05-28-2016, 12:23 PM
<center><style> #heynowuranallstar {background-image:url('http://i159.photobucket.com/albums/t139/anh1992111/spaceyspace_zpsoovipcdb.jpg'); width: 600px; padding:20px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px black; border: 2px solid black;} #heynowurarockstar {background-image:url('http://i.imgur.com/SPLrsaW.png'); height:536px; width:539px;} #imnotcrazy {background-color: rgba(200, 237, 255, 0.7); width: 560px; padding: 20px; margin-top: 25px; border: 2px black solid; box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px black; color: black; font-family: times; text-align: justify; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 12pt;} #imjustalittleunwell {font-size: 15pt; font-weight: 700; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 10pt; margin-top: 20px;}</style> <div id="heynowuranallstar"><div id="heynowurarockstar"></div> <div id="imnotcrazy">
His wounds are still semi-fresh from his last fight. His slow walk betrays his slight limp in his left shoulder. His scars still pink and beneath that coal black coat his muscles still bare the soreness that seems to not ever want to quit ailing him. Archam fought harder and better than he expected. Their sizes matches perfectly – both fit, both tenacious. Each fight teaches you something, or several things; things you can take with you when you meet another in battle.
His bitchy little bugle rings out and Chem lets out an unbridled laugh, moving obediently toward the beckon of a tiny war. He's pleased to arrive and find a finely built stallion, slightly smaller, steely color and stone-serious expression. Chem doesn't grin or laugh, he simply stares on from behind his forelock. His head falls, nods and rises again, he paws the ground and the battle begins.
Immediately his darts to the right, moving in a quick half circle and diving unpredictably toward the underbelly of his waiting opponent. It is an starter, a teaser, an invitation for more brutality. He finds what he can and holds on if he's able. He wants to <i>rip</i> him, the soft part just before the stifle. Rarely do things go as he plans so he'll be grateful for any piece of his dappled adversary. If he can manage to he will launch away with his grip still clenched, skittering away from any counter attacks (attempting to, anyhow).
Evening is settling on the snowy landscape. Bitter winds are moving in and with them come storms. Thickly falling snow is just north of them – a horse can smell the freeze on the air, the wet snowfall in the mountains. Chemdog silently hopes they'll be done by the time the heavy white cloud swallows them up.
<b>Summary:</b> He arrives and goes for his second favorite bitey spot, the soft flesh on the underbelly. Specifically the piece just before his stifle, but who knows if he will succeed. He wants to bite and rip away, but either way he moves off after his attack, moving only a couple feet away. [you can rp Chem facing him head on or with his back to him, depends on what attack you're going to do <3 up to you.] – <b>Words: 304 – Post I</b>
<center><div id="imjustalittleunwell">chemdog</div><div style="font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px;">astra inclinant, sed non obligant.</div></center></div></div></center>
His wounds are still semi-fresh from his last fight. His slow walk betrays his slight limp in his left shoulder. His scars still pink and beneath that coal black coat his muscles still bare the soreness that seems to not ever want to quit ailing him. Archam fought harder and better than he expected. Their sizes matches perfectly – both fit, both tenacious. Each fight teaches you something, or several things; things you can take with you when you meet another in battle.
His bitchy little bugle rings out and Chem lets out an unbridled laugh, moving obediently toward the beckon of a tiny war. He's pleased to arrive and find a finely built stallion, slightly smaller, steely color and stone-serious expression. Chem doesn't grin or laugh, he simply stares on from behind his forelock. His head falls, nods and rises again, he paws the ground and the battle begins.
Immediately his darts to the right, moving in a quick half circle and diving unpredictably toward the underbelly of his waiting opponent. It is an starter, a teaser, an invitation for more brutality. He finds what he can and holds on if he's able. He wants to <i>rip</i> him, the soft part just before the stifle. Rarely do things go as he plans so he'll be grateful for any piece of his dappled adversary. If he can manage to he will launch away with his grip still clenched, skittering away from any counter attacks (attempting to, anyhow).
Evening is settling on the snowy landscape. Bitter winds are moving in and with them come storms. Thickly falling snow is just north of them – a horse can smell the freeze on the air, the wet snowfall in the mountains. Chemdog silently hopes they'll be done by the time the heavy white cloud swallows them up.
<b>Summary:</b> He arrives and goes for his second favorite bitey spot, the soft flesh on the underbelly. Specifically the piece just before his stifle, but who knows if he will succeed. He wants to bite and rip away, but either way he moves off after his attack, moving only a couple feet away. [you can rp Chem facing him head on or with his back to him, depends on what attack you're going to do <3 up to you.] – <b>Words: 304 – Post I</b>
<center><div id="imjustalittleunwell">chemdog</div><div style="font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px;">astra inclinant, sed non obligant.</div></center></div></div></center>
