09-15-2015, 09:57 PM
Warship
Hybrid (Welsh Pony/Arabian/Mustang)
15.1hh
Black
Nubian Ibex horns
<style type="text/css">.container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 455px; /*frame width*/ padding: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; background: #000202; /*background color*/border: 2px solid #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 30px #800000; border-radius: 15px; /*border size, style, and color*/}.container p {margin: 0;}.image {border: 1px solid #000; /*image border size, style, and color*/} .message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; /*message font size and face*/padding: 15px 0; padding-bottom: 0px; color: #fff; /*message font color*/}.name {text-align: center;font: 30px 'Times New Roman', serif; /*name font size and face*/color: #800000; /*message font color*/padding: 0;}.quote {text-align: center;font: 14px 'Times New Roman', serif; /*quote font size and face*/font-style: italic;color: #800000; /*quote font color*/padding: 0;}</style><center><div class="container"><p class="quote">i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell</p><p class="message">
It had been quite some time since he’d been on the battle field. The smells, the sounds. It was all home to him, at least as close as anything could come to home aside from the Chamber. It was somewhat overcast and the sky threatened a far off spring storm. No matter, better even without the sun beating down on them. He’d trotted and cantered his way here, thus warming his muscles up adequately. No need for running around the battle field and wasting precious energy. He saw his adversary in the distance, a gray winged stallion. Go figure, someone else in the Chamber made trouble and he was here to sweep up the pieces.
With a snort he headed towards the tundra man at a trot, his neck arched and his gait collected. His breathing was controlled and his eyes were trained only on his challenger. Atop his head the impressive horns were, curved backwards and ending in somewhat lethal points. The gap was closing quickly between the stallions, and Warship kept coming at a slight angle to the right, putting himself barely on the left side of Hurricane instead of straight on. When there were perhaps twenty yards left to go he pushed into a controlled lope, just enough to give himself more momentum to execute his attacks. Three strides, and then two, and finally one. At the last possible moment the black stallion threw his weight onto his haunches, slamming them into the earth and controlling the slide with his front legs. With a snarl he threw his head to the left, the brunt of his horns aiming for the others jaw line and throat latch area. Given the manner of his stop, his head was already in the air, it was just a matter of tossing it to the left. The jaw was a terrible place to be struck in battle. The jaw was responsible for grinding grass, and grass was food. No food meant death. Though his horns would certainly be different than the blunt force of a hoof, it would still be painful to chew. A puncture to the throat latch area could be even more detrimental. The throat latch area was where all movement of the head started, not to mention the jugular vein that ran along the very bottom of the area. But with any attack, the attacked had escape options. If Hurricane were to fling his head away to the right (Hurricanes right) then the horns could possibly catch lower on the neck, into the thicker muscles. Even here the neck would most certainly be sore, thus making certain battle movements difficult to execute. The gray could also rear up and avoid the attack completely, maybe only getting a scratch for his troubles.
Warship didn’t wait to see what happened. From his position he was already balanced over his haunches, the majority of his weight setting on his hocks. From the position it was somewhat easy for him to follow the momentum of his head and rear, striking out violently with his front legs. His ultimate aim was the point of the shoulder. The shoulder was an important mechanism for a battling horse. It controlled the entirety of the leg below it, and if it were compromised, so was the rest of the leg. Though there were several large muscle groups to shield the lower portion of the shoulder, the point of the shoulder lay somewhat exposed. Blunt hooves meeting bone would be painful, if not crippling. Though a true break was unlikely, there was the possibility of chips and bruising. Bone bruises were extremely painful, and no doubt Hurricane would be compromised throughout the rest of the battle should Warship hit home. As always though, there were escape routes. Hurricane could possibly dart forward, taking the blow to his barrel. While that would be painful for sure, it wouldn’t be nearly as serious as the shoulder. Ribs could possibly be bruised thus hindering breathing, but for the post part Warships hooves would simply follow the downward plane of the ribs and slide off mostly harmlessly. Or the winged stallion could wheel to his extreme right and avoid the blow completely. Warship wasn’t sure of what the gray’s wings could do, but he could perhaps even take to the sky and avoid the blow. But where’s the fun in that, right? Either way Warship didn’t wait around, and as soon as his hooves met solid earth he pushed himself away to his own right as best as he could, given his assumed landing position. Either way he was somewhat clear of the other stallion, waiting impatiently for the battle to wane on.
