SA | Brutus

Gender:

Stallion

Age:

31 years current

Breed:

Percheron x Belgian 

Coat Color:

Bay roan Tobiano Sabino 

Herd Affiliation:

Aodh (formally War-Forged)

Rank:

Pit Fighter 

Height:

19’2 HH

|| M i s o g y n o u s ||

”What would she know? She’s just a mare.” 

To put it simply, Brutus hates females. They are weak, they are stupid, they are worthless, no matter the species, and should be treated as such. Mares are to be obtained and owned, nothing more. He does not see a pretty face as a love interest, but something to be collected. Mares that try to prove him otherwise are treated even worse, as lack of respect to him is not taken kindly. He has an incredibly hard time being subservient to his female master. 

|| I n t o l e r a n t ||

”Wow, you really ARE as dumb as you look.”

Not to worry, ladies, his sour attitude isn’t saved special for you. Brutus is short-tempered to all he deems unfit to be sharing his breath. While it is rarely shown via outbursts or vocally, he is in a constant ‘surrounded-by-idiots’ attitude that usually expresses itself through his expression only. Only in severe situations will his temper unleash for him to do something drastic. Generally he is known by his well-timed snorts and eyerolls, with the occasional burn comment slipped under the table. 

|| P e r t i n a c i o u s ||

”I suggest you agree before things get ugly.”

As you can see by the collage of scars mottling his body, Brutus is not the easiest stallion to argue with. Whether it be with a herdmate, a predator, or nature, he firmly stands his ground and faces everything head-on. Too proud to admit defeat or error, he takes the scars and the experience in trade. Bullheaded, he will storm off when truly cornered, rather than submit to his opponent. Despite loathing his fall from grace, once in the pit he takes his fighting extremely seriously. 

|| A p a t h e t i c ||

”I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s possible for me to care any less.”

One would think that a stallion with such stature as Brutus would have considered fighting for the position of leader someday, but prior to his enslavement, he could not care any less about who held the highest power in War-Forged, nor would he ever see himself trying for such thing. Too much responsibility for his taste. As long as he feels respected, he will return respect in kind, however he was not one to be bossed around. It is truly bitter misery that he lost his freedom. 

|| R u t h l e s s ||

”Make peace with your god, because tonight I swim in your blood.”

None are as vicious or savage as he, blood and gore not an issue. He has yet to turn down a fight in the pits, even against females, but he fears the day that even he refuses to fight such a lesser opponent. 

|| S u p p l i c a t o r y  ||

”Are you not entertained?”

His religion and way of life stripped from him, Brutus's mentality has subconsciously restructured itself around seeking the approval of his master. While they may be incredibly vile to one another face to face, he fights now for the roar of the crowd, the nod of his master.

History:

<sub>Brutus refuses to dwell too long on his childhood, so neither shall we. A child of a wallflower mother and savage father, Brutus developed with little to no emotion or empathy. Borderline sociopath, he knew no other life than what War-Forged branded into him. He was a body, a soldier, a weapon. 

His devout loyalty to the herd and its cause rose him through the ranks to a well respected and feared Shield, an aspect that boiled the blood of his fellow herd mates and rivals. There was constant back-biting and side eye that did not go unnoticed, but he chose to ignore, never expecting much retaliation. His brawn and prowess was not talked about positively among many of his squashed rivals, and after a night of riling him into a rant about how HE could be the one to overthrow Hira IF he so desired, but that they should all thank their lucky stars he had no interest in the role, a plan was hatched for his removal. 

Many attempts failed before they were finally successful. First they ran him ragged through the mountains, their lithe bodies ten times as agile as his hulking mass. Then they tried beating him. And finally they poisoned him. He woke up with a slave bridle affixed to his face and restrained in bonds. He had been sold to the Aodh merchants' slave trade, shipped out with the other degenerates. There were a few times that he tried to escape, but it was clearly not the merchants' first experience with an insubordinate slave. 

Once in Eithne, he was immediately unloaded on the black market at auction, his intention for pit fighting went unspoken. His buyer remained anonymous at the market, but once delivered to his new...residence, it was revealed that his master was, in fact, a mare. His outrage was infinite, threatening to crumble the walls around him. He threw himself against the walls, the thought of suicide crossing his mind more than once. Perhaps he just wouldn't fight, let himself get ripped apart in the pits. But if death claimed him, his enemies would have victory over him, and he would only choose death over defeat. So he continues to fight, hoping his reputation reaches back to the War-Forged herd so that those dogs may know
he's coming for them.</sub>