Raised in a far away Eastern land, Crousader's parents lived the high life as middle class herd members in an influential herd of cloud white wind soquili. Chivalry and war craft were risen to states of art, and both were performed with all due diligence and honor. Crousader, having been trained in these arts after being acknowledged by superiors as a foal, grew up with a firm set of values and a very real sense of his own place in the 'world.'

Over time, the herd hierarchy changed, and as a young Lieutenant in the herd's defense force, Crousader took the opportunity to explore the expanding territory that now included an isolated temple inhabited by curiously orange clad humans. There, he befriended a pair of young monks, and would often escape from his herd during his free time to relax and listen to the monks' prayers.

Eventually the herd grew too large for on small group to control, and in the resulting turmoil, Crousader (now a high ranking Captain ) and those loyal to him from his command (and their families who wished to come) took up residence around the sky high human temple where Crousader's old monk friends were now venerable sages and where the white horses of the sky were treated as God's own messengers.

The years passed, and Crousader reigned over his rapidly growing group with a fair hand, eventually forced to chase of the old herd he had split from when their political schemes threatened the peace of his own herd and the temple he had grown to love and admire. By now the temple had grown to include one entire mountain peak, and became known far and wide as the Sky Temple of the Sacred Cloudsteeds, renowned for it's glistening white spires and the herd of wind soquili that often visited and transported the sages on their frequent peaceful pilgrimages to the lower Feudal Kingdoms of Men.

But with fame there often follows misfortune, and as is the way of the world, fierce warriors from the west sought the Temple in the Sky, setting siege against the peaceful monks who did nothing more but prayer for their attacker's souls.

Frustrated by the extreme show of pacifism, the warriors.. led by a fierce red haired witchwoman of obvious magical merit... set fire to the temple and resolved themselves to lay low and wait.

As for the wind herd, Crousader had already begun the annual migration to the foaling grounds in the higher altitudes.. but an uneasiness on the wind and a dark feeling in his heart sent him wheeling away from his family and friends, straight into the jaws of a vicious trap. The woman had been uncertain at first of her ploy to literally 'smoke out' the wind soquili, but when the proud patriarch of the herd descended from the heavens and desperately sought his friends out of the smoking rubble, she smiled.

Her plan was simple and well laid out, Crousader never stood a chance against the swift paralyzing spell followed by five burly soldiers who hurriedly chained and dropped him to the ground, binding his wings so tightly against his side the thin bones fractured. Lacking the time to even cry out, he was forced inhale a herbal smoke that kept him numb and delirious... with his final vision of his homeland coming from the back of a rickety mule cart.

From there his memory grew dim and distorted, often plagued by nightmares of the resulting fires and the inevitable collapse of all he held dear. At times he had glimpses of his surroundings.. rolling countrysides, deep hardwood forests, and a biting cold that only worsened the fever he was slowly falling victim too. Finally someone took heed of his condition and he was treated soon enough to keep him from passing on.. though he wasn't sure if that was for the best.


Eventually the caravan he had found himself an unwilling guest of reached it's destination, and even Crousader.. long since desensitized to the ways of man, felt a creeping of fear in his heart as he glimpsed the great buildings of stone that towered over him... and in particular the massive stone dome directly ahead. Calling it a premonition, Crousader wasn't at all surprised to learn that the dome was his destination, and he resolved himself to give it everything he had when they pulled him off the cart.

The time came, but with a start he realized that the witchwoman was once again present, along with her spell, and he couldn't shake the paralysis no matter how aroused he became through sheer anger. Desperately he fought the bonds mentally as more dirty humans came forward and along with a pair of mules, dragged him from the cart and into the deep abyss of the Dome where they left him in a damp windowless cell.

The days seemed to go on forever, gradually bleeding together into one congealing mess of blood, humidity, and searing heat. Human attention was short lived, but brutal to the extreme since they had learned to fear him and his sharp hooves. Every once in awhile the witchwoman would appear, her eyes intent while her power swirled about and subdued him. These encounters would leave him shivering for hours after, with the aftershocks running through his body with alarming speed.

Then he came.

