{22 posts; Level 5}
The dark pillars of the Halls of the Lost loomed menacingly in the barely visible light given off by the tiny hole in the ceiling. The only sound to be heard in this desolate hallway was the sound of lonesome hoof beats. It almost sounded like the haunting footsteps of someone such as the Headless Horseman, or some other mythical form. Of course, it wasn't that far from the truth with this brute. A red equine form picked his way carefully through the hallway, ever-burning eyes flickering so lightly from within those pools. The Blaze Penticorn did not know how exactly he got here; in fact, he didn't know how he would get out, but here he was in the Halls of the Lost, and he was just that: lost. Not only was Shetan lost in this shrine, he was as well lost within himself. The ever raging war within him was tearing him apart and the equine knew sooner or later, he would lose this battle.
Alone for now, Shetan stopped at a strange mark on the wall, staring at it with hollow eyes. In all honesty, the brute did not know what he was looking at, except that for some reason he felt it pertained to him and his state. He felt eerily attracted to it, but at the same time, he wished to get away from it. It was then he realized it was the symbol of the cursed. Although he was not branded the color and markings of a cursed color, Shetan surely was a cursed brute. Cursed with the spirit of his father. Cursed to dwell with this pain. Cursed with everything his father ever had done. Closing his eyes and turning his head away, Shetan refused to look upon that mark anymore, but it was already seared into his brain; an image that would haunt him forever, marking him as the cursed one he did not want to be.
Alone for now, Shetan stopped at a strange mark on the wall, staring at it with hollow eyes. In all honesty, the brute did not know what he was looking at, except that for some reason he felt it pertained to him and his state. He felt eerily attracted to it, but at the same time, he wished to get away from it. It was then he realized it was the symbol of the cursed. Although he was not branded the color and markings of a cursed color, Shetan surely was a cursed brute. Cursed with the spirit of his father. Cursed to dwell with this pain. Cursed with everything his father ever had done. Closing his eyes and turning his head away, Shetan refused to look upon that mark anymore, but it was already seared into his brain; an image that would haunt him forever, marking him as the cursed one he did not want to be.