[kiwipen]

Owner:
Show Name:
Barn Name:
Gender: Stallion
Age:
Height:
Halter Colour:
Pearl Colour:
Story:


mark with idk, a warhorse, something with a dark story, someone who's always moving forward despite hardship, etc.

[little_light]

EDIT: wow, I am amazed at peoples backstories, I am just going to spectate this now!

[shanne]

Curse of the Land Beneath || Arjuna
stallion // 108 years old // 18.3hh

Arjuna was a war horse. He possessed the best qualities any rider would have wanted in a war horse; he was obedient, courageous, strong, tireless. Nothing could scare him away from a battle — no sword, no fire, no matter how fierce the opponent may be. He faced his enemies head-on. During battle, his heart burns for a good fight, and his rider’s desire to win fuels his stamina. He has an impeccable intuition; he is able to feel his rider, as well as read situations well, and countless times, he saved his riders from dangerous fights that may very well have left them dead.

Everyone loved Arj, as well as his proud owner and rider, Gideon. Gideon was born to be a fighter. He was gifted in martial arts, and has never once lost a fight. Ever since he surpassed his master at the age of 18, he joined the front lines of the army. As a parting gift, his master presented Gideon with a young horse, which was a foal of his own horse. His master had already named it Arjuna, because, as he explained it, “Arjuna is Hindi for ‘shining’, and when I saw how his eyes shone like fire, I knew I must give him this name."

Arj and Gideon grew very close. They hung out every day, just eating, playing, even sleeping together sometimes. Gideon loved Arj very much, and decided that he would make something unique for him, as a sign of how much they’ve been through together. And thus, whenever Gideon went hunting, he started collecting bones. Slowly, he crafted them into armour for his beloved horse. After about a year or so, he completed his masterpiece. It was a custom, handcrafted bone armour made specially for Arj.

But never did Gideon know, that he would have to don his own armour so soon. In the following year, enemies ambushed their village, and they went to war. It was a particularly hot day as well, due to the unforeseen drought that crawled upon them. Both parties fought so viciously, the battle ground unknowingly inched closer to a volcano nearby. It was thought that the volcano was dormant, as it had not erupted for as long as the village’s construction. However, amidst the war cries, lava was bubbling away underneath the earth.

It was at the crux of the war, when both parties had suffered enough casualties, that the volcano erupted. It rained fire. The warriors started running for their lives, not caring about their enemies, but just making sure they had a clear path to safety. Everything around them started catching on fire, due to the heat and dry air. As for Arj and Gideon, they were in the middle of the chaos. The weaker forces had started to break away, but there were some relentless ones that persisted in the fight. They made use of the fire around them, throwing torches and anything that could catch on fire. A torch had caught Gideon on the arm, and Arj’s mane and tail caught fire. To save his horse, Gideon quickly jumped off, and while calming Arj, tried to get him to roll on the ground, and at the same time, grabbing his saddle blanket to beat off the flames. Arj was fine, except for a few scars and burnt skin, but lost his mane and tail.

However, some enemies saw an advantage when Gideon got off his horse. After the commotion, they ambushed him, separating him from his horse. Arj, becoming confused in the chaos, searched and called out for his beloved owner, but to no avail.

To this day, Arj and Gideon remain missing. No one knew where they went, nor could their bodies be found. The villagers made memorials for them at the now dormant volcano, to remember them for their bravery in trying to protect their village, as well as to remember the close relationship that they had. Some villagers reportedly saw a dark shadow with shining armour near the volcano, but no one dared to go near enough to investigate.

[vak]

Owner: ɴᴏᴠᴀᴋ
Show Name: Charred are the Remains of a Wartorn Soul
Barn Name: Blas-Jäger
Gender: Stallion
Age: 11 years
Height: 16.3 hh
Name meaning: Blas and Jäger, both of German origin, roughly translate to mean "firebrand", and "hunter".
Story: Scars are a physical tale, they tell of hardships past and the strength possessed by their bearer all without a single word spoken. A silent telling of otherwise unachievable history. There is no limit nor set rules for them - some are extensive and gruesome with stories brief, others barely hardly noticeable with stories long winded, easily dismissible unless directly pointed out, yet all are exclusive to their individual. Origins can vary greatly as almost anything can leave a scar in it's wake. And as you'd expect, select beings display more telltale scars than their brethren.
Jäger falls into line with the wartorn category, believe it or not. His are not mental scars, though he does bear a few lacerations there as well. No, the majority of his battle scars are physical, hiding in plain sight. Beneath the prominent, knobbly pink stretch of skin deep scars cutting across his body lies a physical deception. It's fooled many who have yet to hear the truth, don't fret, for this is written in the scars;

