07-10-2017, 12:20 PM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel" rel="stylesheet"><div style="width: 550px; background: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/black-lozenge.png'); background-position: top; background-repeat: repeat; background-color: #999;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000000;border-radius: 100px 100px 0px 0px;"><div style="width: 540px; background: url('http://i.imgur.com/3WK1P4f.png'); padding-top: 10px; background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: #171717; box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000000;border-radius: 100px 100px 0px 0px;"><div style="font-family: 'Times', serif; color: #595959; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic;text-align: center;line-height: 10pt; margin-top: 350px; text-shadow:1px 1px 7px #000;">Through despair and hope, Through faith and love. Till we find our place, on the path unwinding. </div><div style="width:500px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px; padding: 10px;font-family: Times;color: #999;font-size: 12px; line-height: 140%; text-align: justify;border-right: 2px solid #5e5e5e;border-left: 2px solid #5e5e5e;border-radius: 20px 20px 0px 0px;">
Zenith is just trying to get comfortable. The stone he lays on, his favorite flat slab in the meadow, is drawing the warmth from his body more quickly than the sun will warm him. Yet, he remains. Curling up against the winter chill the red and gold lion rests his broad face against his paws and waits for spring... or a mare.
Whichever comes first.
But then, something changes. It starts with a darkening around the edges of his vision and a tingling in his toes. His stomach churns, his lungs are squeezed empty. And then, it ends with a whoosh and a swirl and nothing and darkness. His shoulders heave and a little mountain of kitty vomit is deposited neatly between his lion’s paws.
But at least his is standing on his own paws again. His ears stain as his eyes adjust and a chill passes down his spine in the unearthly stillness. It is as if a heavy, invisible, blanket of snow had dampened everything, including him. He takes a deep breath, but it does not satisfy his need of oxygen, he takes another and another but the air is too thin.
He glances around for a magician or even a god - someone is baiting him. Instead, he hears a growl. Any other time he would have taken the growl as a challenge and meet it bravely, but there is dark magic at work here.
He is strong, he has the heart of a lion, but he is not senseless.
So, Zenith runs.
...tries to.
There is a splitting pain in his skull, behind his eyes. But he had to move. Keeping low to the grounds, with heavy steps the lion makes his way for the mountain. The blood raging in his ears is nearly deafening, and his vision is painfully clear.
His empty stone bed seems like paradise now. Perspective is a funny thing.
</div><div style="font-family: 'Cinzel', serif; font-size: 30px; color: #999; line-height:30pt;margin-bottom: -8px; align:center; text-shadow: 1px 1px 20px #dfdfdf, 0px 0px 5px #2f2f2f; text-transform: uppercase;">ZENITH</div></center>
Zenith is just trying to get comfortable. The stone he lays on, his favorite flat slab in the meadow, is drawing the warmth from his body more quickly than the sun will warm him. Yet, he remains. Curling up against the winter chill the red and gold lion rests his broad face against his paws and waits for spring... or a mare.
Whichever comes first.
But then, something changes. It starts with a darkening around the edges of his vision and a tingling in his toes. His stomach churns, his lungs are squeezed empty. And then, it ends with a whoosh and a swirl and nothing and darkness. His shoulders heave and a little mountain of kitty vomit is deposited neatly between his lion’s paws.
But at least his is standing on his own paws again. His ears stain as his eyes adjust and a chill passes down his spine in the unearthly stillness. It is as if a heavy, invisible, blanket of snow had dampened everything, including him. He takes a deep breath, but it does not satisfy his need of oxygen, he takes another and another but the air is too thin.
He glances around for a magician or even a god - someone is baiting him. Instead, he hears a growl. Any other time he would have taken the growl as a challenge and meet it bravely, but there is dark magic at work here.
He is strong, he has the heart of a lion, but he is not senseless.
So, Zenith runs.
...tries to.
There is a splitting pain in his skull, behind his eyes. But he had to move. Keeping low to the grounds, with heavy steps the lion makes his way for the mountain. The blood raging in his ears is nearly deafening, and his vision is painfully clear.
His empty stone bed seems like paradise now. Perspective is a funny thing.
</div><div style="font-family: 'Cinzel', serif; font-size: 30px; color: #999; line-height:30pt;margin-bottom: -8px; align:center; text-shadow: 1px 1px 20px #dfdfdf, 0px 0px 5px #2f2f2f; text-transform: uppercase;">ZENITH</div></center>