"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.
12-07-2013, 02:52 PM (This post was last modified: 02-03-2014, 06:18 AM by Mauja.)
gah sorry this took so long Nyx + anyone else ^^
d'Artagnan hated this place. The rivulets of blue, searing lava was interesting enough and the Nightshade admired it's ferocity, but the landscape was marred by the shrines that crowned the ledge. Gods. There was once a time when he had admired and respected the Gods of Helovia, but after everything that had happened and the ways in which his mind had been twisted, d'Artagnan had nothing but hate and regret. Perhaps only the God of Time was still in the shade's respect, not that it mattered that asshole or the rest of them, he was but a mortal after all. No, d'Artagnan had made the trek up the long, rocky path today in search of Mauja the Frostheart. It had briefly crossed his mind from their last conversation that the elusive idiot might have gone to give the Moon a piece of his mind, he liked gallivanting off doing things on his own, if that was the case d'Artagnan instead was looking for his friend's corpse. If Gods even left corpses of those they'd killed.
At the same time he prayed he hadn't 'disturbed' any immortal dreams, he wasn't quite sure he'd be able to keep his own mouth shut in such an event. It was then he caught Aramis out the corner of his way, sat a way back still on the path with eyes like death and a tail flashing from side to side. d'Artagnan frowned but said nothing, perhaps the devil's servant felt nervous in the once home of Gods.
Turning his attention away, the shade frowned at the broken up shrine with coal coloured letters, the owner of this little abode had changed his life forever and most certainly not for the better, though he owed her in magic he paid for in the dismal life she had handed him. The route of most of his problems was the woman darkness and wind who had one night defeated him quite easily, the silly naive d'Artagnan. Bitter and annoyed, he turned his head away and sighed. "Idiot, where are you?" My foolish King.
[I'm not expecting any Gods, but one is welcome to turn up if rolled xD]
Our past never really dies
I don't think we even try
There's no difference from
Where we wake or where we die
12-07-2013, 04:26 PM (This post was last modified: 12-09-2013, 12:25 PM by Mauja.)
Mauja Frosthjärta
There's a time and place for everything—for prayers and for faith, in the immortal or the mortal, for violence, for talking, for.. walking. Or, in other words: for doing nothing. Somehow, he knew there were things he had to do. Words he had to say, to certain people. Ties to form, ties to maybe break. Like leaping off a ledge, except he held back, as if wanting to savior the view even though it had since long lost its luster. Or maybe it was just because he didn't want to die, crushed against the rocks so far below. He didn't have any wings, wasn't sure he even had them metaphorically. For all his crystalline arrogance, Mauja had a notion he was terribly, terribly stupid, and heavy, most of the time. Not exactly a happy thought.
Mauja blew out a sigh, and stopped in his tracks, halfway between nowhere and somewhere. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. This wasn't the reason he had come back. This wasn't why he had survived the damn war.
Honesty, brother. He closed his eyes; that space on his left, by his flank, felt perpetually cold ever since Sarazheha had taken his leave in a storm of color and whipping winds, until not even the breeze whispered his name in its sing-song voice anymore. Until the leaves didn't rustle upon their branches, and the only wind which blew was natural, and not spawned from his brother's beating heart. Ever since then, he'd been more alone than he'd ever been, even though Irma perched upon his shoulder more than she ever had, and twined her warm, feral heart around his. He hadn't known how dependent he'd become in those months, how much he needed the warmth of Sara's split eyes, the slight quirk of his smile, the way the air stirred when he laughed.. nor had he known how much it'd crush him to say goodbye, to see that warmth slowly go out, fade, like a dying flame.
He pressed his eyes shut harder. Some day, brother.
A few moments passed, the autumn sun bearing down upon his white back; Irma's beak was combing through the strands of his pale mane, the grip of her claws upon his flesh reassuring. For nearly two years he'd lied to himself and those he loved, but somehow, that—and the heaviness of his heart—had been easier than facing who he was. And now that he was trying, it was like trying to catch a shadow. It always slipped away, out of sight, out of reach, and as he opened his eyes again to stare at the familiar horizon of southern Helovia, he wondered if he'd ever truly know himself.. or if he ever had.
When had he ever lived for himself?
He blew out a breath, and kept going, going nowhere. He'd never find anyone here; all the ones that mattered were up north. d'Artagnan, Psyche, Faelene... Ophelia. His heart stumbled in its pace. That was probably the hardest thing to come to terms with.
It was worse than losing a battle, it was worse than the blood burned into his mind, worse than the shame, the disappointment and disapproval, worse than everything—all the things he had to face, all the things he had to accept, to.. to somehow become whole again. His mind shied to the things it knew, to the safe routine of hate and deception, but his heart wasn't answering the call anymore, and Sarazheha's gentle command had torn the veil from his eyes. He couldn't lie to himself any longer, but the truth was a damn lot harder.
He wasn't getting anywhere. His thoughts were chasing themselves in circles while his feet took him nowhere, a place ironically similar to a temple. Hell, his mind grumbled, watching the slow pulsing of lava, like the blood of gods, of the earth; this is a place for broken dreams. Gods were the last thing he needed, yet he found himself there, upon the path to their divinity, and his blood fed itself the bitterness.
Irma suddenly cried out, took flight in a flurry of white. For a moment she seemed to bear the sun upon her wings before she disappeared into the sky. Take flight, her mind murmured, the rush of wing-beats rippling through his soul. You need to let go.
I don't know how.
A familiar shape sat by the path, his gangly form sinister in its lines and shapes, tail like the lashing of an agitated cat—Aramis, the Doctor's hound. Was he here, then? Here, of all places, a meeting place for the disillusioned and non-believing? Black-rimmed ears swept forward to the sound of a familiar voice, carried by the acrid wind, and his heart did a thousand things at once: broke, wept, grew whole... It thundered in his chest, he felt like running, like urging his hooves to strike against the hard rocks and usher him forward—as if he could somehow fix all of Mauja's problems, when all he'd probably get was a shove off the ledge to make him find out for himself. He drew in a shuddering breath. He had leaned on Sarazheha, but he could not lean on d'Artagnan. He needed to find his own four feet, to be able to stand fast against the storms of the world again.
It was like that first, hesitant trip away from Mother's side, legs all wobbly, except now his heart and mind were shaking too.
Silent, worn, with his thick mane falling about his face, Mauja came to stand where he could see the Doctor—and, where he could be seen. It was time to come out of hiding, and face the world anew. To see what it was these days; to see who he was.
But one thing he knew: he was happy to see the red bay. It was evident by the grin that slowly spread across his face, from a hesitant gesture to something radiant, relieved.
"Damn, I've missed you," he heard himself saying.
A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.
12-07-2013, 07:08 PM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2013, 07:44 PM by Nyx.)
OOC: hnnng the thread title song <3333
She was not a godly woman. She had worshipped Cinnoru, of Isilme, but her faith had been shattered when his son helped destroy the land she had grown up in. She had watched as it burnt, knowing that her family were likely burning with it. It was safe to say that she shunned any notion of an otherworldly force, as what god would allow their subjects to die screaming in fire and brimstone? It was far better to believe that gods were naught but a fallacy, and they had nothing to rely on but their own wits and the strength of their bodies.
But even Nyx - heathen that she was - could not deny that there was something supernatural about this place. Whether it was the volcano bubbling in the distance, or the thick pools of lava that glimmered dangerously beneath her hooves, she couldn't quite decide - all she knew was that the fur along her spine was bristling, doglike, and every muscle in her body felt tense and tight in preparation to bolt. Her ears were flattened to her skull, the whites of her eyes visible as she continued walking forwards despite her overwhelming urge to flee. She was nothing if not curious, perhaps stupidly so, and was keen to prove to herself that there was nothing here out of the ordinary. She continued to plod forwards, emboldened by her thirst for adventure, ignoring the fact that one wrong step off this path and she would be devoured by the searing magma.
That was when she saw it - a horned dog-beast, red markings adorning his body, and she lifted her head to release a shrill whinny of fear. It was a carnivore, a demon from the pits of hell, and Nyx backed away from it until her back hoof slipped from the ledge in a shower of stones. Trapped, the iron mare did the only thing she could think of; threw herself forwards in a headlong gallop, soaring past the dog-thing and towards the fuzzy outlines of two equines in the distance. As she neared, she noted that they were both unicorns and both stallions; under normal circumstances she would have left them to converse between themselves, but she had been well and truly spooked by the hellhound on the path and sought any hoofed company that she could find. "Sorry to disturb....but...dog-thing...path....demon..." She wheezed out the only words she could manage, winded by her sudden gallop and the preceeding long walk from the World's Edge. She glanced between the two men, barely even noticing the shrines nearby - her fear had given her tunnel vision.
There was something about this broken down place that put the ever faithful hell dog on edge. Gods were creatures of a higher world, a servant from hell not likely to be welcome so near to heavenly creators, his lord who writhed in pits of fire would not be happy with him being so close. Or perhaps he would, if such a worldly creator appeared their face, perhaps his Lord would possess him and attack them. In such an instance, Aramis would surely die, hence the pup remained on the path and did not follow his bonded to see the shattered stones. Most companions were, after all, created by these creatures, but Aramis had not been given to the Nightshade by gift of a God, no. The former Time Mender had fought hoof and bone against a boggart to claim his prize of a servant from hell. His bonded had marred his bloodied fur for him, Aramis would never leave his Captain and Commander. Instead he listened to the wind as it tickled the backs of his curled ears and tasted the scents that danced around him, mostly it smelt of burning lava. Gilded eyes only strayed from the outline of the ledge when the scents sang of clean snow and ice, of worlds outside of the one he was born and it dithered like apprehension. A song he knew quite well.
