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▾ ═══════ × ═══════ ▾
ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴ ᴏᴜᴛʀᴀɢᴇ! ᴅɪsɢʀᴀᴄᴇ,
ғᴏʀ sʜᴀᴍᴇ! ᴇvɪʟ ᴀs ᴘʟᴀɪɴ
ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴀʀ ᴏɴ ʜɪs ғᴀᴄᴇ.
⋘⋄⋙⋘⋄⋙
ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ;
ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ɢᴏ, ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ,
ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇsɪᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ.
▴ ═══════ × ═══════ ▴
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┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉
₪✧⋙☬⋘✧₪ x sömë öf thë brïġhtëst stärs ärë börn blöödÿ x ₪✧⋙☬⋘✧₪
┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉
[There's a calm surrender
to the rush of day;
when the heat of a rolling
wind can be turned away.
An enchanted moment,
and it sees me through.
It's enough for this
restless warrior just
to be with you.
Can you feel the love tonight?
The peace the evening brings;
the world, for once,
in perfect harmony,
with all its living things
So many things to tell her,
but how to make her see?
The truth about my past?
Impossible! She'd turn
away from me...
He's holding back, he's hiding,
but what, I can't decide.
Why won't he be the king
I know he is, the king
I see inside?
And can you feel
the love tonight?
It is where we are.
It's enough for this
wide-eyed wanderer
that we got this far.
And can you feel
the love tonight?
How it's laid to rest?
It's enough to make
kings and vagabonds,
believe the very best.
There's a time for everyone
if they only learn,
that the twisting kaleidoscope
moves us all in turn.
There's a rhyme and reason
to the wild outdoors,
when the heart of this
star-crossed voyager
beats in time with yours.
And can you feel
the love tonight?
It is where we are.
It's enough for this
wide-eyed wanderer
that we got this far.
And can you feel
the love tonight?
How it's laid to rest?
It's enough to make
kings and vagabonds,
believe the very best.
And can you feel
the love tonight?
The peace the
evening brings;
the world, for once,
in perfect harmony
with all its living things.
Can you feel the
love tonight?
You needn't look too far;
Stealing through the
night's uncertainties:
Love is where we are.]
x
üsërnämë:SpartanAmethystshöw nämë:SAAM Altan Savaşçı
Turkish-based registered name
that translates to "red dawn warrior".bärn nämë:Altan
A Turkish boy's name
that means "red dawn".ġëndër:Stallionhältër:White ropes with blood spattered randomly.
The beads are a shining golden color, metallic
if at all possible! c:
-------------------------------------------------ċürrënt rësïdënċë:Amethyst Ridge Ranch
75 miles outside Denver, CO.ċömpänïön(s):SAAM Malik adh-Dhi'ban and her wolves.rëhäbïlïtätïön pröġrëss:Has accepted a halter and is leadable.
-------------------------------------------------përsönälïtÿ:Before he was stripped of his sight, Altan was a proud, energetic colt. He was vibrant and obedient, though at best he was overbearing and even cocky most of the time. The Arabian was very conceited, to be honest; he wanted to be the one in the spotlight at all times, and if anyone else stole it he was not happy until it was back on him. He loved getting attention and he flourished in social situations.
Fast forward to his fighting days, Altan was as prideful and as conceited as ever, but the only difference now is that he had the achievements and the strength to back it up. While Altan wasn't born necessarily vicious, he acquired the trait through training when he realized that being so aggressive got him attention and praise from the humans around him. He was, however, born naturally tenacious and without the common sense to know when to quit; many a fight was won by his refusal to lose alone. His stubbornness is what really gave him the edge as a fighting horse.
After he was blinded, Altan became very much withdrawn. He was scared and quiet, barely eating, rarely moving. He was terrified of the darkness, and would often lash out at anyone who came too close to the poor stallion. He never knew wether they were friend or foe, so he began to assume attack first before they attack him. He was humbled greatly, but it was more that he just didn't want to make anymore connections with anyone or anything, he just wanted to be left alone in his dark little lonely world. It wasn't until a mare that was more stubborn than he managed to crack his stone heart and show his true personality. Around everyone else he's still cold and distant, but with Dziban, well, he's a totally different horse. She's his mirror; around her he's gentle and loving, even playful at times when he thinks no one is watching. She is his eyes, and he is her grounding rock. The same soul in two separate bodies, they complete each other.höw dïd hë bëċömë blïnd?:The very short version:
Altan is an ex-fighting horse, used to fight other stallions in an arena, oftentimes where one of the horses would die or have to be put down due to their injuries. After he came off the fighting circuit, his owners tried to retire him to a stud, but after too many failed breeding attempts they sold him. He was purchased under the guise of being a show horse; so when he almost killed a horse at his new home, he was sold immediately. The next home had a cruel master, and when he attacked other horses and the man's son, he tied Altan down and blinded him with a mix of alcohol and acid in both eyes.ëvërÿ sċär tëlls ä story:Most of Altan's scars come from his fighting days, but there are a few noteworthy scars:
- The scar on his crest is from resisting a rope halter as a foal and it cut into him.
- The scar behind his right eye is from the ropes used when he was blinded.
- A scar on his left hind leg is from a dog that bit him right before a fight in Istanbul.
- The slash under his barrel was from jumping a fence to attack another horse.[img]-removed-[/img]
füll hïstörÿ:Altan was born a proud colt; spoiled to the bone, he was the pride of the stable he was born to. He was the foal born to make the stable famous and wealthy, and he did just that. But, let's rewind for a minute. This story isn't like one you'd expect....
