"Arantha, huh?" For a moment he watches her before his ears flick towards her and he nods slightly in acknowledgment. "I am Tannor and you are not bothering me..." He pauses then, his heart beating slow as he listens to her words of loneliness. He know she means not to leave her alone. It can be so hard to be alone, this he knows well. For a while he muses on the thought, wondering if this was a good idea. To let the tiny creature in. But then he sighs, as he realizes he has no reason to say no. "I have been alone for a long time myself. So I guess we could be friends if you like." What would it hurt? Maybe an innocent soul could help shape the demon further into something better than before.
Then the changes had come and with it came a new form of the silver stallion. One where the beast had been ripped away and for the first time in his life he felt at peace. Many have always said that others aren't capable of changing, but in reality, it's only when we truly want to change ourselves that we are capable of it. Change won't truly happen unless the one that needs to change, chooses to do so themselves... You could say that's exactly what happened with our silver stallion here.
With this change came exploration of the new Beqanna. For years he stuck to the forests surrounding the mountain until finally he decides to branch out further, one of his first places he comes across being the newly shaped adoption den where the unwanted or unable to be cared for properly were left to find a more suitable parent or role model. It is possible this is where he had first been himself, though he cannot remember. He had never known exactly how he had come to be with the group of stallions, each of whom had insisted that he call them father rather than by their birth-given name.
He can remember each of their faces clearer than ever before as he stands there, staring blankly out across the fields of the den. One white, one tan, one brown, one red. Father, father, father, father. And yet even though he can remember their faces, their voices are fading quickly from his memory. With the loss of their demon came the loss of their voices as well. The only thing that pulls him from this train of thought is the sudden warmth of a small body pressed against his side and the gentle tone of a youngsters voice and for a moment he ignores it before slowly turning his shining silver head towards her.
"Arantha, huh?" For a moment he watches her before his ears flick towards her and he nods slightly in acknowledgment. "I am Tannor and you are not bothering me..." He pauses then, his heart beating slow as he listens to her words of loneliness. He know she means not to leave her alone. It can be so hard to be alone, this he knows well. For a while he muses on the thought, wondering if this was a good idea. To let the tiny creature in. But then he sighs, as he realizes he has no reason to say no. "I have been alone for a long time myself. So I guess we could be friends if you like." What would it hurt? Maybe an innocent soul could help shape the demon further into something better than before.
TANNOR
demon morphing son of a bitch