saints just swimming in our sins again - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: saints just swimming in our sins again (/showthread.php?tid=19618) Pages:
1
2
|
|||||||||||||
RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Grimalkin - 06-09-2015
It was quite interesting, this charade of a herd meeting. Grimalkin had attended one before, one where an enemy of the herd was announced, where they were all united against a common threat, a promise of bloodshed or something… But this? This was a farce, a castle built by sand, great and domineering, knocked down by a child's tantrum. Emeraldine eyes watched it all unfold before him, his thoughts silent, his expression unreadable. Antlers barely moved as his attention flitted from member to member, recognising a few (not recognising most), his ears swivelled amongst his thick blonde threads, capturing all that was to be said. It was amazing what one could learn through mere observation. The effects of disloyalty, of betrayal, it seemed, were harsh - and Grimalkin was glad to learn this lesson through observation rather than direct experience. The steed himself was not the most loyal lad, but he was smart, he knew how to play his cards and come out on top - so far, anyway. He was playing the conservative role for now, keeping his game close to his heart, folding to the better players until he knew he had the winning hand. He would be the loyal servant of the herd, albeit a mostly silent one for now, until he knew he could succeed otherwise. The effects of appointing potentially unsuitable leaders and expecting the greater gathered to embrace them was another lesson. Seek the opinions of others, the young steed learned, though he didn't know just what each and every member had been through, he certainly learned a lot about that today too. Arah's claims were pitiful - was she truly the enchanting damsel he had found under the Arch? The beautiful nymph who he danced with beneath the curious lights of the icy glacier? Now he saw another side to her - the foolish, hormonal, childish side, the side who walked out of the room lest she hear herself corrected by her senior, the side who shattered what little adoration the stallion might have found for her. Still, he found himself amused by her actions, albeit quietly and only to himself. The prince's form was off to the side, his dark roan hide recognisably related to their great liege and lord father, Deimos. With a grin the brute moved quietly, with surprising purpose and agility, to young Erebos' side, brushing a muzzle against the lad's shoulder in greeting, winking a chocolate eyelid to lighten the sombre tones of their predicament. Much like the boy, Grimalkin simply remained stoic and silent throughout - he would offer his opinion if it was asked, he would contribute if his voice was sought to be heard, but until then, he would not breath a word of what he thought, what he wanted, what he knew this herd needed.
grimalkin
ali00p | larfsalot on deviantart RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Rhea - 06-09-2015
•• TAGS: •• NOTES: ••
Picture CreditsRE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Enna - 06-12-2015
* WHOOO CRAPPIEST POST EVER
RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Johnny - 06-12-2015
Table by Sevin! @[Enna] just tagging you because of the mention <3 hope you don't mind! RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Ashamin - 06-13-2015 Home I am home. Not for the wind, for the winter or snow, not for the howls of the fighting below, not for the wicked, the torrid, the blows. No, I am home for the ones that I know ASHAMIN BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION The journey had been long, but at last Ashamin was home. He had met many, and returned home perhaps with two of his company, but what he arrived home to, that was unexpected. Apparently, in his absence spent lying in the lake, bleeding and twisting, crying and worrying, some sort of change had occurred. And he appeared now in its aftermath, his nose high with a sort of pride for how far he had wandered and the trophies (and scars) he had returned with, completely unaware of it all. He could guess based on the mass of members and the fact that none of them were running or screaming that what he'd stumbled into was something organized, but the gathering still made him nervous. As if seeking comfort, he pressed his nose to the egg and let the whiskers on his nose tickle its shell. Still, it did not stir--still, it waited for the right moment to reveal itself. Figuring that perhaps as a part of the herd he was meant to be with the group, following like a sheep, Ashamin settled in at the back of the crowd. This was something he would, as always, observe in silence. Unless called upon, which was the last thing he expected, he had nothing to do here but listen. But of course in the moment he had arrived, so too were several others. Among them, an antlered giant, the surprise of a winged mare, a candy-striped stallion, a bright eyed creature with silver hair, and a chestnut with a long tail not unlike Ashamin's own. So this, the young buck thought, was his herd. And when he lifted his gaze to see the figures that stood at its head--the dark stallion, the golden one he'd met before, and the younger two-toned mare--he swelled with pride. He knew very few here. Aside from the golden man and Rexanna and Lena, who he could see in the distance, he was in some ways alone. But all that aside, this gathering of great horned beings was his home, and he would never be more thankful for anything than that. So he stepped forward, hanging back at the edge of the crowd with his tail low and his back leg bent at an awkward angle as it learned again to stand, and waited for wisdom to spring from the lips of those who he held dear. He had seen nothing of the turmoil, nothing of the anger. Ashamin felt only love. Table by Jen, with help from Avis RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Tiamat - 06-14-2015
RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Deimos - 06-14-2015
image credits RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Random Event - 06-14-2015
RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Thranduil - 06-14-2015 Thranduil
His anger was hot as a wildfire. It spun about his core like a wildfire, consuming all reason it touched in him. His lips moved with the bitter vile that built up in him and body began to sway with anticipation. His eyes were already filled with visions of her pained face, of her torn hide, and ultimate defeat. He might have called out her short comings in the name of the Basin but it was far more than that. She had dared insult him. He who could twist your mind and leave you babbling. A king of thieves and shadows. With each title another pieces of his armor melded on him, invisible yet powerful, for it was armor of pride and vanity. How quickly his new position had welded it, and how much trust his put in it. She could have called him fat and slow for all it mattered. Here upon the top stone he was charged and ready. It did not matter who she was or what she said, he had been ready to lay his wrath upon any who spoke ill. His pride not willing to give an inch, but ready to take a mile. It did not help that she had her protectors. Ulrik, the engineer speaks up, and those burning eyes and pinned harks snap to him. He spits upon the gold, but it is only more logs for the fire. What had he just finished saying?! It was not enough to be there. These events of long ago had happened (he quickly assumed in his anger) in spite of her. Ulrik at least done something for this herd. The fine work at the entrance keeping guard now. And he was defending her?! The golden could not swallow it, he could not comprehend unless it was a softer tie that held the engineer to Arah’s side. The golden a disease? He would show the engineer the true meaning of disease. Now two figure lay before him. But the golden was loosing. The realities of taking on a half the herd burned along with the others, though it would doom him. He stands shifting with the angry fire within him, thinking himself as tall and powerful as Ulrik’s creations, and ready to smite them upon the mountainside. If they had left it unchallenged it might have been the gold’s pale form left upon the rocks that day. Yet there were those in the herd who were more sensible. Sweet thing broke the electric air, her singsong voice lifting with a prayer of pleading. It was a distraction, a child before the lines of war. One hark lifted to her, his attention distracted. The anger compounding, hand raised back with a sword, ready to strike, but she was in the way. What was she doing in the way? Did she not know that this was the insults signaling war? That their punishments must be handed out for such subordination, for their name now sounded as traitor? Yet she stands like a brave soul among the lost, not against him, not for him. In the middle, a child in the middle. And the longer his pulled back blade waits for her to move, the less powerful it feels. The raging anger, ready to deliver the blow, falters as it fails to make ground, for it will not burn sweet thing. It left time for the Reaper to step through. His words for a moment fell muffled to him, washed away in the tides of more logs for the fire, trying to regain the ground lost at sweet thing’s feet. But then the demon king turns to him. All of the darkness his soul surrounded with pouring upon the golden, and it broke the his visions of blood and revenge. Crowned head jerks to the reaper. They were but equal now, they dark devil had no sway on him. Head came over high and proud, the golden, flashing for once how much loss of fear had occurred over the seasons. He for a second felt saw the demon as little and lifeless. A soldier of a gone era. That is, at least, how he saw him at first. But the reaper held more power, and venom than even the golden still guessed. They were, in reality, still not equal. His earth eyes focus away from the blinding light of the flames, from the raging fires of anger. The whisper cuts through the shouting match and the golden pulls himself back, but he finds himself unable to move. This wasn’t a thread in the demon’s words. This was a promise. A command. The golden freezes to hear it. The anger still frozen on his face, but inside the shocks echo through him, cutting across the flame. A child? He was acting like a child?! A cloven hoof silently slams on the rocks, but it’s the only outburst they see, for in it the golden connects the dark reaper’s meanings. Still his proud face shows the good fight he tries throw up, fighting to keep the fires going, but the longer his