War - it permeated the land and plagued it's people, transforming their lives into a waking nightmare. The only escape was death. Each side stood true to their arms, unwavering and set on claiming the victory teasing just beyond their reach. At their disposal were both machine and animal alike, both able to strike a pang of fear into their opposer with the slightest of glances. This land, with it's clash of superior technology and unnatural animals, functioned in the manner of our medieval era, complete with knighthood and kingdoms, yet proved to surpass such menial times in area of intellect. Instead of struggle they excelled, trumping the first era. And with the newfound superiority, they made advances to nearly everything once recognized by the human race - animals included. War machines moved on two legs, swift as any car manufactured in the before time yet more durable than a tank with the capability to retract into itself for efficient storage, all controlled with the slightest hand gesture. Animals mostly became genetic fusions, all specially formed and recreate-able in any lab, each species tailored to an occupation. Few, a very select few, species remained intact and untouched. Among them was the Khimaira. Admittedly, some exclusive breeding was implemented in order to achieve a more acceptable war horse, but the genetics felt no impact of intense science inside a lab, simple breeding up to a certain point.
A limited amount of animals saw the battlefield beyond a certain beginning time, before it took the turn to arms phase. Yet one of the first steps laid was that of a Khimaira - not Jäger. Another face lost to time, unimportant to this story. Jäger's time came later underneath a rookie's guide. They were a fresh pair together, perfect in functionality on paper, a practised mount with a new recruit. Textbook, really. Their fluidity was choppy at best, the young person seated too deep in the saddle being overly forceful to the gently guided mount, but more important matters coaxed the attention of the commanders away from some face with too much pressure on the reins. They were lost to the background as the forces advanced and battle commenced, the crash of shield and weapon becoming their waking call.
Our day - the one that became the turning point for the entire clash of arms - comes in now, young months into the raging brawl. The sun had yet to peak the hills before the night watch arrived in urgency to report to the commanding officer, the opposers had upped their ante. From metallic melee to short ranged explosives. Troops were roused from "sleep" and ordered out into the awaiting chaos. Flames tall as any man licked high into the sky in near circular patches all across the stretch of barren land separating the opposing sides, with more springing from the very ground every second. They formed jagged maze-like paths that appeared near impossible to navigate under any circumstance. As luck would have it, Jäger and his rider were among those whisked out into that mess.
The pace set was a full sprint through the flaming towers, and so they followed; Jäger gathering himself instinctively and following the set example even as his brothers crumbled at his feet, shrieks of aid ringing dully into his ears. He twisted and leapt as he barreled forward, paying half a mind to his rider's seating during the fast paced tumble for the sole fact of needing him to aid his cause. Unintentionally, his strides tore the already horribly disfigured ground up and slung massive amounts of dirt in varying directions, dousing little sections of firewall as he went. In the moment, the fact of their charging the path as leader nor their short solution to the pillars of flames registered to either of the two - their minds were focused onto more pressing matters. In their wake followed reinforcements, mimicking the example they'd delivered. In the time it took for Jäger to haphazardly navigate the fire maze, his rider appeared to have recognized the approaching moment in which he'd be of great need. The young man straightened his posture and readied his weapon with his jaw set, leaning in the slightest over Jäger's neck as he prepared for the inevitable impact of a melee fracas. The rider's nerves still showed themselves to Jäger, but were greatly muted in the midst of the crossfire.
A crash - a clang of a forceful strike with metal onto it's own kind - resounded into Jäger's poised ears while he and his rider fought to maneuver in a proper manner among the crowded form of their opposers' bodies. An unspoken but clearly taught method of cooperating stayed with them each where the mount paused their feet for not a second and the rider never hesitated their dutiful attack, their combined actions both cutting down enemies while avoiding being cut down themselves during the push into their ranks. And so, on they pushed; Jäger more or less oblivious to his rider's status other than his being somewhat alive given the jostling on the hard leather saddle. Quick into the push, the noise of shattering glass and growl of consuming flames joined into the metallic scrapes and bangs, along with that came unwelcome heat to the already hellish conditions.
For how long the offensive maneuver went on, and how far the level of weapon severity on each side grew, no one truly kept track, but the escalation was noticeable. It can be presumed over hours, during which the pillars of fire died out and were replaced numerous times, that the boundary line was driven back several miles, with Jäger and his rider carving the path all the while. Losses were totalling on each side, specifically the opposers playing defense. The outcome was becoming clearer with each passing minute.
So clear, in fact, that desperation became apparent in the actions of the gradually retreating force. They fell back fast and blocked advance with their fire pillars, tossing bottles that sprung them in their wake in hope of pulling off a short escape. The flames didn't hold for long, with a combination of rapid kicking of dirt and a few high leaps of the remaining Khimairas, the obstacle was overcome and victory once again came into the grasp of the offensive side. Desperation clouded the humid air thickly, making it hard to even swallow around the embers lifting off into the afternoon sky, and so it was acted upon. It took only one retreating soldier to glance behind himself and toss the bottled fire at the pounding hooves of the fast approaching Khimaira for the great beasts to finally meet their match. More joined into the newfound method of aiming towards the beasts before any that remained living on that battlefield went up in flames - Jäger included.
Abandoning their riders in a last ditch effort to save themselves, the large horses flailed recklessly before charging back into their own ranks, no thought of the soldiers there being in the way as they were barreled through. Jäger too felt the need to follow suit, but had no opportunity to do so. He came upon the troops too soon to round himself and flee, his rider had already dismounted and began to fend off the few attacks he could. Jäger, panic-stricken, continued on blindly in a rampage before being actually blinded by a sea of blackness.