<p class="name">warship</p></p><img class="image" src="http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah311/broken3989/warship_zps46q2u5th.gif"></div></center>
Hybrid (Welsh Pony/Arabian/Mustang)
15.1hh
Black
Nubian Ibex horns
<style type="text/css">.container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 455px; /*frame width*/ padding: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; background: #000202; /*background color*/border: 2px solid #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 30px #800000; border-radius: 15px; /*border size, style, and color*/}.container p {margin: 0;}.image {border: 1px solid #000; /*image border size, style, and color*/} .message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; /*message font size and face*/padding: 15px 0; padding-bottom: 0px; color: #fff; /*message font color*/}.name {text-align: center;font: 30px 'Times New Roman', serif; /*name font size and face*/color: #800000; /*message font color*/padding: 0;}.quote {text-align: center;font: 14px 'Times New Roman', serif; /*quote font size and face*/font-style: italic;color: #800000; /*quote font color*/padding: 0;}</style><center><div class="container"><p class="quote">i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell</p><p class="message">
It had been quite some time since he’d been on the battle field. The smells, the sounds. It was all home to him, at least as close as anything could come to home aside from the Chamber. It was somewhat overcast and the sky threatened a far off spring storm. No matter, better even without the sun beating down on them. He’d trotted and cantered his way here, thus warming his muscles up adequately. No need for running around the battle field and wasting precious energy. He saw his adversary in the distance, a gray winged stallion. Go figure, someone else in the Chamber made trouble and he was here to sweep up the pieces.
With a snort he headed towards the tundra man at a trot, his neck arched and his gait collected. His breathing was controlled and his eyes were trained only on his challenger. Atop his head the impressive horns were, curved backwards and ending in somewhat lethal points. The gap was closing quickly between the stallions, and Warship kept coming at a slight angle to the right, putting himself barely on the left side of Hurricane instead of straight on. When there were perhaps twenty yards left to go he pushed into a controlled lope, just enough to give himself more momentum to execute his attacks. Three strides, and then two, and finally one. At the last possible moment the black stallion threw his weight onto his haunches, slamming them into the earth and controlling the slide with his front legs. With a snarl he threw his head to the left, the brunt of his horns aiming for the others jaw line and throat latch area. Given the manner of his stop, his head was already in the air, it was just a matter of tossing it to the left. The jaw was a terrible place to be struck in battle. The jaw was responsible for grinding grass, and grass was food. No food meant death. Though his horns would certainly be different than the blunt force of a hoof, it would still be painful to chew. A puncture to the throat latch area could be even more detrimental. The throat latch area was where all movement of the head started, not to mention the jugular vein that ran along the very bottom of the area. But with any attack, the attacked had escape options. If Hurricane were to fling his head away to the right (Hurricanes right) then the horns could possibly catch lower on the neck, into the thicker muscles. Even here the neck would most certainly be sore, thus making certain battle movements difficult to execute. The gray could also rear up and avoid the attack completely, maybe only getting a scratch for his troubles.
Warship didn’t wait to see what happened. From his position he was already balanced over his haunches, the majority of his weight setting on his hocks. From the position it was somewhat easy for him to follow the momentum of his head and rear, striking out violently with his front legs. His ultimate aim was the point of the shoulder. The shoulder was an important mechanism for a battling horse. It controlled the entirety of the leg below it, and if it were compromised, so was the rest of the leg. Though there were several large muscle groups to shield the lower portion of the shoulder, the point of the shoulder lay somewhat exposed. Blunt hooves meeting bone would be painful, if not crippling. Though a true break was unlikely, there was the possibility of chips and bruising. Bone bruises were extremely painful, and no doubt Hurricane would be compromised throughout the rest of the battle should Warship hit home. As always though, there were escape routes. Hurricane could possibly dart forward, taking the blow to his barrel. While that would be painful for sure, it wouldn’t be nearly as serious as the shoulder. Ribs could possibly be bruised thus hindering breathing, but for the post part Warships hooves would simply follow the downward plane of the ribs and slide off mostly harmlessly. Or the winged stallion could wheel to his extreme right and avoid the blow completely. Warship wasn’t sure of what the gray’s wings could do, but he could perhaps even take to the sky and avoid the blow. But where’s the fun in that, right? Either way Warship didn’t wait around, and as soon as his hooves met solid earth he pushed himself away to his own right as best as he could, given his assumed landing position. Either way he was somewhat clear of the other stallion, waiting impatiently for the battle to wane on.
<p class="name">warship</p></p><img class="image" src="http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah311/broken3989/warship_zps46q2u5th.gif"></div></center>