Your life belongs to me. I brought you into this world, and I will take you out of it.
Like every horse tale, everything used to be perfect. Rainbows and butterflies, scenic horizons, satisfying sounds of the trickling river bend, the elegant horses galloping across the field. Well kids, if thats what your looking for, might as well get on out of here. Because this is not a fluffy unicorn tale.
It was early summer, the snow had just melted, foals had been born, horses were moving. It was known for herds to move great distances here, it was a popular place. Twisted Plains. The grass there is always green, but alyways different shades depending on the day, and the hills- the hills always seem to look as if they have been twisted up towards the sky. It was a nice, peaceful place. Horses there were genuinley kind, of course, you would encounter a nasty stallion here and there, but overall it was peaceful.
Until that one horse came. Oh lord, that poor horse. He was an old grey stallion, nothing but a rack of bones. His mane had been ripped out it seemed, and his tail was covered in burdocks and twigs. He was a mess, and everyone would come to him, and the ones who were good to him recieved an unforgivable price. They were kind to him, you would think he would've spared them.. but no.. no.
It was somewhere in late May, early June, and the old grey stallion had wondered upon a herd of horses. He was surrounded by them, being constantly asked questions, "Are you alright?" "Do you need anything?" "How can we help?" He responded with these words, words no one can forget, as if they were forged into their brains. "I need nothing. I am nothing. And soon, you are to become nothing." It wasn't a ryhme, it wasn't a riddle, it didn't sound anything that mysterious. They thought it was a crude joke, and ignored the stallion, wondering back to their previous grazing. That very night, they all dreamt of the stallion, but he was handsome, magnificent. His bones were hardly seen, his coat was clean and even, his mane and tail were brushed neatly, swaying in the wind. But.. his eyes. Something about his eyes were off, they looked almost... dead. They were white, nothing but white. Then he would disappear, and that was the end of their dream. Supposedly.
When the herd had woken up, everyone had glassy grey eyes, their bodies had sunken in a little, half them stunk like skunks.
As the days went by, they all slowly became ill, their eyes would become whiter every passing day, and soon enough, nothing remained. Only a sack of skin and bones, collapsed on the ground, taking its final breath.
The old grey stallion wondered to more and more herds of horses, until the enviorement around them became brown, slowly withering away. The rivers had dried up, the grass was dead, the trees were withering, and horses were slowlu going chaotic, their entire figures changing. This deadly illness had been known as the "White Plague." And that grey old stallion.. was indeed old. He was one of the 4 horses of the apocolypse..
Pestilence
Spring 
Day Weather: 
Brimstone