Awakening possibly was the worst mistake of Jäger's existence. With nostrils reeling in white ash and stinging without mercy, the equine blinked until focus came to his eyes. His ears met a ringing quiet, just as loud as he remembered the battle to be. Beneath him, the ground was still warm and unpleasantly jagged, yet he found he could not move. Every breath brought him pain, that was evident soon, but his instinct urged a physical response to the situation. Mind clashed with body on the proper reaction and though a good argument was put forth for both cases, the winner remained body. He lay there, from what he could tell still on the battlefield, yet without a battle in sight. No noise originated from him either - silent and still as the dead. The ground, crisp from the flame and it's burning, emitted quiet cracks and puffs of ash as a figure approached. If it were not overpowered by the ache, fear would have caught him firmly at that instant as the low floating smoke parted to reveal a face not familiar to him. Upon a connection of their eyes, the human's face broke a sad smile. It called back to where it came and approached him cautiously, grimacing slightly as it knelt next to his head, mumbling gentle words at him, more of his kind appearing from the haze.
Jäger had suffered second degree burns from the fire that had nearly claimed his life. They concentrated mostly towards his legs but did manage to deal damage much higher up than that, intermingling with previously won scars nicely. On the up side, his coat managed to recover from the blow after nearly a year of treatment, disguising a majority of the unattractive scars in a noticeably thinner and grayer layer of hair. Two things unsalvageable from the flame were his mane and tail, unfortunately, but that also has an upside. Due to the recognition of his bravery on the field, Jäger became the face of the war - a mascot if you will. He donned specially crafted machinery designed as unique armor which cast a preprogrammed hologram fire in the place of the lost hair to represent the hardship he and his fellow soldiers endured. To the forces, he became a sign of fortitude spurring along the movement for their cause even when the moral sunk low. What's more, his name was given an honorary addition to itself, then becoming Blas-Jäger - the firebranded hunter of victory due to the inspiration of his scars' story striking within his soldiers' hearts a new drive to win. And though he never stepped foot onto a battlefield beyond that point, Blas-Jäger went down into the legends as the best soldier of the time.
So yes, a scar can tell a tale you'd never expect, whether it be long or short, gruesome or not, there’s always more than what meets the eye, especially so when not everything is blatantly shown to the common vision, but it isn't the story nor the appearance which makes the scar worthwhile, it's the acceptance of it's bearer who displays it without negative thought toward the origin, for it's they who make the scar, not they who the scar makes.

wordcount: 1,943

[little_light]

wow, I am blown away at the amazing backstories I am now just going to spectate. Good luck to all of you!! :D

[ABeardedDragon]

So I took a while to read over everyone's forms and I wanted to say I loved all of them;
but congrats to novak! c:

Owner: ɴᴏᴠᴀᴋ
Show Name: Charred are the Remains of a Wartorn Soul
Barn Name: Blas-Jäger
Gender: Stallion
Age: 11 years
Height: 16.3 hh
Name meaning: Blas and Jäger, both of German origin, roughly translate to mean "firebrand", and "hunter".
Story: Scars are a physical tale, they tell of hardships past and the strength possessed by their bearer all without a single word spoken. A silent telling of otherwise unachievable history. There is no limit nor set rules for them - some are extensive and gruesome with stories brief, others barely hardly noticeable with stories long winded, easily dismissible unless directly pointed out, yet all are exclusive to their individual. Origins can vary greatly as almost anything can leave a scar in it's wake. And as you'd expect, select beings display more telltale scars than their brethren.
Jäger falls into line with the wartorn category, believe it or not. His are not mental scars, though he does bear a few lacerations there as well. No, the majority of his battle scars are physical, hiding in plain sight. Beneath the prominent, knobbly pink stretch of skin deep scars cutting across his body lies a physical deception. It's fooled many who have yet to hear the truth, don't fret, for this is written in the scars;

War - it permeated the land and plagued it's people, transforming their lives into a waking nightmare. The only escape was death. Each side stood true to their arms, unwavering and set on claiming the victory teasing just beyond their reach. At their disposal were both machine and animal alike, both able to strike a pang of fear into their opposer with the slightest of glances. This land, with it's clash of superior technology and unnatural animals, functioned in the manner of our medieval era, complete with knighthood and kingdoms, yet proved to surpass such menial times in area of intellect. Instead of struggle they excelled, trumping the first era. And with the newfound superiority, they made advances to nearly everything once recognized by the human race - animals included. War machines moved on two legs, swift as any car manufactured in the before time yet more durable than a tank with the capability to retract into itself for efficient storage, all controlled with the slightest hand gesture. Animals mostly became genetic fusions, all specially formed and recreate-able in any lab, each species tailored to an occupation. Few, a very select few, species remained intact and untouched. Among them was the Khimaira. Admittedly, some exclusive breeding was implemented in order to achieve a more acceptable war horse, but the genetics felt no impact of intense science inside a lab, simple breeding up to a certain point.
A limited amount of animals saw the battlefield beyond a certain beginning time, before it took the turn to arms phase. Yet one of the first steps laid was that of a Khimaira - not Jäger. Another face lost to time, unimportant to this story. Jäger's time came later underneath a rookie's guide. They were a fresh pair together, perfect in functionality on paper, a practised mount with a new recruit. Textbook, really. Their fluidity was choppy at best, the young person seated too deep in the saddle being overly forceful to the gently guided mount, but more important matters coaxed the attention of the commanders away from some face with too much pressure on the reins. They were lost to the background as the forces advanced and battle commenced, the crash of shield and weapon becoming their waking call.
Our day - the one that became the turning point for the entire clash of arms - comes in now, young months into the raging brawl. The sun had yet to peak the hills before the night watch arrived in urgency to report to the commanding officer, the opposers had upped their ante. From metallic melee to short ranged explosives. Troops were roused from "sleep" and ordered out into the awaiting chaos. Flames tall as any man licked high into the sky in near circular patches all across the stretch of barren land separating the opposing sides, with more springing from the very ground every second. They formed jagged maze-like paths that appeared near impossible to navigate under any circumstance. As luck would have it, Jäger and his rider were among those whisked out into that mess.
The pace set was a full sprint through the flaming towers, and so they followed; Jäger gathering himself instinctively and following the set example even as his brothers crumbled at his feet, shrieks of aid ringing dully into his ears. He twisted and leapt as he barreled forward, paying half a mind to his rider's seating during the fast paced tumble for the sole fact of needing him to aid his cause. Unintentionally, his strides tore the already horribly disfigured ground up and slung massive amounts of dirt in varying directions, dousing little sections of firewall as he went. In the moment, the fact of their charging the path as leader nor their short solution to the pillars of flames registered to either of the two - their minds were focused onto more pressing matters. In their wake followed reinforcements, mimicking the example they'd delivered. In the time it took for Jäger to haphazardly navigate the fire maze, his rider appeared to have recognized the approaching moment in which he'd be of great need. The young man straightened his posture and readied his weapon with his jaw set, leaning in the slightest over Jäger's neck as he prepared for the inevitable impact of a melee fracas. The rider's nerves still showed themselves to Jäger, but were greatly muted in the midst of the crossfire.
A crash - a clang of a forceful strike with metal onto it's own kind - resounded into Jäger's poised ears while he and his rider fought to maneuver in a proper manner among the crowded form of their opposers' bodies. An unspoken but clearly taught method of cooperating stayed with them each where the mount paused their feet for not a second and the rider never hesitated their dutiful attack, their combined actions both cutting down enemies while avoiding being cut down themselves during the push into their ranks. And so, on they pushed; Jäger more or less oblivious to his rider's status other than his being somewhat alive given the jostling on the hard leather saddle. Quick into the push, the noise of shattering glass and growl of consuming flames joined into the metallic scrapes and bangs, along with that came unwelcome heat to the already hellish conditions.
For how long the offensive maneuver went on, and how far the level of weapon severity on each side grew, no one truly kept track, but the escalation was noticeable. It can be presumed over hours, during which the pillars of fire died out and were replaced numerous times, that the boundary line was driven back several miles, with Jäger and his rider carving the path all the while. Losses were totalling on each side, specifically the opposers playing defense. The outcome was becoming clearer with each passing minute.
So clear, in fact, that desperation became apparent in the actions of the gradually retreating force. They fell back fast and blocked advance with their fire pillars, tossing bottles that sprung them in their wake in hope of pulling off a short escape. The flames didn't hold for long, with a combination of rapid kicking of dirt and a few high leaps of the remaining Khimairas, the obstacle was overcome and victory once again came into the grasp of the offensive side. Desperation clouded the humid air thickly, making it hard to even swallow around the embers lifting off into the afternoon sky, and so it was acted upon. It took only one retreating soldier to glance behind himself and toss the bottled fire at the pounding hooves of the fast approaching Khimaira for the great beasts to finally meet their match. More joined into the newfound method of aiming towards the beasts before any that remained living on that battlefield went up in flames - Jäger included.
Abandoning their riders in a last ditch effort to save themselves, the large horses flailed recklessly before charging back into their own ranks, no thought of the soldiers there being in the way as they were barreled through. Jäger too felt the need to follow suit, but had no opportunity to do so. He came upon the troops too soon to round himself and flee, his rider had already dismounted and began to fend off the few attacks he could. Jäger, panic-stricken, continued on blindly in a rampage before being actually blinded by a sea of blackness.