blow waits, the more hallow it becomes. The last hissed words of the reaper, coming across like equal advice, clears from his eyes the doom promised. Teeth grind against each other and the golden turns away from him. His anger was not finished, no it still burned like a tornado of fire, wreaking havoc and twisting every thought. But the dark lord, coming across with such hissed advice, advice, left the golden without a blade to throw. Perhaps because the words had been able to shift through the dark thoughts of the gold and force him to accept that the reaper, for once, was right. Not that he would ever admit it. Earth eyes harden in one last gaze, before the crowned horn snorts and turns away, giving ground, and pulling back. But of course there certainly was not an apology in any of it. A shift of pink on the other side of Deimos catches his eye. Crowned head turns for a moment, the anger still bubbling underneath, but thoroughly cowed, to see Hotaru. That’s right she had been insulted too. He had completely forgotten that. Her quick glance to him gains only a snort like sigh and a turn away as she begin to speak. Her words are calmer, and therefore more powerful than his. The golden though has now almost turned a deaf ear to it all. He pulls inside himself, where there still builds an anger. The threats might have been nullified, the arrows and daggers turned to blades of glass, but it made him all the angrier. The fires may have burned smaller but they grew hotter for there promised in this company no release. Deimos’s words having silenced that. Any warning or compliment now thrown his way was given the same treatment, but overall in the silence he waits, ready to slip away, to let loose the rage that here was blocked. The reaper speaks up again and the golden turns his head back to the gather, picking it back up, though still a bitter face rested on his features. He unfortunately remembered what was coming. Especially when it came to Arah’s name. Unlike what that pale woman thought, her name had been in great favor. Deimos calls them out and the golden looks on with an emotionless face. He was ready to go, to be done, to let loose the rage inside of him where no others could see, especially Deimos. He waits, like a dog on a leash, forced to sit and not bark. The happiness of promotion, and the signals of heavenly approval did nothing to keep his interest. As soon as the meeting would end and all speak the happy tiding of promotion and wonder at the blessing, he would slip away where he could rage and let loose his damnations. To the shadows. OOC :: Summary:: "Speech" The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Atlas - 06-16-2015 I’d chosen to follow the ninny with the egg satchel back to his home in the Basin hoping that what I found there would be… suitable. He and his blubbering little lass were acceptable company for the journey, but I could also recall the pale-eyed giant name Jorogumo stating that she too resided in the north. She’d met me in the Threshold some time back and since then I’d dubbed her the devil of her own little hell… Needless to say I’d declined her offer for refuge. Funny how things work out… Atlas Standing on the black and white tiles Don't dance on the lines RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Ashamin - 06-17-2015 Descent of the Spark I, electric. Spark strikes like inspiration for fear. I seek the descent of a sorrowful evening, a blanket to hide beneath. Cast me and shadow and break all my bones, still I will search for an honor in you. ASHAMIN BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION How many times would Ashamin walk upon a scene expecting one thing and finding another? And since the answer was quite obviously many, at what point would it stop being a surprise? The surprises came in stages, increasingly important and shocking as they progressed. The first, to look more closely at the crowd and begin to understand what sort of variety of personalities lived in his herd, all the while with a stark... lack of variety in the species department. Ashamin frowned, thinking of all the kind winged-ones he'd met, of little helpless Zahra, but shook his head. The stallion at the front was already speaking, and now was not to ask that clearly big question of why. And that voice, that deep and deadening leaderly call, was the second surprise. The depth to it, and the strangeness of the stallion from which it came, were not what Ashamin had expected to find in the leader of this herd. Then again, had he been hoping for one like Lena? Even the kind buck knew from his father's teachings that gentleness would never make a ruler; it was why Ashamin's mother would never have been fit for a crown, and Ashamin's father would never have sought to pursue one. Ashamin, too, had come to follow in their footsteps. So when that dark stallion said his name, he could not understand why. But he knew what had come before, the announcement of ranks, and he felt what came after. This, this was the most shocking of them all. Beginning at his and many others feet were sparks, flying as if untamed but setting no fires and causing no harm. Ashamin could not help but watch the others, and so when he felt the sensation crawl higher up his body, and saw it linger at the hocks of all others, he was struck with distress. Immediately, he thought of the egg at his chest. As if it would do any good he lowered his face and pressed his cheek to the warm surface of the orb, shutting his eyes, waiting for the prickling of those shocks to leave them free. Ashamin remembers Tiamat, at his side. She had arrived not long after he, and he looked to her then with fear in his eyes. The electricity ran the lengths of his horn like a lightning rod, drawing dangerously close to his black pools and creating in them for the first time, gleaming light of recognition. Would they see the thoughts he held now and the weakness he displayed, would they all turn to him and know that he, whoever he was, was unworthy of this rank? The paint did not have a moment to contemplate the question of whether or not that was true or realize that perhaps, of this at least, he was deserving, before the sparks faded and the starred stallion's voice overtook it. Ashamin still shook, his nerves still rattled and frayed from the electric summoning--his "promotion." Atlas, on the other hand, seemed unphased. Ashamin let his black ears turn towards the brash stallion at his other side. He glimpsed Atlas' gaze but could not return it completely. Still he could not understand the lightning about his own frame, and still he could not understand the frankness with which the galaxy stallion spoke. Though Ashamin was not often one to speak up, certainly not in a crowd, he tried his best to raise his voice and catch the gaze of someone he knew held some power. Maybe Lena, maybe Thranduil, could help him. Then again, did he himself hold power now? Was there even a need to ask for this, if the lightning had heralded an ascension of sorts? "What Atlas means," the buck began, his voice shaking uncontrollably even as he tried to hide it, "is that I have brought him here for your acceptance, if you find in them what I do. The same is true of Tiamat," Ashamin concluded. His voice sounded tired, as if all its lively confidence had been zapped out of it. "And if I may, I would like to thank you, all three, for granting me this rank." It was a foolish thing to ask, a ridiculous thing to question. Why here, now, in front of so many others, after victory and healing, after bringing two new ones home, had he begun to falter? [[Tagged for mentions: @[Tiamat], @[Atlas], @[Thranduil], @[Lena]]] Table by Jen, with help from Avis RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - Hotaru - 06-17-2015
RE: saints just swimming in our sins again - d'Artagnan - 06-21-2015
d'Artagnan
the
NightShade
[Not really important, just wanted to post his acknowledgement :3] The Doctor watched, with mouth half open and one back leg propped up, the boxing match of words that slung from one party to another. In his head he agreed and disagreed, getting lost in the tirade of the heated spat before throwing an injured look to Ulrik, the metal fiddler, who aged him ten years in one sentence. He wasn’t that old yet surely?! The red brushed it off and happily let the thought of arthritis and lost marbles disappear into the pile of worry left in an ignored corner of his mind. Not that it mattered, the Engineer was already marching off after a rather disgruntled Arah leaving Deimos, the little pink spy and a gilded calamity in his wake. d’Artagnan eyed Thranduil properly for the first time, there was an almost arrogant shape to his neck and a sharp, angered gaze. He factored in the clear dislike that had rolled off of Ulrik’s condemnation and considered that he hadn’t often seen the crafter display an open animosity. He came to his own conclusion that the leaf-marked idiot was probably an ass who liked feeling magisterial and appeared to be easily angered when openly challenged. It left an unnerving feeling of friction within a once iron welded herd and the shade couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not. In the end, his mouth snapped shut as a grunt rumbled up from his gut in the midst of proceedings, remaining silent in words even though the snide comments stacked up in his cantankerous mind. d’Artagnan didn’t take an active part until his name wasn’t mentioned amongst the new Menders and a frown crossed his features. He didn’t get chance to question it either as Deimos swiftly named him in a different area, a more physically active area and the word ‘General’ echoed around his mind. General? Did that mean he was really being trusted with a bunch of soldiers at his back? For a moment, the red gave the dark Lord a surprised eyebrow lift with the thought ’really?’ written all over his gaze. Six years ago at the command of Mauja he had taken the role of Doctor and had never really shed the title, serving in the role for many seasons. However, with the heartache of Kou and the Plague lost in the memories of those old enough to remember, the change seemed quite fitting. Just like that, d’Artagnan the Nightshade let go of his past life that echoed with terms of Mender and Doctor, filled with begrudging life saving and the odd slip of poison. His gaze dropped down to the sparks at his hooves and he shakes his head in typical d’Art surliness whilst muttering incoherently in lament to the show-off God. When the meeting adjourned, the General skulked off thinking of things he needed to do and those he needed to see.
Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy. yewrezz | larfsalot on deviantart |