He was a young wraith of a boy, obviously starving and a slave, but then by this point so was Crousader... and he just couldn't bring himself to even consider sympathy for one of them. Yet the boy did intrigue him, as his behavior was quite unlike that of his masters. On multiple occasions he would sit patiently out of reach of Crousader's hooves, watching him, perhaps pushing a bit of his own meager dinner towards the stallion, but often he went just as hungry as the wind stallion. At first Crous would try to chase him off, but he eventually gave up in the face of the boy's persistence and his brave kindness. Months went by, and Crous stopped even acknowledging the boy's presence, even when the pale creature started sleeping in his pen to avoid the ire of his slave masters.

That changed though, when the boy's master's finally caught up with him.

The night had been as peaceful as the hell-pens got, and by the highest point in the moon even the loudest moaners had finally slumped off to sleep. Winter had set in, but despite the drop in temperature, the boy was still clothed in the scant garments of his caste. The relevancy of that would only come into play later when Crousader reflected upon the night's events.

Just past the midnight hour, and right after Crous had finally passed into his own nightmares, footsteps echoed hollowly down the line as a troop of guards formed up and prepared for their nightly walk-through. As usual, their racket woke the white stallion, so he paid particular attention to the sounds of their steps, waiting for that one particular guard who seemed to take a sick joy in waking the miserable creatures locked down here.

As predicted, the shouts and the roars started halfway to the stallion's stall, and with a heavy sigh, Crous brought himself to his feet and feigned sleep. The boy finally came awake, but instead of scurrying to the door and out to whatever rat's hole he usually hid in.. he remained, a fierce look on his face when he noticed the winged stallion standing.

"I'll get'm thi'ime, I pro'is" he mumbled, crouching near the door where the guard always stepped through too taunt the white wind. He had little to arm himself with, only a wooden bowl and a bent piece of iron he held two handed like a sword.

Shocked out of his masquerade by the boy's foolhardy courage, Crous's head came up just as the guard reached his door and opened it...

... then things happened to fast for Crous to process. The boy struck, and the guard yelled.. but then the boy yelled as the guard, bearing a bloody nose, attempted to pummel him into the ground of Crousader's cell. Another moment and the boy had wormed his way free, dodging the burly guard and running beeline for Crousader.

He was uncertain for but a moment, which for the boy was all to the good since the white stallion's eventual response was to attack the guard. Later he might wonder why he didn't take the opportunity to rid himself of two humans, but he supposed the pleasure of actually having a shot at the bothersome guard and his comrades who had also come pouring in was more then enough. That.. and maybe the boy wasn't so bothersome at a deep level. The guards were fearful of him, as well they should be, so it wasn't all the much trouble to rid himself of their presence, and for the boy... he was huddled at the back corner of the cell. Within reach, and now that the immediate threat had passed, fearful of him.

For a long moment the stallion regarded the boy, then without fanfare resumed his pose of false sleep, keeping his ears and half-lidded gaze trained on the door...

... and later that night, when the boy finally slept, Crousader had picked himself up and quietly levered himself down and around the tiny sleeping form. The chains binding him clanked and rattled mercilessly, but the boy slept on unawares.

Time wore on, and eventually Crousader came to rely on the boy. It had been a long time since human hands had carefully and gently unknotted his long white hair, or tended the many cuts and scrapes he had earned over the year spent in this prison. But he allowed the boy to tend to him now, and in return guarded him fiercely whenever the guards or the slave master revived their attempt to capture him. But such attempts eventually ceased altogether, and the pair were left in relative peace in the damp dungeon... with Crousader gradually growing stronger and stronger with both the boy's care, and a sudden increase in his rations.

That puzzle, however, resolved itself soon enough when the witchwoman returned... only this time she had words only for the boy... in a language Crous could not understand. His boy, however, seemed heartened by the woman's words, and that night he whispered to the white stallion of a promise of freedom, if only they could defeat a series of challengers to the Great Ring. The Great Ring was unknown to the stallion, but the boy appeared to know it well...and Crousader took heart from his Boy's optimism, and looked forward to the assigned day the Boy had marked in long stripes down the stone wall of the cell.

Finally the day came, and his Boy garbed himself in something other then rags for once... since the guards had left him a simple white robe and a rope to use as a belt. But for the Boy, what was most important were the pair of leather sandals also left for him, his first shoes ever! Which he happily told Crousader as he dressed.

As for Crous, they had left a few pieces of metal, and after clothing himself, Boy turned his attention to them, puzzling for a moment over their use before clapping his hands once in delight.

"For you!" he proclaimed, holding up a head shaped piece, which he then placed over his own head in demonstration before pointing at the stallion. Admittedly ill at ease with adding weight to his body when he wished to only be as light as possible so they could escape quickly, Crous stared dubiously at the helmet, but lowered his head anyway to allow the Boy to put it on him. Bands for his legs followed, along with a shining breast collar that had a small hand hold at his withers for the Boy to hold on to.

Stomping his foot, Crousader shook the rest of himself, assimilating the changes and preparing himself for the effort to come. Likewise, he missed the look of pride in the Boy's eyes, turning only in time to see the Boy hastily wipe his eyes and step towards him, laying a companionable hand on his shoulder.

"We'll show them." he whispered, his bright eyes fierce. Looking down on him, Crousader nodded once, shortly, startling the Boy with his comprehension, before swiftly bending one knee and extending a wing to balance himself, obviously inviting the Boy to ride. If the Boy had any doubt in his heart about mounting such a creature, he showed none of it; springing lightly forward, he positioned himself in such a sway so as not to impede the big white wings, and buried his hands in Crousader's mane.

Once he was settled, the white stallion started forward, where the guards opened the gate and motioned for them to proceed down the dark corridor... where a shining portcullis met them, barring them from a perfectly symmetrical oval of gleaming white sand.

They could not see across the other side clearly, but Crousader thought he could make out the imposing shape of three other gates, cut similarly to the one he and the boy where behind. He pondered the implications of this, before he noted once very disturbing fact a little higher up...

The Great Ring... had a roof.

Panic gripped him, and he turned to look back at the boy, wondering if this was a recent development he hadn't known about, but the boy only pat his shoulder and nodded fiercely. "We'll be free, but not out of this Ring. Too strong." He said, obviously having followed the stallion's gaze and divined his thoughts. Crous, for his part, only snorted once and turned to look back at the sand beyond the gate, just in time for the great metal bars to slowly rise on well oiled hinges.

Rearing back, he half spread his wings, (as much as the narrow corridor would allow) and bounced out of the gate, landing in the deep sand where he finally let his wings out fully, flaring them wide as he reared up and trumpeted a rebellious whinny to the stands of two-leggers who now rose to their feet and cheered. Unknown, but not forgotten, the boy ignored the crowds, whispering only to the stallion. "Be easy, we fight what comes, beat it, and leave this place a few times.. then red woman let us go."

Flicking an ear back, Crous acknowledged this by settling all four feet to the earth, where he stood quietly, blue eyes intense beneath the shinning helm as he watched the portcullis across from them rise.


What was beyond it fell to the sands of time, as did it's followers for a full two years. Crousader and his Boy were rightfully feared and revered by the people of the cruel society that had taken them prisoner and made them slaves to their sadistic and malevolent ways. And their promised freedom.. never came.

The Boy never lost hope, but Crousader felt the cruel bite of hope once again being dashed on the rocks as he never felt the cruel whips of the beastmasters when they insisted on fitting him for newer armor. The Boy was never far from him though, and would often step in and take a fair share of the beatings himself, begging the stallion to stop fighting them...

...reminding him everyday that while they were alive, hope for escape still existed.

...Funny how life works.

Four years of fighting, mauling, and killing... Crousader lost his boy to the very woman who had promised them both freedom.

She was a swift shadow in the dark, arriving at their improved cells which now sported straw for both of them to sleep on but little else, and whispered to the Boy in that unknown language of hers. He woke witha start, and went to her, whispering only that she must be here to tell them how they would escape...

Crous never saw his boy alive again, but he could smell the blood from outside the heavy door, and he heard the strangled gasp as she killed him. But what hurt the most was that even right before his death, his boy had only hope for freedom.

Crousader took that with him as he heard his boy take his last breath, and resolved to free himself, and his Boy's spirit. Carrying him with him forever when he finally took to the skies again.



In a cruel twist of fate, the witchwoman later proved to be the only human capable of controlling the white stallion's rage, and she rode him daily into the Great Ring to face the poor wretches pulled from this cruel city's prison and set into the colosseum with only the clothes on their backs, and long-swords commoners were never allowed to learn how to use.

Daily, Crousader made every attempt to kill her, and daily she added another piece of skin from his hide to her collection.

Until finally he met his match in an opponent other then her, and they both faced the Dragon Myrrdin in the Great Ring.