Before you stands the Night Mare.  
Tall and black, she reaches 17 hands at the shoulder, her skin ripples like silk over the smooth muscles beneath it.  There is no white upon her unmarred body, and the only other colour upon her....
Is her mane.  Or rather, the fire that is her mane.  It flickers and flies in a non-existant wind, whipping around the Night Mare's head with careless abandon.  Her eye is a fiery red, either glaring at you with the wrath of Hades or wrapping you in its silken embrace.
Each footfall sounds like the dreadful toll of a bell, and her chilling whinny fills countless souls with terror and fear in their dreams.  The look in her eye brooks no argument; save time and agree with her, because the Night Mare is always right.
Oh, sorry.  Did you want to sleep tonight?
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