On June 6th, 2006, a foal was born to a massive black stallion a smaller coyote dun mare. It was a horrid night in the desert, with the sandstorm screaming outside the makeshift stable doors and the lightning slamming the ground every few seconds. It was in this rickety old hell, befitting of a date that held three sixes in it, that Altan first came into existence. His skull-marked face and blood-soaked coat was immediately welcomed by the stable owner and his teenage son; they saw his frightening visage as a sign of good things to come, not bad luck, as was common thought for many Arabians. So excited for this promising colt, the owners ignored the "wheat ear" on his chest. (A wheat ear is a rare but naturally occurring patch of fur that grows against the grain of the rest, making a pattern that resembles wheat, and is thought to bring bad luck and misfortune wherever the horse goes.) From his first night of life onto his first birthday, Altan lived like a normal colt; he ran in the pastures with other foals and his dam, playing and romping and just being a foal.
Now, back to this stable he lived in... It wasn't your typical stables. While it still took great care of their horses and took part in competitions, it was the discipline that this stable competed in that made it terrible. It was named Kum Savaşçı, or "Sand Warrior" Stables for a reason; here, stallions of varying breeds of Arabians were bred to fight to the death in an arena, similar to pit bull fighting here in the West. It was a sick sport bred from the cruelty of man, but it proved to be very lucrative, even in the beginning. So naturally, those who desired money and fame flocked to it like vultures.
At the passing of his first birthday, Altan's training began; he'd grown from an awkward-legged colt into a fine yearling, and was deemed "ready" by the older man. So for two years he was trained mercilessly and often times brutally, trying to make him as aggressive and ill-tempered as they possibly could. They continually whipped him and fought him against older retired horses, ones who couldn't move as fast or deal as much damage as other horses his age. As he got older and deeper into training, they began to spar him with other foals he'd originally played with, and he won every time without fail. Eventually he fought another foal that had been just as promising as he, a blue roan Godolphin Arabian with piercing blue eyes. The fight was terrible; it lasted for near to twenty minutes, and in the end Altan killed the roan.
From that final test, Altan celebrated his third birthday and was promptly thrown into the fighting circuit. This wasn't play anymore; this was kill or be killed, no trainers to step in and stop the fight if it wasn't a good day. His first few fights were tough when he realized this, but he adapted and, eventually, overcame. He excelled with every fight, gaining momentum with each victory, and eventually took the championship title on the circuit. By then he was about to celebrate his sixth birthday and seeing as that he was beginning to have trouble keeping up with younger horses, the stable retired him. They attempted to turn him into a stud, but there was something wrong; no matter how many times he covered a mare, even ones that were known to be fertile, they never conceived. So, with the stallion now useless to them, he was sold.
Purchased by an American family travelling in Israel, they hoped he'd be a decent riding horse for their daughter. So they purchased him, loaded him up, and shipped him back to the United States. They never saw how wild he was, or how he damaged the box stall on the long ship home, or how he almost bit every single human and horse that passed by. So when they got home to their stable on the east coast, it came as a nasty surprise when the first thing he did was break free and attack another of their jumpers. Immediately they secluded him and tried to keep him locked away, but the Malik was too clever and intelligent; Altan broke out every time they tried something new. Eventually the family had to physically tie him down until he was sold again; the next family got the same ugly reaction when they turned him out with a mare in heat. They were hoping for a crossbred endurance runner, but instead of breeding her, Altan attacked her and very nearly took the young chestnut's life. They did the same and secluded him, but he continually jumped the fence to attack any horse within sight. When the son came to see the beautiful Arabian, he was bitten on the shoulder and had to be rushed to the hospital with a shattered collarbone. The father became so infuriated with the stallion that he finally called some of his buddies to come help him with an "experiment". Instead of calling a professional trainer like they should have done, the men hogtied him and held him down, and the father cruelly began to drip an elixir of watered down acid and rubbing alcohol into his eyes. Altan tried to kick and squeal; why were they hurting him?! He was only doing what he'd been taught! By the end of the little torture session, Altan's eyes had been damaged beyond repair. Those once fierce olive eyes had now faded to a silvery tint, and he'd lost 100% of his vision in both eyes. That night he stood frozen in his stall, eyes watering miserably as he trembled, unmoving. He was terrified.
The next day he could hear everything happen around the stable, but he couldn't see it. He tried looking around, but to no avail, there was nothing he could do to bring his sight back. Days passed and the once proud stallion stopped eating and barely drank. He was so scared, and even though it would have scared him even more initially, he yearned for someone to comfort him. A new month came, and suddenly the stable was alive with music and chatter; announcers were yelling out numbers and commentary, and the sound of horses jumping fences nearby came to Altan's ears. He listened intently; though his instincts said attack, he was far too frightened of this human man to try and break out. Besides, he couldn't even feel the lock anymore! Had they moved it?
"Hello beautiful," a sudden voice spooked him. It was soft and feminine, not threatening at all, but he still wasn't sure. She smooched to him gently, speaking soothing words in a soft voice and eventually luring the stallion back to her. She slowly raised her hand to let him sniff it, but she noticed him tense. She attempted to pet him, but at the slightest touch of her fingers the Arabian went ballistic. He reared, throwing his head and hitting his muzzle on the side of the stall door, causing himself to panic. It took roughly an hour, but eventually the woman calmed him down and coaxed him back, where she finally got the chance to touch him. It was then she noticed his eyes and the uneven burning of his pupils. Rage filled her, but she didn't move. Eventually Altan relaxed slightly, and she spoke to him softly, petting his head and ears with gentle fingers. Too consumed in the feeling of finally being comforted, Altan forgot his training and just let this wonderful human pet him.