Awakening possibly was the worst mistake of Jäger's existence. With nostrils reeling in white ash and stinging without mercy, the equine blinked until focus came to his eyes. His ears met a ringing quiet, just as loud as he remembered the battle to be. Beneath him, the ground was still warm and unpleasantly jagged, yet he found he could not move. Every breath brought him pain, that was evident soon, but his instinct urged a physical response to the situation. Mind clashed with body on the proper reaction and though a good argument was put forth for both cases, the winner remained body. He lay there, from what he could tell still on the battlefield, yet without a battle in sight. No noise originated from him either - silent and still as the dead. The ground, crisp from the flame and it's burning, emitted quiet cracks and puffs of ash as a figure approached. If it were not overpowered by the ache, fear would have caught him firmly at that instant as the low floating smoke parted to reveal a face not familiar to him. Upon a connection of their eyes, the human's face broke a sad smile. It called back to where it came and approached him cautiously, grimacing slightly as it knelt next to his head, mumbling gentle words at him, more of his kind appearing from the haze.
Jäger had suffered second degree burns from the fire that had nearly claimed his life. They concentrated mostly towards his legs but did manage to deal damage much higher up than that, intermingling with previously won scars nicely. On the up side, his coat managed to recover from the blow after nearly a year of treatment, disguising a majority of the unattractive scars in a noticeably thinner and grayer layer of hair. Two things unsalvageable from the flame were his mane and tail, unfortunately, but that also has an upside. Due to the recognition of his bravery on the field, Jäger became the face of the war - a mascot if you will. He donned specially crafted machinery designed as unique armor which cast a preprogrammed hologram fire in the place of the lost hair to represent the hardship he and his fellow soldiers endured. To the forces, he became a sign of fortitude spurring along the movement for their cause even when the moral sunk low. What's more, his name was given an honorary addition to itself, then becoming Blas-Jäger - the firebranded hunter of victory due to the inspiration of his scars' story striking within his soldiers' hearts a new drive to win. And though he never stepped foot onto a battlefield beyond that point, Blas-Jäger went down into the legends as the best soldier of the time.
So yes, a scar can tell a tale you'd never expect, whether it be long or short, gruesome or not, there’s always more than what meets the eye, especially so when not everything is blatantly shown to the common vision, but it isn't the story nor the appearance which makes the scar worthwhile, it's the acceptance of it's bearer who displays it without negative thought toward the origin, for it's they who make the scar, not they who the scar makes.

wordcount: 1,943

[little_light]

congrats novak! Your is cool! :D

[Me?Sarcastic?]

Congrats novak! Great story.

[vak]

oh jeez, thanks, beardy!
and thanks for the congrats as well, the other stories were fantastic. c: