<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0b/CentPrinc.jpg)</div>Name: Prince Aralen II<br/>Race: Centos<br/>Location: West of Centos<br/>Players Nearby: N/A<br/><br/><hr/><br/>It was perfect. Whatever had trashed the marketplace had his father absolutely fuming. Some large, flying lizard or some nonsense. It didn't entirely matter to Aralen though as he settled his pack over his shoulders and hugged his cloak about his large frame. The destruction not only gave him a way out of the city, it provided a distraction as well. There was so much going on in the way of people picking things up, as well as guards screaming direction that he really didn't have to try all that hard to slip past the main gates and head down into the city proper.<br/><br/>Digging in his pack for a moment at one of the many stables about the city, he quickly paid for a horse, glad that the flesh of the beast was among the finer he'd seen. He desperately wanted to take his, but the markings on the gelding were far too well known among the guard. At a lazy canter, he picked his way through first the inner city, and then the outer to the gates beyond. Delighted, he noted that the guard was thinner there, due to the calamity going on in the market and headed right out the gate without being stopped.<br/><br/>Once he was a few hundred yards out from the large stone walls, he lowered the hood, letting his hair free and face to the sun with a grin. His parents would have a fit when they realized that he was missing, but by that time, he would be long gone from the area and beyond their immediate reach.<br/><br/>Nearly an hour passed at the lazy pace as he followed the contours of the land. Twisting a bit in the saddle, he reached down into the saddlebag and pulled out a small map. With the thing spread before him, he failed to notice the small furrow that seemed to be headed straight towards he and his steed. When the animal sensed something odd coming, it gave an uneasy huff, earning it a comforting pat in response.<br/><br/>The furrow opened slowly as it got close, and one of the small spiders born of nightmare skittered towards Aralen, climbing the hoof of the beast unsteadily before planting its fangs into the thing. All at once, the horse reared up, earning a loud curse as Aralen franticly gripped the saddle horn to stay mounted. Once it settled back down, the beast seemed to handle in an entirely different manner. Where it was once sure of foot, it now swayed and dipped unsteadily as it walked. The hair seemed to ripple as muscles moved, slowly darkening from the beautiful chestnut color to an ugly, unhealthy black. Curiously, he reached down and gave it a touch. His hand recoiled at the burning temperature, and he couldn't help but wonder what in the hell had happened.<br/><br/>All at once, the horse began to buck and rear. Aralen, one of the better trained horsemen in the castle was quickly thrown by the quick and sudden change. The saddlebags, unsecured, had dropped off of the horses flanks moments before. The horse, startled and somehow changed took off, Aralen's heel still in the stirrup. Thinking quickly, as nothing was more dangerous than being under the hooves of a galloping horse while still attached, he slipped a knife from his boot, and began to saw at the leather connecting stirrup to saddle. In the process, he managed to catch one of the hooves with his shoulder, the sharpened unnatural thing slicing right through shirt and skin to create a nasty gash. Finally his foot popped free of its own accord, sending him rolling through the dirt as the crazed, blackened horse took off like hell itself down the road.<br/><br/>"Fucking pig shit whore of a horse..." he grumbled as he spat dirt from his mouth. Standing, he threw a rock angrily in the general direction of where it had run. His journey from his home was not starting anywhere near as the glorious adventure that it should have been. Kicking the dirt hard once more for good measure, he turned back and walked the ten or so yards to where the heavy saddlebags lay and tossed them over his shoulder. The freshly opened gash on his lower shoulder was freely bleeding, and earned a torn strip of his cloak wrapped around it.<br/><br/>Stepping off the road, he moved to sit in the shadow of a small grove of troplical looking trees. After such a battering, he deserved a few moments to recoup. The knife was kept in hand though, a warning to any passersby that he was armed and aware.