He had traveled across quite the obstacle littered journey, his life a sick game of treasure hunts and calculated traps. He was born a normal child (well he didn't even know if that was true) everything known to him stolen by the hand of the reaper, his innocence taken from him in seconds. He was left a young child bare, raw, vulnerable, and completely susceptible to the forces of nature, to the forces of the world. The man who had done this didn't even have the decency to put him out of his misery, but instead he took everything away from Miseal and forced him to continue to live under such hopelessness, such despair. If one had never felt the utter disorientation of not knowing who you once were, who you once had been, where you came from, and who to fear, whom to love, they should consider themselves blessed. For Miseal had felt it first hand, and the side effects of this disease of the lost, well it was catastrophic.

Somehow though, the beast had risen from the very of ash of his breaking moments. Miseal had been placed in a wicked cycle of rebirth and death, a twisted, evil metaphor. He knew though, that the chromed, the capable, could not be of such name if he had not prevailed, won against all odds. That was who he was now; the striped stallion wasn't touched by the weakening abilities of the elements, of the demons that haunted so many. He would not allow himself to fall into the statistics of the shattered souls and percentages of those who had lost the war, who had given up. Miseal had won, will win, and he won't stop, ever. His life wasn't his own to give up on anymore, his impact had touched others, his love had extended to others, and he owed them that at least. He would not only fight for himself, win for himself, he would fight any war waged upon him and upon those he loved, for family. Family meant something to Miseal, and that something was not taking lightly.

So the chromed found himself once again upon the battlefield of the throat. This was a different type of battle though, for his last spar had been one meant to get his name out there, to place a certain power behind the name of Miseal. He had proven to himself that he was capable, beating the moose man upon the soil of his sandy home. Home, another important aspect that had grown into that category of meaning something to the stallion, when so little did. The Dragon's throat had taken him in, had shown him the concept of family that he hadn't known until he witnessed it in the desert dunes and days. The concept that he so wholly, so purely, wanted to replicate within the borders of his own personal family, but Miseal couldn't do that, not just yet. Not until he could return to those he loved, knowing he deserved their love, deserved the family they allowed him to become apart of. Not until he had earned everything he obtained and cherished.

That was why he found himself here again, the crisp frostfall air tickling his nostrils as the moon shined her story upon the battlefield. Soon though, Miseal would join her storytelling with a second story of his own, and he hoped it would be one of victory. There was a determination that encompassed him as his golden eyes analyzed the chilly night; this determination was a different breed. It wasn't one of bloodlust (yet) but rather a maddening drive to win, because this time around, he wasn't winning for bragging rights. He was winning for the ultimate trophy, and that was family. He waited for one to appear, a molten fire burning through his veins as determination ran hot and wild, ready to be molded and shaped into triumph.


"Talk"

WC: 655
Attack: 0/3
Damage Tracker:
Setting: Dragon's throat, just outside of the borders. It's on sand and slightly chilly as well as windy. The moon and stars are pretty bright, but the overall setting is semi-dark.

MISAEL