White Lion Racetrack

[Spitz]

~White Lion Racetrack~

16 Furlongs, Steeplechase turf track.

Entries In By: 25th November 2008
Show Results By: 26th November 2008

Entry Fee = $40
1st Place = $1,000
2nd Place = $500
3rd Place = $250

Horse:
Jockey:
Stats:
How Many Trainings:
Roleplay:

SHOW HASN'T GOT ENOUGH ENTRIES, SHOW WILL BE JUDGED WHEN THE AMOUNT IS FULFILLED!

[Frenzi™]

Horse: Breaking Dawn
Jockey: Illiana Thorneblade
Stats: 4/9/4/5/5/4/5/6
How Many Trainings: Two
Roleplay:

The sun shone down upon the land, casting its rays, and finally, for the first time in months, there was heat felt in the rays. Flowers blossomed everywhere, painting the world with wonderful colours. Spring, the most wonderful time of the year, the season of renewal and rebirth. The season when the Phoenix rises from the ashes, and that is exactly what the jockey and her ranch was going to do. The jockey, Illiana Thorneblade, clad in the ranch colors, gold and red, walked out into the sunlight, a brilliant smile lit on her face. This wasn't her first race, but all the same her stomach fluttered nervously with butterflies. Her eyes opened, shining a brilliant emerald, and contrasting greatly with her outfit. She strode forward, the crimson boots crunching on the soft ground underneath.

The track which Ana was to be riding on was Steeplechase turf, complete with a couple of ditches and some fences. It shouldn't be hard, but it was Ana's first race with Breaking Dawn, and she had no idea how the horse would react to anything. This race was a trial, though it would be great if Dawn could win, Ana wasn't really expecting anything. Sixteen furlongs of destiny, sixteen furlongs to eat or fall to, sixteen furlongs of flying over the ground; everything would go by way too fast. She was snapped back into the real world when a bell sounded. The parade had already finished, and now, it was time. To get set for the sixteen furlongs of destiny.

Ana walked back quickly where a groom was holding the reins of Breaking Dawn, a mahogany bay Thoroughbred that was bobbing her head up and down endlessly. At this Ana let out a soft laugh, nodding a thank you to the groom and swung her leg up and over, settling herself in the saddle. Ana leaned forward, her hand resting on the side of Dawn's nape, and whispered some words of encouragement into the horses aud, "You can do it. Dawn, just have fun." Her words were simple, showing it didn't really matter to her if they came out as the winners, or as someone else, as it was only for experience.

Another bell sounded, and a man dressed quite nicely came over to grab the rope, leading rider and horse down to the track. Breaking Dawn's ears flashed back, and she pulled against the man, snorting angrily. Ana quickly started murmuring soft words, and in a moment or two, the mare had calmed down enough to be sent into the starting gate. With just the green-painted metal between them and the other horses now, Dawn kicked out at the walls, and then, the gun sounded and the gates were open. Everything seemed to fly in slow motion, the muscled bodies of the other horses, but Ana was only looking at Dawn, trying desperately to control the horse.

Dawn had made it quite clear that she wanted to get out of the gate, and when it opened, she shot out, before Ana could manage to get back in control. With a sharp word and a quick un-tightening of the thighs, the mare settled back into control, now being in third place. The places continued to change as the race continued, second, fourth, sixth, back to fourth, and up to third. Dawn hurtled over the jumps and ditches, paying them no mind at all, and then, there was only a single horse in front of them. "Come on Dawn!" Ana said, giving the mare a slight kick, but she didn't need any more urging. Glad to finally have momentarily control, Breaking Dawn was running neck-to-neck with the black horse......



- done -

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[Forte!]

Horse: Masquerade Knight
Jockey: Rory Calder
Stats: 6/7/6/5/4/4/5/8
How Many Trainings: 2
Roleplay: Rory had never dreamed that he would be here today. He had never dreamed that he would race at all, really. He had come here for new opportunities, and it was what his horses had wanted to do. To fly across the turf, to dig up clods of dirt with every step, and, in the case of Knight, to jump, as well. The thoroughbred's mind was geared toward speed - if you let it be. But it was a slow sort of speed, Knight was an older horse for the races, really. What he had done before the cheap claiming race that he had lost only months ago was a mystery - Knight was one of those horses who had dropped through the cracks, without a pedigree and without a history. But, now he looked nothing like the nobody that he was. Every nerve in the stallion's body was quivering like an electric wire, head held high, step with a prance that was far from old age.

