05-18-2018, 06:45 AM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Satisfy' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.gaerback{position: relative;z-index: 3;background: #413123;width: 480px;box-shadow: 0 0 6px #000;border-radius: 200px 200px 0px 0px;}.gaerpic{position: relative;z-index: 5;border-radius: 200px 200px 0px 0px;}.gaergrad{position: relative;z-index: 7;height: 140px;margin-top: -140px;background: rgba(65,49,35,0);
background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);
background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(65,49,35,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(65,49,35,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);
filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#413123', endColorstr='#413123', GradientType=0 );}.gaerwords{position: relative;z-index: 9;color: #8d4229;background: #413123;text-align: justify;padding: 20px;width: 420px;padding-bottom: 30px;}.gaername{position: relative;z-index: 12;color: #8d4229;font: 90px 'Satisfy', cursive;text-align: center;padding-center: 40px;margin-top: -50px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000;}.gaerquote{position: relative;z-index: 17;font: 22px 'Satisfy', cursive;font: 'Pegasus';color: #8d4229;}</style><center><div class="gaerback"><img class="gaerpic" src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3c/28/fd/3c28fd1f0e00b2ae3f5011a0fe221cf8--charlie-weasley-aesthetic-richard-madden.jpg"><div class="gaergrad"></div><div class="gaername">Belgaer</div><div class="gaerwords">
The battlefield stretched hungrily before him. Landing deftly upon the grassy plain he considered his place there. Although a skilled fighter, his interests tended to be more of the diplomatic sort. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to find himself there, opting to remain behind in Ischia while his father was away treating with the Nerinians. Brennen had need for him, however, and the ever-loyal son had been quick to comply. He stared across the battle worn patch of grass, his eyes easily finding his black appaloosa opponent. Pacing across the way, he could almost feel her nervous energy as she paced along the length of her side. The pending event did not faze him. Since the time he’d been able, Brennen had tirelessly trained him to be an accomplished warrior. Though he had since chosen a different path for his life, he was grateful for the lessons he’d learned.
Beneath his flesh he concentrated on the manipulation of his bones, allowing them to grow and stretch the sinew of his muscles. His was not a common gift, but he was grateful for it and the advantages it gave him.
From across the field, his opponent’s voice drifted into his ears. Her broken speech softened him a bit as he remembered his first mock battle. It was a nerve wracking experience but he sensed that she would do well.
<b> “Thank you, Traton,”</b> he returned with a nod. <b> “And good luck to you as well.”</b> The decision to keep his identity silent was for her sake. He feared that if she knew the truth of him her nerves would worsen.
The first move belonged to her, by luck of the draw. Timidly she turned to face him, slightly oriented at his left shoulder. Even at the distance that he stood, he caught sight of her inhale before she began her charge. Her eye contact never wavered as she continued towards him. Maintaining his position, he braced himself for the inevitability of her first attack. Teeth bared, and ears pinned she aimed towards his left shoulder, her neck stretching out to reach him. The anticipated touch of her teeth sent him side-stepping away just as she fell to her knees. Unexpected, the touch of her teeth upon his ankle sent a shot of pain through his limb and he kicked out in response, pulling his ankle from her grasp and aiming towards her jaw. With teeth of his own revealed he danced his limbs out of her reach and bent his neck to tear into her right wither.
Luckily for him, her bite hadn’t been enough to damage the vital tendons within his leg, but it had been strong enough to peel back a layer of skin. Hot blood trickled down his hoof-wall, staining the dirt beneath him a muddy red. He ignored the pain, however, as he peeled himself away from Traton, creating space between them to move. At her left side, he forced his weight onto his front legs and spun around, kicking out his hindlegs aimed toward the soft of her barrel. As he landed he threw himself into a lazy canter, turning himself to face her once more.
</div><div class="gaerquote">The Prodigal Son</div></div></center>
Word count: 530 according to Microsoft Word
background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);
background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(65,49,35,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(65,49,35,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(65,49,35,0) 0%, rgba(65,49,35,1) 100%);
filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#413123', endColorstr='#413123', GradientType=0 );}.gaerwords{position: relative;z-index: 9;color: #8d4229;background: #413123;text-align: justify;padding: 20px;width: 420px;padding-bottom: 30px;}.gaername{position: relative;z-index: 12;color: #8d4229;font: 90px 'Satisfy', cursive;text-align: center;padding-center: 40px;margin-top: -50px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000;}.gaerquote{position: relative;z-index: 17;font: 22px 'Satisfy', cursive;font: 'Pegasus';color: #8d4229;}</style><center><div class="gaerback"><img class="gaerpic" src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3c/28/fd/3c28fd1f0e00b2ae3f5011a0fe221cf8--charlie-weasley-aesthetic-richard-madden.jpg"><div class="gaergrad"></div><div class="gaername">Belgaer</div><div class="gaerwords">The battlefield stretched hungrily before him. Landing deftly upon the grassy plain he considered his place there. Although a skilled fighter, his interests tended to be more of the diplomatic sort. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to find himself there, opting to remain behind in Ischia while his father was away treating with the Nerinians. Brennen had need for him, however, and the ever-loyal son had been quick to comply. He stared across the battle worn patch of grass, his eyes easily finding his black appaloosa opponent. Pacing across the way, he could almost feel her nervous energy as she paced along the length of her side. The pending event did not faze him. Since the time he’d been able, Brennen had tirelessly trained him to be an accomplished warrior. Though he had since chosen a different path for his life, he was grateful for the lessons he’d learned.
Beneath his flesh he concentrated on the manipulation of his bones, allowing them to grow and stretch the sinew of his muscles. His was not a common gift, but he was grateful for it and the advantages it gave him.
From across the field, his opponent’s voice drifted into his ears. Her broken speech softened him a bit as he remembered his first mock battle. It was a nerve wracking experience but he sensed that she would do well.
<b> “Thank you, Traton,”</b> he returned with a nod. <b> “And good luck to you as well.”</b> The decision to keep his identity silent was for her sake. He feared that if she knew the truth of him her nerves would worsen.
The first move belonged to her, by luck of the draw. Timidly she turned to face him, slightly oriented at his left shoulder. Even at the distance that he stood, he caught sight of her inhale before she began her charge. Her eye contact never wavered as she continued towards him. Maintaining his position, he braced himself for the inevitability of her first attack. Teeth bared, and ears pinned she aimed towards his left shoulder, her neck stretching out to reach him. The anticipated touch of her teeth sent him side-stepping away just as she fell to her knees. Unexpected, the touch of her teeth upon his ankle sent a shot of pain through his limb and he kicked out in response, pulling his ankle from her grasp and aiming towards her jaw. With teeth of his own revealed he danced his limbs out of her reach and bent his neck to tear into her right wither.
Luckily for him, her bite hadn’t been enough to damage the vital tendons within his leg, but it had been strong enough to peel back a layer of skin. Hot blood trickled down his hoof-wall, staining the dirt beneath him a muddy red. He ignored the pain, however, as he peeled himself away from Traton, creating space between them to move. At her left side, he forced his weight onto his front legs and spun around, kicking out his hindlegs aimed toward the soft of her barrel. As he landed he threw himself into a lazy canter, turning himself to face her once more.
</div><div class="gaerquote">The Prodigal Son</div></div></center>
Word count: 530 according to Microsoft Word