05-28-2016, 11:53 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Satisfy|Raleway:400,300,200' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.azaelback{position: relative;z-index: 5;width: 388px;height: 680px;box-shadow: 0 0 8px #000;background: url('http://i.imgur.com/yp0cmcW.png');padding-top: 20px;}.azaelwords{position: relative;z-index: 12;width: 240px;background: rgba(255,255,255,0.2);height: 250px;padding: 16px;font: 11px 'Raleway', sans-serif;color: #fff;overflow: auto;text-align: left;}.azaelwords::-webkit-scrollbar{width:1px;background:transparent;}.azaelname{position: relative;z-index: 16;font: 40px 'Satisfy', cursive;color: #000;text-align: left;padding-left: 30px;margin-top: 10px;text-shadow: 0 0 0.2em #fff;}.azaelquote{position: relative;z-index: 18;color: #bcf5fe;font: 18px 'Satisfy', cursive;font-style: italic;text-align: center;margin-top:300px;margin-bottom: -5px;}</style><center><div class="azaelbase"><div class="azaelback"><div class="azaelquote">until we go down</div><div class="azaelwords">Time ticked by in slow measure. How long had it been since he had issued his challenge? Only the gods who deigned to watch over these lands would have truly known, for each passing second had simply bled into the last for the dappled stud who remained there, frozen in place while he awaited the appearance of his rival. For such was Azael's way. Though his thoughts raced with possibilities, though his mind thrummed with accusations - coward, colt, unworthy worm - he was, as ever, cool on the surface. As smooth as an undisturbed pond. As steady as a glacier, unaffected by the changing seasons.
And then, finally. There he was. The painted brute of the forest lands. Tall of frame. Broad of form.
Silence. A pause. A nod from his opponent. And then, movement.
So their battle began.
Inward the painted brute drove and stoically did Azael continue to hold his ground. When the other male circled, so did Azael turn his form into that movement in an attempt to keep his opponent from entering that vulnerable blindspot directly behind his hindquarters. But that blindspot was never his target, no - or so the dappled stallion realized when the paint suddenly snaked into his side, muzzle aimed for the tender flesh of his underbelly.
There had been time for a retreat, for a sidestep, for some sort of a counter to lessen the impact of that well-placed blow. But no such retreat ever came. Why waste a perfectly good bit of proximity, after all?
So it was that Azael whipped his own skull about. So it was that he aimed a deep bite at the crest of Chem's neck. He would have preferred a taste of that soft throat, in truth, but the crest was a far more reasonable target at the moment, given their current positioning.
And when Chem disengaged, there was indeed a rip, a tearing of hide that left some of that meat beneath Azael's belly exposed, vulnerable. The wraith's silver pelt bloomed crimson.
But the pain went unnoticed for now, ignored, the adrenaline roaring through the male's veins keeping such things at bay for the moment.
And here is where their brutal dance turned to a frenzy of movement, the dirt swirling in a hazy cloud around them as Chem skittered away, as Azael swiveled about to position his body just so, placing the two studs rump to rump. But not too close. It wouldn't do to be too close now. For Azael knew that in their hindquarters rested their true strength, that raw driving power which served to propel their hulking frames.
And Azael fully intended to compromise that power for Chem... or at the very least, make a valiant attempt. So it was that, with all of his might, the Andalusian kicked out with both back hooves, aiming a strike that would hopefully connect with Chem's hind legs - specifically his hock(s), at that rather crucial joint.
Whether the blow connected or no, the dappled stag would then move once more. But instead of moving away, he would attempt to move toward his opponent until there was nothing but disdain between them. Too close for a return kick, but plenty close for another bite, if his opponent so chose to bestow another upon his hide.
Or at least that was the plan.
</div><div class="azaelname">Azael</div></div></center>
Summary:
And then, finally. There he was. The painted brute of the forest lands. Tall of frame. Broad of form.
Silence. A pause. A nod from his opponent. And then, movement.
So their battle began.
Inward the painted brute drove and stoically did Azael continue to hold his ground. When the other male circled, so did Azael turn his form into that movement in an attempt to keep his opponent from entering that vulnerable blindspot directly behind his hindquarters. But that blindspot was never his target, no - or so the dappled stallion realized when the paint suddenly snaked into his side, muzzle aimed for the tender flesh of his underbelly.
There had been time for a retreat, for a sidestep, for some sort of a counter to lessen the impact of that well-placed blow. But no such retreat ever came. Why waste a perfectly good bit of proximity, after all?
So it was that Azael whipped his own skull about. So it was that he aimed a deep bite at the crest of Chem's neck. He would have preferred a taste of that soft throat, in truth, but the crest was a far more reasonable target at the moment, given their current positioning.
And when Chem disengaged, there was indeed a rip, a tearing of hide that left some of that meat beneath Azael's belly exposed, vulnerable. The wraith's silver pelt bloomed crimson.
But the pain went unnoticed for now, ignored, the adrenaline roaring through the male's veins keeping such things at bay for the moment.
And here is where their brutal dance turned to a frenzy of movement, the dirt swirling in a hazy cloud around them as Chem skittered away, as Azael swiveled about to position his body just so, placing the two studs rump to rump. But not too close. It wouldn't do to be too close now. For Azael knew that in their hindquarters rested their true strength, that raw driving power which served to propel their hulking frames.
And Azael fully intended to compromise that power for Chem... or at the very least, make a valiant attempt. So it was that, with all of his might, the Andalusian kicked out with both back hooves, aiming a strike that would hopefully connect with Chem's hind legs - specifically his hock(s), at that rather crucial joint.
Whether the blow connected or no, the dappled stag would then move once more. But instead of moving away, he would attempt to move toward his opponent until there was nothing but disdain between them. Too close for a return kick, but plenty close for another bite, if his opponent so chose to bestow another upon his hide.
Or at least that was the plan.
</div><div class="azaelname">Azael</div></div></center>
Summary:
- Chem's bite connected, ripping away some of the hide from Azael's belly. He is now bleeding.
- Chem's retreat was successful.
- Attack 1: Azael attempts to bite the crest of Chem's neck when he's in close quarters.
- Attack 2: Azael then attempts to kick Chem in the hock(s) after Chem's retreat.
- Defense 1: After the kick, Azael presses in close in an attempt to keep Chem from returning fire, leaving himself vulnerable to more bites or what-have-you in the process. Feel free to determine the way he's facing based on the needs of your first attack.