The summer heat had already cast a sheen of sweat over the thin skin of the thoroughbred, more from nerves than anything else. Rory, eyes shaded by the brim of his helmet, was doing his best to keep the stallion from taking off then and there, his voice and light hand calm, his seat so deep that if the horse took off it was likely that his rider would sail away with him. Knight tossed his head, short man glistening like fire in the sunlight. Then, as the team pony came alongside, the seat relaxed. The pony, a little appaloosa, stood abreast the massive racer, standing like a rock between them and the inside fence. Rory had not been lucky in the draw for position - they were out along the outside, where the circle would be widest. They broke into a springy trot, unable to keep the quells of excitement down, man and horse alike. Knight slowed, head going up, as they neared the gate.

"Easy now, sir," Rory murmured, as a hand come to Knight's shoulder to help lead the stallion into the gate. One chestnut ear flickered back, as if to say 'all right, all right, I'll save it', and then pricked up again as the doors of the gate closed around his rump. The anxiety built, and it seemed for a moment that the stallion was about to make like a bull and do his best to unseat Rory before the signal was even given to start, but then one rein tightened barely, only a squeeze of the hand, and there was that one ear again, conceding to the wishes of the master. Knight was an easygoing horse as a rule, and even with his mettle up and fit to burst he wouldn't dare disobey that one, flickering rein. Rory settled into a crouch above the horse's neck, gathering up rein and bracing himself as the gate stewards gave the countdown. The crop, only a few moments ago laid across the skirt of the saddle, readied as well, flitting out across one shoulder, ready when needed.

BANG! Open came the flood gates! Bodies poured out, bursting forth like bullets held too long against high pressure. A sinuous line of streamlined beings, humans and horses melded into one body, existed for mere moments before crowding, like hungry wolves, into a pack along the rail. This line was unbroken... Except for one horse, one stallion, who never broke. In the gate near the outside rail, Knight had frozen stiff for a second, before finally taking flight. But a second was enough, and four strides spread between the chestnut and the rest of the pack in mere instants. Rory gunned the stallion, seat so far forward that he was crouched over the stallions neck, both bodies stretched in shadows across the turf. But Knight was perturbed - he was used to a quick start, his lightning flash turn of foot had made him an attractive horse in the first place. And the sight of all those tails, waving before them like mocking ghosts...

Suddenly, one of the slower horses began to fall behind, one, two strides separating him from the pack. The first jump was approaching fast. The slacker fell back even further, until he was looking Knight in the eye, his neck in front of the stallion's. For a moment, coal stared into coal, a silent challenge was made, and then the chestnut bodice folded in on itself and released a power that had seemed to be lost to the stallion. Hooves began to fly as the pace was extended, and with a bang they left the ground, easily soaring over the first jump and heading to the second undaunted. The fighting spirit of Knight had returned! In a flurry of hoof beats the stallion charged into the pack, chasing now the lead that he had never before tasted. And the midpole was coming up soon... Rory, rocking in time to the feisty tarantella of beats,grinned to himself... This would be something that the audience never forgot.

A trumpeting call sounded across the ground as Knight made his battle cry. They had covered a mile, jumps and all, now, at this high pace, and the flurry of quick hooves began to slow. Stalkers and late runners began to gun for position, and an air of caution descended over the field as the jumps were cleared, one by one. but the chestnut stallion refused to slow, refused to stop until he was out of the pack. Two horses had broken above the others, a black and a bay, and it was these horses that Knight had set his sights on. If anything, his gallop became more frantic, the hooves falling faster until the beats were barely discernible. Every so often it was punctuated by silence as yet another fence was cleared, until finally the chestnut clung to the tail of the mahogany bay clad in bright silks. The Valley Oak colors were more subtle - forest green with a pattern of golden yellow stars and stripes across the sleeves. As they entered the final quarter mile, Knight clung to the tail of the mahogany bay, and little by little the gap with the black was closed.

Rory could feel Knight realize his age, could feel the discernible slow in the rhythm of his gallop. But the chestnut was giving all he had already, his whole heart poured into finding the lead even after a late break. He had nothing more to give, and it seemed that he might bonk, stop galloping entirely. Foam formed across his shoulders and around the bit, though the rein was let out so that Rory was clinging only to the buckle. "Come on, Knight..." Rory whispered, and there was that ear again, swiveling around to catch his speech. They had fallen back... two paces behind the leading duo, and the pack was coming up fast. The late runners were gunning down on the failing stallion, and one of these, a quick horse with a young look about him, came up to Knight's eye...

Suddenly, the trumpeting call came again, and the worn out horse did something that Rory would never forget. Already worn down to then nub, he did not stop, he did not prop his legs against the ground and refuse the last jump. Oh, no. What he did was a feat that most athletes never accomplish, and few horses ever even attempted. He accelerated. Even with his heart near bursting and his legs aching with every stride, a new fire entered him, and the stallion burst forth again, almost leaving his surprised rider behind. But Rory took up the stallion's war cry, letting out a whoop of his own as he leaned against the chestnut neck that was stretched below them. Perhaps they had a chance, after all...

[Forte!]

-LAST DAY FOR ENTRIES-