Mock Battles
Beside the Challenge grounds is a smaller area designated for mocks. Battle is a way of life in the land of Beqanna, and one must be in top shape to succeed over their foes. This land is a land of practice, where knowledge and skill is gained and wounds are healed immediately after by a watchful battle fairy.
there is a house in new orleans, they call the rising sun;; nativity
IP: 74.229.43.107
Posted on June 10, 2008 at 11:14:17 AM by gullivan
The day was a perfect mix of summer and autumn, the heat dissipating elegantly into a cool breeze as the leaves began to turn colors on the trees that surrounded the mocking grounds. This battle was not a battle at all, but merely a mock between non-rival kingdoms in an attempt to sharpen the skills of both horses involved. He was from the Chamber, a place where any horse would rip the face off another for a shot at power and the was from the Amazons; from what he had heard the women of the jungle were fierce and wild at best, and ruthless at worst. He really had no idea what he was going to be faced with but as he paced himself toward the ring, he felt the cool wind come in from the north—perhaps his opponent would be so accustomed to the heat that this relative cold snap would slow her down. He knew it was wishful thinking as he took the time to stretch his legs on the beaten path, the late afternoon sky providing perfect light and the dry ground giving them perfect footing. The thin boy saw the clearing ahead and felt the familiar pump of adrenaline course through his body as he easily moved into a calm trot.
He was an Anglo-Arabian hybrid by blood but because of malnourishment, he lacked the muscle of most Thoroughbred crosses and instead sported minimal muscle in comparison to some of his contemporaries; he knew in the back of his mind that it left him open to greater injury if his bones were to be hit but there wasn’t much he could do. Instead, he was moderately tall so he used his height and speed to his advantage as much as he could. Standing around 15.2 hands high, he was average height for an Anglo-Arab but he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Nativity, the famed color changing mare of the Amazons stood just over 14 hands at the other edge of the field and he could have laughed if he wasn’t so focused. How on earth could he be frightened of a pony? He cracked no smiles, nor did he allow himself a chuckle but instead continued his easy trot around the ring and kept his dark eyes pinned on his pint sized opponent. Since this was only a mock there was no need for him to focus on really hurting her; although it wouldn’t be too horribly hard to do a good amount of damage even without meaning to. A kick to the shoulder could easily be displaced in a horse that small up to hit the neck, which would be a devastating blow. The trachea, the esophagus and the brachiocephliac muscle all were vulnerable spots on the neck, and that was ignoring the vertebrae. A strong kick to the vertebrae of a pony would most likely end in disaster; the cervical vertebrae would be cracked or even broken, leaving the head without any support and the spinal cord vulnerable.
But he wasn’t aiming for the shoulder.
No, he was going for the trunk of Nativity’s body for his first attack and there was a method to his madness—an injury to the intercostals and external abdominal obliques would no doubt [at the very least] cause a loss of breath. Loss of breath meant weaker stamina and, obviously, weaker stamina meant weaker attacks; it was the perfect initial attack and a favorite of the gaunt boy’s. He was no lion with the power to cut the jugular from the get-go, but rather he liked to exercise the mental strategies of battle. And so the Chamber boy broke his trot into the steady canter he had learned to perfect, his form circling her once before he broke the midfield point towards her. He was perpendicular to her body then, nose to barrel if he could have gotten close but he knew the jungle girl wouldn’t be standing still for him. He had his choice of kicking or rearing and, considering his chase, he decided to go with a rear—it took less time to set up than a buck and it enabled him to roll from the attack into his getaway without significant time wasted. The race was on then, his longer limbs giving him an obvious speed advantage over Nativity but it was an odd thing to rear while running—in fact, it was impossible without slowing down to collect himself. Keeping that in mind, he got himself ahead of her and then put on the brakes as he threw his weight back into his hindquarters before lifting his body up. If things went the way he wanted them to, she would displace his hooves back [because she was still moving] and he would end up hitting her ribs. He had deliberately placed himself forward for that reason but if she happened to veer off to the right, he would only end up clipping her shoulder. With that in mind, he let his hooves drop wherever they would and once he felt himself touch grass he was off at a steady canter around the field.
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