"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
A change of thrones commenced, shifting, distorting, coiling and repenting the dynasties of others, watching as the pedestals crumbled, as the statues fell, as predecessors and legends shirked and slunk to shadows. Instead of becoming another witness from the schisms, chasms and entropies beating and bleeding in their sinuous arches, their ferocious plumes, their archaic synapses, he was to bear the scepter, the scythe, and utter creeds, oaths, convictions to a world he’d never been designated to reign upon. The devil’s accomplice, Satan’s masterpiece, gifted, cursed and sculpted into a vessel of animosity, friction, malice and menace, suddenly thrust into a crown still ill-fitted. He knew power, he knew domination, he knew chaos, corruption and callousness, how to pressure the enemy until they broke, how to vanquish foes with one hedonistic motion, how to boil, brew, inveigle the senses with demise, with quietus, with the hushed, listless decadence of a final breath. He was fully aware of his weaknesses and flaws; he lacked Mauja’s charisma, the flourish and magnetism, the appeal and allure of the glacial monarch, his father’s fiery poignancy, Psyche’s twisted, asp speech, but perhaps all could be foregone, abandoned, for the notion and sentiments that each movement he composed, each undulating fervor and zeal of his fortitude, of his nefarious figurine, was sown for this land – an empire of treachery, danger, might and disaster. He wanted to truly grasp annihilation, he yearned for the kingdom to exploit, unravel, maim, rip and tear the opposition, the divine and goodhearted, the stalwart and steady, and when they’d attempted, some had forgotten what victory meant, how to acquire its opulent, avaricious splendor. Could his sinister hand, his malicious machinations, his relentless calculations and Machiavellian schemes lead them along the path of mastery, capability, and prowess, where the winds echoed, screamed, and screeched, proclaimed their dominance? Would the world bow to their barbarity, would the earth crumble and crumple to their brutality, would their sovereignty rise amidst the clamor, the din, the dissonance, once he’d ordered the right to assemble their arms and munitions? Could the Reaper do more than just extinguish the livelihood of others, and lift their immoralities, their debaucheries, to the heights they coveted? What was portended, augured and foreshadowed: further, devastating defeat or the scintillating relish of discord and bedlam?
Rebirth and renewal crooned their current pursuits, the restoration of a fractured army, the ability and opportunity for others to rise where others had fallen and stumbled, empty ranks, void, hollowed vessels of promises left forgotten, persuasions and positions abandoned, disappointments and upheaval raw, open, visceral. How many still lingered within their depths, strong, eager, rapacious and hungry? How many suffered from the blows of defeat, and longed to embroil their own into the thunderous masses? How many had he never met, lingering entrails of the unknown and ignorant? How many were willing to conspire with them, hunt and capture the remains of the heavens, tarnish and stain them until they sang sedition, shrieked subversion? A brutal, demanding call collided into the air, the first of many commands, ushering the loyal, the proud, the diligent, tenacious and formidable beings occupying his herd, and Deimos, pernicious, wicked and baleful, was suddenly forced to watch as the center of their valley burst with individuals following his call. The moment was overwhelming, and for some passing moments, he merely watched, standing, formidable, forbidding and intimidating, his piercing, poignant gaze stoic and reticent, never revealing or touching upon the glow of his darkened heart as comrades, patriots, fellow infidels, companions, friends, and the unknown drifted into the vast, triumphant valley, responding to the bellow, the roar, of his licentious presence.
Perhaps they realized they were to become witnesses to a strange phenomenon, a lengthy speech by one who rarely longed or desired to emit a single sound, come to gaze and gawk at a deadly, iniquitous art, or become enamored and fascinated by a stag who had risen from the shadows and yearned to keep their realm there; shackling the rest of the imperiums with their might. As they gathered, he began, stirred the deep resonance of his voice to boom over the masses, varnish them with newfound knowledge, with the stirring of trials, tribulations and future prowess. “I am Deimos, your Lord.” He thought to conspire no explanation for his recent ascension, but recalled the ability for so many to gossip, to seethe, to simmer and smolder along the banks of vague atrocities. The beast, although not assisting in her prior tirade, had not hoisted her from her dominion either. “Psyche has departed her position.” If they wished for him to elaborate, he would, but he progressed deeper into the reasoning for the gathering, incapable of waxing the poetic, preferring diabolical silence, the stanza of desecration and abominations. “The prisoners from the Edge have been released under a temporary treaty. We shall foster peace between the Edge and Basin until Frostfall.” His stare swept over the crowd, asserted the notion that should he discover they disobeyed the tenuous, fragile boundary of repose, they would understand and comprehend the terror of his abilities. The Lord had no ambition to sully and ruin what he’d constructed, nor for more of their innocent to be sullied for the actions of the inept. “New ranks are to be offered, including the restoration of Emissaries. Generals and corporals will be determined by a tournament between the eager. Inform us if you are interested in either.” Was there more to say? Was he to dwell upon their need for loyalty, for devotion, for the earnest and allegiance, adherence to the home they remained within, or should it be a given, established upon their entry into this fuming land? The steely formation of his eyes slid over to the gilded Lady, the only prompt and guidance he offered for her to establish her own portions of their assembly.
[Please wait for Illynx to post before replying (she has more to tell you as well! :D)
This herd meeting is to establish information about the new Lord, Lady, ranks, tournaments, crafting, weaving, Haruspex, etc. If you are interested in obtaining a new rank, expressing regard in Emissaries, the future tournament, anything of note or concern, or merely want your character to know what's going on, now is the time. Deimos and Illynx will be responding again to herd members.
You have until November 5th to post. Failing to post does not mean you’ll be Outcast, however, your character will not be able to acquire the IC knowledge of these current circumstances.]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
She arrived alongside Deimos quickly after the call was sounded, her graceful and feminine frame slipping in to the left and a fair distance from the somber black unicorn. She had never felt at ease in his presence, much rather like she was stuck in the company of a dead man walking; he exuded an aura that was discomfiting and she would rather not be near him any longer than never. However, certain responsibilities called to her in this situation, and despite her crawling skin as she settled to a halt, she wore her usual soft and smug smile, her crown angled on a gracefully arched neck, gold dipped limbs effortlessly swaying to their own unique tempo. To any on lookers, the Lady was at home alongside the Reaper, all of her discomfort hidden beneath her gleaming veneer of confidence.
Curiously she watched him from the corner of her eye as the others arrived; it was unlike the cryptic General to call meetings, especially ones in which it seemed he would be speaking. They hadn't met to discuss this particular moment, but she trusted Psyche to make the right decisions and that this, while odd, had a true purpose. Still, and it was not the he was not normally full of a confidence as she herself was, the black seemed to be full of more self importance than usual. A figurative brow arched on her delicate features as she looked at him, turning her gaze away only to watch the myriad unicorns of the mountain arriving at their hooves.
They were splendid; it was a vision she never grew tired of, their horned figures slipping through the cold valley. But for a few flawed pieces in the army, they were all whole and well suited to her dreams of a purified world, a place where only the unicorns walked the soil of Helovia and she, proud and unbroken, reigned over them with a thoughtful eye.
All dreams were swept away under a violent current, however, when Deimos announced himself as Lord.
Her stomach and teeth simultaneously clenched, her sharpened gaze swivelling hatefully to glare upon the ebony male; that he worded the exchange of positions as Psyche simply abandoning her post made too many alarms rise within herself. Her friend, of all things, was loyal to her people and her cause, and to cast aside the crux of that power so easily seemed entirely out of the Empress' list of character traits. Liably convinced to give it away, she thought to herself, her gaze narrowed hatefully as he continued to speak as if he hadn't just alerted the entire herd to his treacherous ways. Her tongue ached between clenched teeth, her lengthy black tail snapping several times at her haunches in sheer irritation at the man, her heart longing to find its rightful place alongside her beloved Lady Psyche and before the Basin herd - not here, next to this homicidal, antisocial, and creepy man.
"The Lord Deimos speaks many truths," she sarcastically added in after his words had closed, her gaze glancing breifly out at her kin before continuing to bore hatefully into his flesh. That she was terrified of him did little to ease her disgust in this moment, her ears pressed firmly against the top of her head though she had tried to remain calm and impassive. "But one not stated - where is Pysche?" her golden eyes dug into him, whether he would look at her or not, "Not a one who knows of her fervor for this herd believes that she merely handed you her crown, General, I least of all." Little did she know that most of her wrath should be reserved for another man who had been present at the exchanging of crowns, one who quietly may be observing her words even now; still, she pressed her anger upon the Reaper, her body turning a partial step about to strike fires at him from the embers of her eyes. "Why is it that the loyal General now wears a crown, and it's predecessor is not even present to defend your rights to wear it? Where is the Empress, Deimos?" Her words had grown into a hiss, tail writhing behind her in irritation as her features proudly turned away from the disdainful sight of the former General, her eyes once more finding her herd staring, she could only assume, at the ongoing drama.
"I am sure you each care not for our arguements. And so let us continue, despite my disgust with our newest Lord," no motion was spared the male, Illynx simply looking ahead with rage still nestled in all the parts of her face that she had not managed to ease back into her soft and grand expression of leadership; he didn't deserve any more of her time. "As it is known, the position of Haruspex lies open. It has been decided that to take the place of old Myrddin, Huyana will now gaze upon the mirror of Lord Time." She looked to the roan, her smile true and proud as she nodded her congratulations to the quiet mare before she continued on in her list of events, "As previously stated, many ranks lie open. We are in need of a qualified mender, as well as corporals and... apparently, a general." Again she refrained from looking at the treacherous bastard alongside her, all ties of loyalty to her best friend pushing him figuratively off the end of the earth at this particular moment. "I should also like to increase our knowledge. Recording stories, improving the cave systems to better house our people, a system of growing food to avoid the starvation we felt in the lightless winter. Too well do we understand the bitterness of cold; I would like to combat this. Any and all who feel they may help in this venture, please contact one of the herd leaders with your ideas."
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
A call rang through the valley, rousing the attention and stirring the hearts of all its inhabitants. Huyana lifted her dark head from grazing, wisps of grass falling away from the corners of her lips as ears flicked to and fro—it was thoroughly, rendingly, provokingly familiar. Beside her, playing contentedly with an orange butterfly, was Lothíriel, who also paused at the sound; the butterfly flitted away. "It's Papa!" she cried, unsure of its tone; it bore a harshness, a dominance she had never heard uttered from her sire, who always smiled and who she loved dearly. Questioningly, she looked toward her mother, whose face was both serene and troubled. "Come, Stormborn," Huyana said softly though trouble stirred in her heart. She nudged her daughter tenderly, breathing in the sweet, milky scent of her baby fur; "let's see what your father has to say." With that, the roan turned towards the direction of the call, as fluid and graceful as her element, a hundred different possibilities passing tumultuously through her mind. Unrest brewing within her chest, and she wondered if it was foreboding. Was their peace broken? Would they descend once more into war? Huyana could no longer leave during times of trouble as she was used to—now she had a home, a child, and she would no longer forgive herself for abandoning all that she held dear.
Huyana moved briskly toward his summon while the girl romped before her, flowers dotting her wake. The mare was careful not to step on them, knowing how precious every petal was to her daughter. It did not take much travel until he came into view, standing proudly before all the Basin with somberness and majesty; as handsome and solemn as an effigy of Hermes leading souls to the underworld. "Papa!" Lothíriel cried once more, flicking her lion's tail excitedly as she prepared a mad dash toward the dark form of her sire, but Huyana passed her lips over the child's rump, seriousness on her face. "You must stay by my side," she said gently, "you will see him afterward." And Lothíriel, though hopelessly delighted to see her father, settled beside her mother quietly, sensing the gravity of the rainmare's voice.
Many unicorns, both familiar and strange, streamed toward the Reaper like curious fish from the Basin's depths and crags, all questioning the purpose of the General's summons. Unease caused Huyana to bring her daughter close, slinging her neck around the small, warm body and hugging her tightly. Reunions like this never boded well; she remembered, as if from another life, the gathering the Red Dragon had called, exiling an innocent mare for the differences he had claimed to embrace. So many voices had cried out that day against Sarai, and Huyana remembered the tumult with anger.
I am Deimos, your Lord, the Reaper said, once many bodies crowded the area around him, the gilded lady Illynx standing steadfastly by his side. A thrill of both foreboding and exult sent quivers down her spine, but she did not doubt his aptitude or strength or skill for a moment.
It did not surprise Huyana that the DarkEmpress had departed her rank, and it made her glad to know their prisoners had been released. Soon after Deimos finished imparting his knowledge, the GildedBlade was quick to offer her own words, open anger and surprise betrayed across her features. She spoke scornfully, words leaking like poison into the cool alpine air. Dark ears were cast back as unease grew into acrimony; Huyana prided herself in being detached from such emotional frivolities, but the obvious slight and mistrust of Deimos riled her; though this was not her fight, Huyana felt the birth of words at the back of her tongue. "Why is there uncertainty as to the legitimacy of his claim?" she queried, voice rising high above the ringing of murmurs, though they were not spoken with force or volume. "Has he not been loyal? Has he not led your armies faithfully?" Her head tilted, blue eyes intent on the Lady; they did not betray anger, but instead ascetic speculation. Her tail flicked once; she could not stand for capricious leaders—the shadow of the Red Dragon hung nigh, like the ghost of a damned lover; she would not see someone so prone to the fancies of their desires lead a people.
Illynx's following words startled the mare even more—she was Haruspex? Surprise widened her blue eyes, and she could do naught more than bow her head gratefully at the Lady, feeling the mass in her throat dissolve in favor of something else—purpose. "Thank you," she said quietly. "It is an honor." Huyana wondered what this new chapter in her life would bring her, and with a thrill of exhilaration she hugged her child close and whispered, "there are many adventures to come, Stormborn."
The call echoed around the snowy peaks that created The Basin. Rising her confused and exhausted eyes to the direction of the cry, the ivory doe simply paused for a moment. Her mind reeled backwards through her memories, for the one who summoned them all now was not expected. The light mare had been awaiting the call from a very different kind of stallion, one whom she did not like. With slow steps the mare began to move forward, when her leader called she answered. Not going would, in her mind, be a challenge to the leader. Snow drifted down from the heavens, or did it simply fall from the mountains and the trees? Slender legs that blended in with her home terrain, carried her swiftly now. Picking up the pace the mare didn't want to be one of the last to arrive, chills ran down her back. Slipping through the shadows, sleek and beautiful, the mare was very interested to observe the current leader of the Basin. For she believed that Deimos had made the summon but what had he done to receive the crown?
As one of the first to arrive, the ivory raven took her time in studying the past General. Spaces around her soon began to fill with her herd mates, each was unique in appearance. How many of them supported the change in power? Would some challenge it, or would they remain silent and loyal? The feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach…the feeling that this meeting would cause disruption within the herd. Deimos spoke to them all and proclaimed himself as Lord of The Basin. Curious. Arah listened to each word the came from the Lord with great interest, and a small smile of support on her chops.
Golden orbs turned to Lady Illynx, she was now to speak and tell them more. When Lady Illynx began to fill their ears with her voice, Arah found anger bubbling in her stomach. Ever since the first time she had met Illynx, the Impersonator had not liked her. Knowing that Illynx was now ruling her…that upset her quite a lot. What annoyed Arah even more was that there was not a lot she could do about it, the ivory beauty was not meant to lead. She followed. Still, this was a herd meeting, Arah felt that she had the right to let her voice be heard. A darker mare spoke up first, the new Haruspex who had a young filly with her. At least the impersonator would not have to break the silence. Arah listened to Huyana respectfully and before she stepped forward to add her own voice, Arah whispered a quick "Congratulations."
Now the normally quiet doe raised her eyes and her voice. "I was present at Lady Psyche's departure." Well for the beginning of it anyway. Taking a step forward Arah looked directly at her new Lady, the only thing lacking from her gaze was respect. The Impersonator did not like the bashful way her new lady spoke to her co-ruler. "Lord Deimos was loyal to Lady Psyche until the end." Arah felt other eyes on her, but her gentle voice pressed on, her orbs still boring into Lady Illynx. "Lady Psyche felt that she was no longer fit to rule, she left us, Lord Deimos picked up the pieces." Arah personally thought Psyche should have called a meeting to discuss her stepping down, leaving like that had been wrong but that was not something to be mentioned right now. Taking a deep breath the ivory doe pressed on. "Lord Deimos did not force the crown away from Lady Psyche, he did not convince her to give it to him, he did not trick the Lady either." Her eyes now turned to rest on the new Lord, her head tilted at an angle and her enchanting golden eyes trying to catch his gaze. Did she dare continue?
Arah spoke the truth, not once did a lie pass her chops. Only as her time learning the art of spying, the mare had learnt how to twist things…twist her words. Aiming for peace within the herd, she did not want any upset. Not once did Arah lie.
Equivocation at it finest.
"I stand behind Lord Deimos, he has my full support."
" " 720 words.
And a sun set to lay away your day to day fears
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
The shame of loss still burning under his skin, Torleik barely stirred when he first heard the call. Why go? He had fought to change this power structure and he had failed. Why go and subject himself further to a yoke he was ill-prepared to shoulder? A sigh passed his lips, and he pushed himself to his feet. The movement was gingerly done and slow; he still ached, though it seemed he was healing just fine.
Shuffling his way through the crowd that had formed upon Deimos' summoning, the dual-horned rabicano gazed curiously at the Reaper. Ulrik had fought for this male, bled for him.
Why?
Deimos had a daughter. Torleik had come upon her at the Basin Lake a few days prior - and she seemed to be present now, at this meeting. Was that offspring the result of a political or calculated decision, or was it out of love? Could the Reaper love?
These thoughts clouded Torleik's once clear picture of the Basin Lord. Unsurprisingly, Deimos' speech was short and to the point. Illynx came next, a mare Torleik had yet to meet, and her displeasure with this change in leadership was wholly obvious. Observing this made Torleik wonder, but in truth, he was too weary in mind and soul to give machinations for power much thought. He let the others speak their piece, feeling a whole vat of nothing for the scene playing out before him.
Why did this matter? This wasn't his home. It would never be his home. Why did he care who led, why they led, what their plans were? Why did he bother? Apathy threatened to fill up all the spaces his emotions had left void. Closing his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere else but here, Torleik let his thoughts wander. He thought of his home by the waters, his small, fiercely loyal herd and the bonds they had with each other, his family. He had always tried to make his mother and father proud. Always tried to be a good man, like they'd hoped for him to be.
Why couldn't he do good, then? Why could he not bring about the good he wanted to?
"Oar...son...look at me." Torleik felt an uncomfortable sting behind his eyes as his mother's voice drifted to the forefront of his memories, her pet name for him painful in its affection. "Good men mean well. They don't always do well. You cannot change the world in one day.
A sad smile briefly curved his lips. Those words had been spoken to him when he was barely more than a child, but he had never forgotten their wisdom. Perhaps now was not the time for him to push his will on this situation. Perhaps now was the time to observe. Lifting his head, Torleik waited for the mare who was speaking on Deimos' behalf to finish. He found he didn't like her much. Something far too deliberate about her words. Her speech finished, Torleik stepped forward a little.
"I submit myself as a candidate for the position of General." He paused, meeting Deimos' gaze. "I was allowed in on condition that when the time so called, I would spill my blood for this land. I do not intend to leave any doubt that I hold to my word."
This would be good for him. His battle with Ulrik had made him realize that he had lost a step somewhere between home and this place. Torleik knew that if he had been in peak shape, even Ulrik's cowardly use of that mechanical beast would not have stopped the dual-horned stallion from winning. A thought occurred to him, then, and he spoke once more.
"Among my people, warriors were also storytellers. Bloodskalds, they were called. If this can be of use to the Basin...I offer my abilities, such as they are."
[[Just to make it clear, no one but Ulrik and Torleik know of their battle, so unless a character learns directly from Ulrik or Torleik, they would have no knowledge of the fight]]
TORLEIK
"Your half-grasp can't exterminate my stand; you can't rule with a broken upper hand."
The call rode upon the streams of the north wind, coiling through the narrow passages and glacier crevasses, echoing from the resolute walls of the glacial fortitude as it grasped deep within the webs of granite caves, forever reticent and taciturn. The crystalline walls of his sanctuary and refuge wept under the tyranny of Tallsun’s oppression and malignance, wailed at the sting of the lantern’s deleterious touch and had begun to sob again at the time of the stallion’s departure. Regret filled each stride as his hooves struck the bare earth, naked, scarred, wounded by the abduction of the snow’s gentle caresses and the lingering nostalgia of her kisses. He was the spawn of winter, the archaic fruit from the loins of snowfall and north winds. Nothing desolated him like the decadence of Tallsun.
A few had answered the summons laid upon them, but he knew none except for the ever resplendent, gilded mare he had encountered at the bay of the clandestine valley so many weeks ago. “I am Deimos, your lord.” Death walks amongst us, enigmatic and unfathomable he stands. An uneasy feeling slipped behind Leovan’s well guarded facade as Death spoke to the gathered crowd of matters that made little sense to those unprepared of the situation. Prisoners, treaty, peace. Had something been amiss? Had he been so obtuse, so imperceptive, harbored from all that he had not seen what passed outside the boundaries of his sanctuary? Jaws clenched and little was heeded of the speech and brief exchange of verbal judgements that followed. The caustic shame of his own stupidity stung. Yet, he owed this Lord no allegiance, no prowess. Could he call this home? Could he name these faces he knew so little of kinsmen? But in the end who was he to openly defy and disregard or contravene? Had he earned the right to ask questions and otherwise disobey the leadership of others? He who had done so little, and achieved even less. Gravelly, orotund and baritone his voice sounded, sonorous and resonant. “I am willing to fill the candidature of emissary if so shall be accepted.”
They followed the call, winding and dedicating their travels to the mercy of the Tallsun splendor, coaxed and cajoled by the thunderous demands of a new King. In truth, the nymph didn’t know what to think or prosper from the rise of their General, the fall of their Lady. Too silent, too reticent, too stoic and reclusive, she’d never been truly in the presence or mindset of the Reaper’s maelstroms and upheavals, chaotic enthrallments or malicious yearnings – but she’d known of his dedication, his loyalty, his strength and deadly art. How else could he have come into such a role? The Basin, with all its beauty, with all its majesty, with all its wild, vivid spirits, could not be tamed by poison and treachery alone, and as she drifted into the mouths of cataclysms, the distorted resonance of anger and hostility, the sylph and kitsune chose to say nothing at all of the incident. Even as the GildedBlade tore into Deimos’s command, even as Arah offered her support, she remained silent, a nymph ghosting and gliding into the chamber of the valley. Instead of voicing anything, she wondered and prayed. With the nefarious demon in charge, what was to become of them? Would they be led down the road of war again, after this time of peace had passed? Would they entomb their legacies into oubliettes and dungeons, crypts and catacombs, feasting on the ides of their enemies? Would they be laced and woven into their villainous splendor over and over, rolling into the tides of damnation? Would she acquiesce to her charge once more, sing and enthrall into her heart burst from the laments, sonnets and requiems? Would they ever claim the victory they sought? Would they ever emerge from the bulrushes of treachery and deceit, covet the ambitious claims they’d so longed for? And when, after the storm settled, would it all end?
She approached along Huyana’s blue side, dipping her head prior to the creatures she knew, familiar Leovan, antlered Arah, to the newfound leaders, bestowing respect amidst the avaricious tirades, and her eyes widened only slightly upon the appearance of a child along the nestled coils of the Scholar. Mysteries and surprises abound in triumphant glimmers, culminating in a title and daughter of her friend – and the sylph furnished a heavenly smile for mother and youth. “Congratulations,” she whispered into her comrade’s ear, honeyed and sweet, conspiring and whimsical. Huyana had achieved so many things, and it was a shame Lena hadn’t been there to view the revelations in the present, granting more gifts and jubilation. She harmonized again, allowed a dulcet wink to slide across her left eye. “It seems we have much to discuss, Haruspex.” The femme leaned down towards the babe, offered a soft cajoling of her maw across her stubby horn. “Hello, little one.” Imogen followed suit in an archaic dance, sliding amongst lithe, limber towers and legs, attempting to brush her tail against the filly’s petals and blossoms.
Only after her greetings did she return to the current circumstances, listening and capturing the words echoing over the waves of icy boroughs. Her interest piqued over a ghostly, intertwining, poignant evocation: the restoration of Emissaries. In another time, another life, she hadn’t been the warbling, trilling nurse, but the singsong diplomat, attempting to pluck souls from dungeons and bestowing offers of treaties and pacts. Was this a chance, an opportunity, to become the reverent, serene envoy again, healing and imparting tranquility in dual form? Or had she been lost to those ages, enameled and lacquered to her current role? She mulled over the sentiments, and after Leovan threw his hat into the ring, she followed thereafter, crooning the armaments of her restored aspirations, once thrown, tossed asunder, now reformed and renewed. “I would also like to be considered for Emissary. I have experience in the position, and perhaps, if I am not chosen, I can aid in offering my support to the appointed.”
Lena</style> where there is love, there is life.</style>
Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men.
The summons came as something of a surprise to the centaur. He raised his head with a puzzled frown as the neigh echoed through the valley, fingers pausing briefly in their work of stitching together tiny rabbit skins into something that eventually was intended to become a garment. Blue eyes looked around, trying to capture the gaze of someone in the vicinity to ask what was going on; but no one seemed to be looking in his direction, they were already leaving caves and patches of grass, conversations and other business, heading in the direction of the caller with a sense of purpose in their steps.
Hesitating slightly, unsure of whether this call was meant for him as well, Kelec eventually set aside his work and rolled up on all four, stiff legs stretching with popping joints before he began to follow in the wake of the unicorns, annoyed over the interruption yet also curious over why they were being gathered. Was this a common occurrence? Did the horses in this herd normally come as soon as someone called, or was this rare? He did sense surprise in the herd, saw glances and whispers exchanging, brows raised and ears curiously pointed forward as they gathered before a tall, dark stallion. The centaur had to admit himself surprised as well; he hadn't recognized the call, and decidedly didn't expect it to belong to the ominous gray stallion that had been among the crowd as the chestnut first came to the Aurora Basin. The ranks and personalities of the herd was still mostly unfamiliar, just as he was unfamiliar to them; with the back straight and arms folded in a relaxed yet proud manner across the vest-clad chest the half-horse creature kept to the outskirts of the group, unwilling to draw too much attention to himself - just in case he shouldn't have come.
Remaining quiet as Deimos and Illynx spoke, he like everyone else raised his eyebrows at the announcement that the deadly general had risen in rank. But unlike the horned Lady he had spoken with upon arriving the red-haired man didn't have any objections. It mattered little to him who made the decisions, neither did he care who this Psyche was that had left her crown and disappeared. Neither did he find the rest of the news interesting - really, was this something to gather the entire herd for? To him it sounded more like business between the rulers and the different casts, did everyone have to know everything around here?
It seemed like such an inefficient system; just listen to the bickering that already had started, the loud voicing of different opinions in front of leads, warriors, healers and children... Not to mention the general disorder as different characters shouted their interest for this position or that... No, he didn't care much for it. It was disorganized, nothing at all like the quiet, efficient system of voting by paper ballots back at home, that had been tallied and announced by the Council of Elders, where complaints were seen as extremely rude and a serious accusation of dishonesty against the appointed someone... It went without saying that Kelec felt the difference between his own race and the unicorns grow the longer he remained among them.
The frown that had settled on his brow only eased up a tiny bit as the subject changed to areas that interested him. As Illynx spoke of cultivating food and improving the caves, the tall centaur took a step forward - hesitant to add to the confusing meeting, yet even more reluctant to remain silent when he had something to add.
"My people were skilled at utilizing the land where they settled. I know much about the cultivation of plants and storing of fruit and feed, and have no objections against sharing my knowledge with the Aurora Basin."
The deep voice carried clearly through the air, strong without being loud and as firm as the studs face was calm - an effective shield against the many curious, shocked eyes that surely would be turned towards his unusual, to some even grotesque appearance.
"I might also have something to add on the subject of improving the caves; though it's not an area I'm very familiar with, I know of some techniques used when working with stone. Overall, I'm at your service."
A large hand was placed with open palm above the heart, and after a slight bow towards the two leaders Kelec grew quiet and stepped back, having nothing further to add.
As she returns from the caverns she discovered, the fae hears the calling of the Reaper and the GildedBlade. She scurries forward, hurrying down to the gathered crowd. Her vessel tumbles along behind her, unable to match her swift and graceful gait. She keeps the crystal chunk held fast between her teeth, holding it there with her tongue. She stops short of the group, walking closer. The fae listens to everything the Lord and Lady have to say, nodding her head in approval when they announce Huyana as the new Haruspex. Although it broke her heart to know Myrddin no longer had his place in the Basin, she accepted it, for it was reality.
Placing the crystal down, she raises her neck and opens her lips. "There is an entrance to a channel of caverns in the Heart, maybe someone would be interested in exploring them further?" The fae speaks out, nudging forth the pearl white crystal. "There are caverns stocked with crystals like this one." She adds, looking at the grey Lord and gold accented Lady. It was all she spoke, leaving everyone to chat about what they pleased. She would, however join the conversation again if it was required of her.
She sinks back, picking up the crystal to tuck it into her mane, which was knotted from being whipped in the wind. She let it sit there, taking a note to weave it into her mane when the meeting ended. She lets herself drift and wander, her mind taking notice of a major, yet nearly invisible detail. Psyche was not here to hold her crown high, to lead the Basin into a glorious era of Crowned rulers. But her throne was cold, empty, Psyche absent from her role as Lady. Her place had been taken by Lady GildedBlade and Lord Reaper, who the maiden thought would lead the Basin well. But who had been the one to first bring the Basin to its current rank? To its grand standing, to its dark, muttered rumors of cold hearts passed between frightened children? Psyche, it had been the DarkEmpress to lead them into that glorious rank, but now she had left the Basin in the hands of the Reaper and the GildedBlade. Would they raise the Basin's rankings higher? Or would they trample over Psyche's seasons of work?
"Speech."
[came to inform the basin of the caves in the heart <3]
FROST FYRE
Second chances they don't ever matter, people never change.
The call that echoed out across the rocky walls of the Basin came as a surprise to the Impersonator, who had not heard such a summons in what seemed an age. Not since the Endless Night had fallen at least, and he was more than happy to have put those days behind him. It was not a long walk, and even as he approached he could hear the baritone voice of Deimos ringing out across the plains and vibrating through the crisp air. Roland’s eyes swept across the faces of his herd mates as he approached, eyeing the congregation that had gathered before the Lord and Lady.
He slid warily into the group, ears perked as he listened to Deimos’ voice rumble across the flat ground. Their new Lord? What of Psyche? The Impersonator’s brow creased as he stepped forwards, glancing around as if expecting equally shocked reactions from his family, but many were unflinching at the news. And true to the Reaper’s word, there was no sign of Psyche. Roland turned his gaze back to the stallion standing at their head, listening in a silence that swam with confusion. He knew he had kept himself distanced from the Basin’s political affairs as of late, too busy soaking up the sun in the warmer regions of Helovia to think of little else, but how had he remained ignorant to such important news?
A chill crawled down his spine as Deimos’ voice died down and Illynx stepped forwards, her tone clearly dripping with disgust. Roland could simply remain silent and watch as her speech unfurled, words echoing across the stone with a particular sharpness. He and Psyche had never been close, not in any stretch of the term, but if asked he would never have said anything negative about her. One could never choose their steps too carefully in a herd where racism ran rampant like the plague. Roland had never particularly cared for the Dark Empress either, nor did he feel much sentiment towards any whose beings had been so toxically poisoned with prejudice. It was a seed that sprouted vile and beautiful flowers, but though their roots had found many in the Basin, drawing them into their tainted arms, the Impersonator had remained unswayed. He had seen manipulation in all its various states of undress, and there was nothing to be impressed about.
Arah rose her voice nearby, and Roland turned to listen to her with watchful eyes. Many spoke up after her, requesting permissions or offering their congratulations to the dark stallion standing before them. Roland observed in silence, gaze flicking from one face to another as they spoke, but he held his tongue. There was little he could offer to the Reaper that wasn’t already obvious. His loyalty and promise to serve had been made clear since the beginning, or so he hoped.
Push your luck if it makes you a promise that turns con men honest.
11-11-2013, 02:14 PM (This post was last modified: 11-11-2013, 02:20 PM by Deimos.)
Loyalty was an eternal light amongst his boundless, Stygian shadows, his body had been their deadly munitions, his carcass had been their soldierly forbearance, his skeleton and enchantments had been their arms, alms and animosity, wild, barbaric and brutal, a chiseled, archaic sculpture of sedition and splendor, of decadence and licentiousness. He’d been a knife cutting and carving into the flesh of their enemies, he’d been a storm brewing for their horizon, he’d been the butcher to pluck feathers from skulls and pride from hearts. He’d committed the actions of his people, of his brethren, of his Lord and Lady and their absentee mouths, schemed and maimed, ripped and torn, for the silent, unsung generations to come, had protected, guarded, secured and sundered for the yearning, for the longing, of fiendish whim and caprice. The feverish roar of Illynx, with her banshee requiems and ferocious laments, for her beloved Psyche were concocted and composed through layers of incomprehension. The former Empress had been unharmed, strewn and sinuous, asp and venom flying, spewing across the vicious tirade and turbulence of her own undoing, of her own upheaval, but the only harm lacquered across her brow had been a broken horn, a cataclysm wrought from battles not gestured from his form. If she thought of Psyche as weak, as feeble and infirm, as fragile and unaware, then she did her memory no credit. The GildedBlade’s criticism was an unfounded, inept quandary, a flickering, floundering denouncement, and the confidence, the assurance, the composure and calm, impassive, statue reticence failed to fade away from his marble countenance. His claim only rose further when Huyana, suddenly a storm, and Arah, the ivory impersonator, spoke of his vigilance, his allegiance and adherence. Were his few virtues so readily forgotten by a creature who’d thrived and benefitted from their actions, their reliability and devotion? He parted his jaw, leaned close towards the golden mare’s ear, chiseled finality into the chilling, glacial precision of his words, irritated by the stupidity of her exploits (who shows weakness, sedition and brewing maelstroms to their kingdom, to their empire?), a perilous, grinding whisper. “Cease displaying your ignorance.” The piercing juncture of his eyes slid over the gathered forces, the dwindled army, the throng of mishap and failed invasions. He’d deliver them assurance of their previous Queen, but no more. If they sought her frame, they were free to wander into the marshes, veils and shades, allowing the boom of his grating, demanding, cool apathy drain over the din. “No harm fell to the previous Empress.”
Usually a satanic webbing of chaos, the beast conceded when they required support, faithfulness and commitment, dedication to a cause spiraling into the depths of desecration. Instead of reeling into her ploys, her further, spitting regards were ignored, and he took his turn listening, attending to the compatriots united and tied to the bounty of previous phrases. To Huyana, now Oracle amidst the cascading derision and scorn of their world, he gave a simple nod, a hushed congratulations, and to his daughter, a subtle smirk, fleeting and unwinding, reserved for only her sight, then gone, vanished as he proceeded to the next set of vocals. Arah, whom he’d trained, whom he’d battled amongst, whom he’d seen time and time again honor her valiancy by tossing her frame into their frays, received a deep chasm of respect, and he collected her reliability with another silent display of humility, a gesture of his powerful cranium, imparting his strength upon hers. Torleik spoke next, and he remembered the soldier he and the Engineer had recruited amongst the Threshold, nonchalant and brooding, apprehensive and almost unwilling, suddenly poised and interested in the Reaper’s prior position. His hardened gaze considered the stag for a moment, the recent wounds – had he spilled blood for them, and he, death and Lord, had been unaware of the threat? Had Torleik demonstrated his usefulness through enigmatic pulses and pulls? A short, curt, terse proclamation followed, intrigued, perplexed, and pondering. “Your candidacy is acknowledged. May you prove your strength.” Would Torleik be a suitable warlord, driven to annihilate, persecute and unravel the flailing empires beyond their walls?
The notion was an curious image, and as he continued, to a beast he didn’t recognize, the behemoth realized the impact he’d made across the lands had been more of malice, menace, vehemence and distortion; corruption for Kings and Queens to wield, instead of knowing and recalling the tempest’s name, Deimos, demise and death entangled, enraptured, enticed. But the stag yearned for diplomacy, and while the monster had been granted many gifts, ambassador provisions were not one of them. To offer the right to another would assure his time would not be wasted upon petty arguments and treaties, and he’d be free to orchestrate the drills of war and the pending, savage bombardments of their valor, of their potency and mastery. “Give me your name, comrade, and you shall become a politician.” The nurse, Lena, followed, and he recalled her loyalty, her junctures into invasions, her recruitments and mending measures; and though she yearned for another consul whole, the essential ties of her mending, assuaging bestowals left him with little choice. “We cannot lose your value as a healer. However, please provide aid as necessary.”
Already conversing far more than he had in many seasons, Deimos progressed to the centaur, a beast he’d accepted for knowledge, curiosity and machinations – the ideas, the notions, the calculations the strange-armed cretin could offer were worth the oddity and anomaly of his image slinking across the Basin. Reinforcements and fortitudes to their caves were an interesting, appealing topic, and he crossed into it with stratagems and tactics spinning their meticulous, diligent webs amongst his malicious mind. “What do you suggest?” A spotted Scholar approached, speaking of more caverns, and despite having plenty of them, the avaricious enmity of his callous cravings leant to more exploration, to more intrigue and possibilities. “You may examine them further. Take another with you.” It would benefit them more to have the endless bounty of information at their hooves, at their daggers, of secret, specious runes uncovered and ensnared. Finally, it seemed his speech would subsume and be rendered into silence, for as Roland, another impersonator, slunk into the region, granting naught but the appearance of his devotion, the Reaper quieted, allowed for the conversations to continue, the promise of advancement, of supremacy, of dominance, to spring into the gulley of their glaciers.
[Feel free to respond to questions, concerns, rank things, i.e. if anyone is willing to go with Frost Fyre and come back with info, if anyone has any other crafting ideas, etc. If you have not posted, you may still come in to provide your insight, ideas, or notion for ranks.
I would like to have this closed by November 25th. Post order is a lie. :DD]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
11-12-2013, 02:12 AM (This post was last modified: 11-12-2013, 02:15 AM by Zar'roc.)
Archeon's nose quivers, a grin plastered across his muzzle as he hurls a fire ball at a rock and watches it explode in pieces in a firework show of pebbles. I glare at him, and I can feel the way his mind blocks me out as he flicks his tail and prances ahead. Such a snot. After discovering his elemental ability he used it way too much. And it just added onto his inflated self-esteem. I lift my crown, the cold air stinging my nares as I inhale, but it feels so good. I love the crunch under my hooves, my legs quickly growing numb from the cold, long plumed tail dragging, wet, on the snow before picking it up and flicking it back and forth; a feline. Archeon stiffens at my thoughts and I roll my eyes. He lifts his nose, loping back to me, silver eyes penetrating my own crimson orbs. What is it? I ask gruffly and he responds We're close. I just stare at him. YOU are so fucking stu- I feel anger coil within Archeon's head and I silence myself, pressing my lips into a thin line and wonder why I had to be stuck with him. He dramatically huffs, rolling his shoulders before lifting his paws high and rolling his hips as he moves ahead again.
He was right - it didn't take long before we found the single path leading to the Basin. I trudged up it, looking through my bonded's eyes to make my way along the trail. Archeon stopped and waited for me, slinking through my legs as we stuck to the shadows. Surely it was no secret they were there though, Deimos probably was on his scent already. A toss of his head and the pair move on, ignoring the boarders. Archeon presses into my mind nervously as we cross them but I have no worries. I am apart of the Plague. I must be welcome.
I hear Deimos. So, he is Lord now. I smirk. Well done, uncle. I think and Archeon looks up at me. My tail brushes him slightly and his flames erupt across his body. He must know I am here. Still, I stick on the edges to listen as he talks to the herd. Psyche has left.. where has she gone? It crosses my mind that there has not been a Plague meeting in quite some time. Archeon relays the last one back to me- the memory foggy from young age. I nod once to him. "Generals and corporals will be determined by a tournament between the eager. Inform us if you are interested in either." I grin, yes that would be perfect. General Zar'roc, reporting for duty.
I wait until the voices die down, and Deimos speaks once more. I then slide out of the shadows, Archeon strutting out along with me and I want to slap him. Why. Why here? Why now? I ignore the little shit and one corner of my mouth curves up. "Sorry I am late to the party, Lord." I force myself to dip my head to him, cringing ever so slightly but hiding it by turning to the crowd of followers and then looking at him again. "I am interested in becoming a General, if I am so feasible." I declare simply, flicking my tail back and forth, golden orbs scanning the herd. I did not know most of these horses here.
As I stand and wait for Deimos to wait again, my mind wanders to Archeon's, his thoughts jumbled and too happy. I blink to focus back into my own mind, glass encased horn dangled horizontal when I look at him and nudge him softly. Are we going to live here?Most probably, Archeon. He shudders, flames dancing across his much larger form - when will he stop growing? What is it? I ask, eyes narrowing slightly. I have to live in this? In the snow?! In the cold?! But my fur- my my flames- my fur! He stutters angrily, and I can't help but laugh. He cared about self image - what his fur will look like when wet with snow? I lost it, a laugh erupting from my figure and I quickly tamper it down. He glares at me, chest expanding with a sigh as he turns his glare to the ground at his feet, butt falling to the ground heavily as he roughly accepts the news. Am I really permanently stuck with this thing?
The reaction of those before her was even more astonishing than the news that she was without her most beloved friend, their faces nearly all reflecting that they cared little for the change in hierarchy that aroused such overwhelming feelings of betrayal within her heart. To each defending voice she turned her eyes, but she did not see them past their words, meeting her ears like stones cast at a nude and bound victim of some cruel joke. Golden gaze observing a world within her head, she accepted the queries of the newly appointed Haruspex and found that she could not argue these valid citations of the man's character - and yet, still, she felt a sincere wrongness in the allegations that such a faithful pet of the Empress would so emotionlessly announce her departure from their ranks. Surely, of all those who stood to hear their words, Deimos understood the value of a woman such as Psyche; how could he remain so cold and emotionless despite the measure of what they had lost? It deepened her bitterness towards the reality of her life at this moment, that she was forced to rule alongside a man who was so without a soul that he could express no remorse for even as fine a queen and friend as the black mare had been to them all. That he sent the chills of fear racing through her with his void-like demeanor was nothing in comparison to this insult - a robot, a man of hardened, lifeless steel, a being that had seemed at ease in the shadows of the outskirts until this moment and still seemed to slumber in the state of introversion that had been his life as she had observed it, and he was to be their king?
What silent statue had ever led anyone?
Arah's words slipped through her like knives, so calmly stated, the bitter truths of the matters that had come to pass. She set aside her grief for the friend that would no longer stand alongside her, hearing the Lord acquitted of all crimes but one that she had pinned him guilty for; he had done nothing to stop her, at least not enough to have warranted a place in the silvery doe's tale of events, and the shard that had slipped into her core at the sound of Huyana's voice, a metallic gleam that said the black man alongside her hadn't cared at all for the woman who had led him until now, pressed it's heavy edge deeper into her soul.
She stood among so many without any true loyalty to those that led them. Sobering, the pill slipped down her throat like a swap of cotton, so difficult to swallow, and now her hollow gaze filled with a look of consideration, each face searched for a flicker of anything other than disregard and emptiness. For the first time since having gained her position, she feared for herself; slowly, her ear slid to the word's that ushered forth from the Lord's lips himself, her trembling flesh further upset by the insulting tone.
She was alone in her love. A steel bound resolve found itself wrapped tightly about her in this moment, her rage subsiding into a subtle upset of the emotional currents she normally kept low and controlled. If she was to be alone in her thoughts and concerns, then she would make adjustments to protect her own back from the cold knives of these murderous and untrustworthy fakes; raising her crown proudly, her voice lilted forth, plans writhing in the back of her mind even as the words formed themselves on the pleasant mountain air, "His loyalties did not reach to those who provided his orders, and I may not be swayed from this opinion; if he does hold concern for our losses," a golden orb lazily swept over to look upon the black warrior, "his ability to express these things is quite impressive. The Lady Psyche led us for many seasons and brought us many great achievements; to mourn such a loss seems to be only logical, especially to one as connected and faithful as the Lord Deimos."
Her voice lowered, her features turning more fully towards the man alongside her, a whisper sent to his ears that she kept from the rest of those watching, "We have gained nothing in this exchange but a weakened military and a statue wearing a crown. Whatever your intent, the price has been high. I am not so ignorant, sir, rather than confused as to the state and position of your heart." A pause filled the air between the calls of those who wished to fill the voids left in the wake of this miniature disaster and her whispered blame, her lips silently sounding out the words: all of your hearts.
She would begin her search for Psyche in the morning following, she promised herself, the invisible spirit of her friend. She owed the woman as much for being as faithful and stalwart a companion as she had been, the bringer of such glories as this snow peaked mountain.
Slipping into a noiseless figure that seemed more suited to Deimos than herself, she let the black carry forth the rest of the business, sourly absorbing the disfigurement of the carefully painted figure of the man she had held in her head until now. To hear his words so often and in such plethora was odd, his deep voice strangely soothing to her despite her ire towards him and those around her; the words were of change, growth, a rebuilding of the towers that seemed to be ceaselessly crumbling around her. Partially rousing her from the riverbed of sorrow she had slipped deep into, however, was the centaur, the most unique being among them all, to be sure, responding to her inquiries as to how they might improve their foundations.
Dark rimmed ears lifted and harkened to his words, a sparkle of curiosity lighting in her gaze even as the Lord extinguished her chance to respond to the man. Though it ruffled her already dislodged feathers further, she remained silent, a soft smile beaming forth in the direction of the half human being that the good Doctor had brought home to cover the snarl that threatened to release the rancor she had only just crammed back into it's rusty cage.
The late arriving outcast draw a similar visage of friendliness to her, the mare knowing his face from the secret meetings of the Plague and relating him, in many ways, to be similar to the gruff and unkempt Ulrik. His offer to join their contest of ranking pulled her a little further out of her hopeless stupor - she had not known the other to put his name forward, handsome as he may have been, but this man was a tried and true member of her species. A pang of sadness washed through her as she thought of their hidden coven; who would guide them now? Would the Empress still wear her crown of bones, though she had cast aside the one of ice? "I wish you well in the tournament," sincerely stated the wench, a delicate nod cast to him before she returned her attentions to Kelec to hear his ideas on improvements that might be made to the land, struggling with her heart's need to mourn the absence of it's only beloved friend.
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
Ulrik was fashionably late to the meeting. He was sporting a few new injures from his challenge, but he did not speak on that. What occurred was between himself and Torleik, and the demon-horned stallion had more than proven himself. As the Engineer walked with a slight gimp on his front leg, he nodded to Torleik before tilting his ears forward at the only conversation he had managed to get. The mare who had helped him when his magic was broken was mourning Psyche, and he furrowed his brows.
But why?
Achievements? What achievements did Psyche lead them to? The God of Time brought them to this land. Since then it had been stagnant and full of bloody fucking pregnant mare and their fucking hormones. Still, he would keep that opinion to himself considering that Deimos had his own little brat running around, one whom he saw standing next to who he presumed was the babe's mother. Ulrik's mad, bronze stare settled on them before he tore it away to focus once more on Illynx's words.
The stallion shook his head and stepped forward, his massive, charcoal form more fit from his battle with Torleik. A thick, bloody scab on his leg as well as a few stab wounds told stories that his words could not and yet explained nothing. The Engineer settled his gaze on Illynx without judgement or disgust. She was pretty and intelligent, and she only needed to be enlightened. Right? He prayed she was not like the other females. That would be... disappointing, and that was an emotion he was not used to feeling.
"Deimos did not challenge Psyche for leadership," Ulrik explained. "I did." He paused to let his words uttered from growling throat settle among the crowd. "For a long time have I been in this land, longer than I have ever stayed in one place. I was there when Mauja and Psyche ruled the World's Edge. Psyche abandoned the battle and us when we fought to keep our home, and we lost." The Engineer was of course spinning the tale from his point of view, but he believed every word he spoken. If Ulrik could ever be charismatic, it was at this very moment.
"The Time God gave her this land because of Mauja. She lead us into a battle in which she was one of the first to fall against the fucking pathetic might of the Throat." Ulrik's vehemence slipped into his words, and his opinion of the Dragon's Throat was more than revealed. Ulrik shook his head, tumbling his thick, black mane around his neck. "I could not serve a herd whose leader so frequently lead our great society and great race into shame, and I was not the one to lead."
Ulrik smirked. "I respect Psyche, however. She told me I would make a bloody mess as a lead, and I agreed. I wanted the title for a day, and I made plans. Then, I gave my position to Deimos, as she implied she wanted," he clarified to Illynx. The stallion stood, his secret and the truth exposed. "If you need to point blame then, point it at me. I asked Psyche to stay." The stallion sighed. "Should you find her I would imagine she would say much of the same, and Deimos was with me to justify what I have spoken."
The engineer cast a single glance at Illynx that was filled with confusion and fear of the unknown, but in the blink of his glinty eyes, it was gone. "What remains now is to become great again, and I believe with Deimos' skill and Illynx's level head and cleverness we can conquer whatever path our hooves cross." Ulrik glanced between the two leads. "I will take whatever position you ask of me, but I have matters to attend to now..." he muttered, slipping off into the snowy field to work on something made of metal.
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Image by Nikkayla
Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men.
Kelec waited until he had the full attention of the two leaders, waiting impatiently for the rest of the herd to finish speaking - he shot the glass-horned stallion that arrived late a stern look, clearly disapproving with the lack of manners he displayed - before clearing the voice.
"On the whole this valley have great potential for development" he began, the awkwardly pieced together bulk turning so that he could gesture out over the hidden cauldron. "I believe one way to utilize the limited space would be to extend the caves inwards, into the roots of the mountains. The further in one delves the more even the temperature will become, providing a pleasant climate even during the midst of winter. There is a technique of heating the rock with fire, and then applying quantities of cold water that will make it crack and come loose; I believe it could be utilized here, if it is of interest."
"Furthermore" the centaur continued, the face suddenly quite alive as he gestured with the hands to put emphasis on his words, "the materials freed could be used to construct pathways between each cavern, roofed perhaps to provide shade and shelter from rain in summer and to keep snow and wind on a distance. If enough were quarried one could also build small.. how to say.. cheaptha teasa, house of greens... Walls with roof of glass that make the earth inside warm enough for plants to grow even in winter. The hot spring would help, the steam would make things grow very quickly if it could be harnessed."
There were more things, so much more that he believed could be done, but for the time being Kelec quieted himself and peered between the gathered horses, from the Lady Illynx to the new Lord who had approved his presence, to the nameless masses - inquisitive, hopeful; doubtfully. How interested were they in improving their own levels of comfort? The red-haired stud could offer plenty of reasons why this was a good idea, from increased health to furthering the mental growth of the unicorns, a development from this primitive gathering of pseudo-animals into a civilization his peers would have woven tales about.
But it all depended, really, on whether they would be interested enough to work for it. His visions were grand and would take long time to fulfill - longer than his own lifespan perhaps, were he to be the only one to work on it. Coils of crimson hair fell down before the eyes as the man looked down in his hands, large and rough, littered with scars and darkened by years under the sun. Capable, oh yes; if only the unicorns knew to put them to use.
Ulrik was much as Deimos; they could only see the Lady Psyche for what she had been to her people, not who she was to those who followed her despite her occasional falterings. To Illynx, the Dark Empress was a lone light gleaming in the night, a beacon that shone brightly and had pulled her from a darkness so desolate that she had been near ending her own life, a scant and miserly young woman who had pushed all of those around her away, either through her own violent actions or their refusal to accept the girl for who she was. Hateful, bitter, full of remorse for a life that had been lost by no fault of her own, she and the black wraith had not immediately become as tight knit as they were destined to be; but she had still saved Illynx from herself, providing a kindred spirit in a house of overly accepting fools. For that, she would follow the Empress to an early grave, if only to prove to her that she had not forgotten the claws that had pried her from her turbulent and frigid ocean of self pity.
How might they love me if the cannot not love Psyche? she inwardly mourned, for she has always been stronger than I am.
Her gaze found the Engineer a midst the others, a deranged colossus that she had once shared a moment of unusual and valid friendliness with. The jagged wound on his leg drew some concern to her features, what little empathy she possessed beckoning her to assist him as he had her during the night of no end, but so strong was her apathy that she could not be bothered to muster more than a scant smile as she met his devious bronze gaze with her own. Fleeting, the expression withered as he admitted to his guilt, the blood smeared all across his hooves.
Staring quite blankly and mildly in disbelief at the boldness of his confession, her anger sobered in the truth that had been shared and was replaced with the first flickering sensations of embarrassment over having shown her ass so quickly. Unlike the Lord Deimos, Ulrik did not fill her with anxiety and distrust; rather, he intrigued her with his wild demeanor, his equally untamed gaze that hinted at not all being right beneath that handsome and muscular surface, a glimmer that she herself could relate to in comparison to the cold aura that emanated from the black devil who stood alongside her. Still, she wondered why it might be that it was not him who had called the herd to this place that dripped in nostalgic memories of her friend - but she did not wonder long.
It was logical, truly. A man who could become so distraught over a temporary lapse in his magical abilities would indeed make a poor leader. Not that she really could understand how it felt to lack something so close to herself - she had naught to lose. He had asked her to stay, she repeated in her head, feeling pricks of tears gathering in her eyes as her heart shattered at the words. Why had she fled? Had she forgotten who she was leaving behind? Blinking quickly to subdue the burning and press her true feelings back into the closely confined box that she had held them in for so many years, she forced herself to replay the words that described his decisions to blame the feather and teeth adorned mare for their failures. Did the others feel this way as well? Sliding her eyes across the few who had come to Deimos' call and remembering their cold lack of concern, she bitterly had to admit to herself that none loved the Empress any longer but she.
The tears threatened and were beaten back again, in sorrow for her friend, so alone in the world when she had thought she was never to be so again.
Her thoughts swallowed his kind words in mind of her character, the foundations that were building beneath them despite her loathe to accept their presence. Perhaps she should have listened; it would have warmed her to know that she was respected still, if only by the mad machinist.
Distantly she watched his departure, an instance that on a more joyful day would have brought a smile to her face in memory of that long ago dark day when he had abandoned her confused and wondering in her cave in much the same fashion. Her pointed fingers now introverted and spread broad, towards herself and all those who had ever come to the call of the Empress, their false allegiance as blatant as the fact that she could not dwell on her own personal problems very long in the midst of a meeting before all discussion was closed.
Lifting her ears once more, realizing only as she did so that they had fallen back to a partial mast in her contemplation, she returned her focus to Kelec as he answered her inquiries as to how he felt he might help them live more fulfilled. A much needed distraction, he began explaining and she was quickly enthralled, especially by the notion of breaking the stone away with water and fire. A mare who admired imagery in her own right (sweetly remembering her conversation with Deodat in the Frozen Arch), she found the mental picture of such a building technique alluring and poetic; a good thing to focus on considering the horse-creature was now frantically waving his extra limbs around while he spoke, something he had done on their first meeting that she still could not understand. It made her want to rip the damn things off, especially in her current state, but she attempted to maintain a facade of cool collection despite her rancorous desires.
She admired his concept of covered pathways, she herself the sort to hole away in a dry place when the cold rain fell as if the water would melt her flesh like some big bad witch of the West. When he spoke the unusual word to describe the greenhouse, her attentions heightened as they always did when presented with strange language, filing away the term for later use should she ever really need it. All of the ideas he mentioned were highly intriguing and sounded quite useful, especially with the harsh winter of no sun so fresh in her mind; she had only just managed to regain the weight that had fled from her body in the wake of so little foraging to be found, and while the Basin usually did not suffer so desperately during the cold months due to it's natural covering from the mountain, it couldn't hurt to have extra things to eat that were not normally growing or available while the frosts set in.
Especially clover. There was nothing more wonderful than a spring bloom of the wondrous purple flower upon her tongue - except, perhaps, the blood of a hornless trembling in fear of her wrath.
"How many will you need to build this cheaptha teasa before the cold arrives?" she inquired of the flame haired creature, all savagery vanished from her voice and replaced with a lilting sadness no matter how sweet her smile lay upon her lips, "I also am interested in seeing a few of the caves towards the center of the land expanded for the sake of mothers and their children as you have described. The walkways are equally useful but of less importance than those which stave the cold and put food in our bellies." Looking around the small gathering of faces in case she had happened to miss him (though she doubted it, what with his striped pelt) and finding Crowley to not be among them, she frowned subtly before returning to her words. "The Weaver, however, may as well begin working on the awnings, if he does not mind the extra work," she added in, excluding the verbal abuse sure to arrive at his doorstep if he refused to assist the herd which he had sworn to serve, "if the Lord Deimos does not object to these changes I will contact Crowley as soon as I might. I myself believe these structures will be of great use, and thank you for your ingenuity."
Surprising, considering how he looks.
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
Deimos ignored Illynx altogether now; her worth seemed to only be measured in ignorant accusations and slithering ineptitude, and he had no inclination to award her any merit on lies and falsehoods. Instead, he acquired comfort in reticence, given over to silence again, acting as witness, shadow and demise once more, nodding towards Zar’roc (though he’d never displayed much of his intelligence in Deimos’ presence either), for his interest in General. At the very least, they’d garnered some intent in military power and distinction, though whether any of the offered participants would be capable remained to be seen. It was Ulrik’s appearance, tinker, engineer, constituent, that garnered the Reaper’s attention, fortifying the prior claims the beast had forged, managing to raise the respect the monster held for the mechanic. At the very least, Ulrik did not spout treachery, did not hinder herd meetings with idiocy, or unravel into some horrid, blinded mess of impulsive loathing, and for that, the satanic behemoth remained grateful. A firmer nod pressed into his movements towards the other stallion, an unspoken creed of villainous camaraderie, and then he justified his attention towards other passing moments. The half-horse, Kelec, anomaly and intriguing, spoke into the crowd of his plans, and Deimos mulled over the capabilities, calculated, pondered, wondered, interested by the plots orchestrated and devised. He was satisfied and content that administering his consent on the oddity’s acceptance had not been ill-wrought or inane, the monster was proving to be a useful commodity amongst their gathered brethren, with intelligence and competency stitched into his skull (if only his fellow leader held the same abilities). The Gilded Blade provided her answers and response, and only when they seemed to await his own, did he muster a parting of his jaw, tired of the endless speeches and the spewing diction. “I approve.”
[Unless there are any pressing questions, I consider this herd meeting completed! ;D]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
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![[Image: 531c0b471919e]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/531c0b471919e)
HP:40
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