Like the back of a cold mountain dipped in ink, there he was, the source of their travels; Mauja. The hound barked once, saluting one revered most by his companion before he touched his blood Lord mentally. There's a blizzard coming.
On the other side of that bond d'Artagnan frowned as eyes strayed to the horizon. It had only just turned Orangemoon and he was stood in the middle of a lava filled veins, unless the Gods had decided to try snow him in here, there was no way a blizzard would be on it's way. Perhaps the Basin was beginning to feel the chill now, but certainly not here. The shade grumbled something incoherently and turned to give Aramis a piece of his mind over babbling nonsense, but mismatched eyes found something that wasn't rather small, hairy and full of claws. He was met instead with a grinning idiot and he narrowed his gaze. "Give me one good reason not to chuck you off this ledge." For a moment he let that sit there, his face not really portraying anything until finally he returned the smile with an amused chuckle. Indeed, d'Artagnan had missed him probably more than his friend knew, there were things that had happened and his life was indeed a mess. Perhaps Mauja would listen later.
For now he turned to a more slender figure who had appeared. A couple of seconds earlier he'd felt his bonded express surprise, Aramis had noticed the horned mare but simple sat still and watched in amusement as she backed off and almost ended her life right there by falling off the ledge. Not quite, however, as she had shot forward at a gallop and sped past a surprised Aramis who remained sat. The girl was of the horned race, any other species may have received a different reception from the red marked hound.
d'Artagnan listened to her half strangled voice and grimaced. What did you do? The shade laughed down the lines of his bond to his soldier on the path.
Nothing at all! She nearly fell off the path in her fright. The Nightshade often forgot how his companion would seem to others and his grimace formed a small smile to the mare who looked like she'd just seen a ghost. "Sorry horned sister, I forget he's quite a fright to those unused to him. His name is Aramis and he answers my command, you have nothing to fear. Take comfort in his protection" he offered in the end, knowing it'd be unlikely looking at her current expression. "To whom am I speaking? I'm d'Artagnan." He left Mauja to introduce himself, intrigued as to the conversation direction of conversation and this mare, who had just run head long into his life. Literally.
Our past never really dies
I don't think we even try
There's no difference from
Where we wake or where we die
He should've been ashamed, really. He could've just gone straight past Aramis, knowing all the significance and somehow forgetting to acknowledge it. The hound's bark startled him, as if he'd somehow not realized the dog was a living, breathing thing; the fight-or-flight twitch ran along his body, a ripple across the sea of white. Mauja paused mid-stride, head turning towards the beast, and he swallowed the urge to mumble sorry. He returned the greeting by lowering the point of his horn towards the ground, below the pose for threat, and gave him a fleeting glimpse of blue eyes behind a thick forelock, before turning to keep going on his merry way. Really, Mauja, he scolded himself as his hooves picked their path with ease.
In the sunlight d'Artagnan seemed more red than ever, a nearly bloody sheen outlining the curves of his muscles and back, and auburn highlights in his dark mane. He seemed surprised to turn and see Mauja there—Mauja, in all his foolish, grinning glory. But if he'd depicted some sort of grinfest reunion, he'd been wrong, maybe even forgotten the manner of interaction the pair of them usually had. Though, he was quickly reminded. "Give me one good reason not to chuck you off this ledge." One part of him wanted to laugh, heartily, to trust in his heart's voice which whispered it's all jest, but the other—older—part of him yelled things he'd rather not listen to. Instead, he somehow found the means to wipe the grin off his face, replacing it with a stern, severe mask. "Because there are far more spectacular ledges to chuck me off than this one," he said sagely, without seeming too much like he was joking. It was the best reason he'd been able to come up with at a moment's notice, because in all honesty, he didn't feel like he was enough of a reason in itself. After all this time, could he truly say that he didn't deserve to be pushed off a ledge? No, not really.
But, much to his own relief, d'Artagnan wasn't really into murdering his friends. It nearly made Mauja feel sick, how he could never quite quench that stupid, distrustful voice, silence it forever and chuck it off a ledge. d'Artagnan deserved better, though.. maybe his struggle was enough, for now? Maybe the fact that he wanted that voice to be silent, strove to kill it, was.. enough?
"Enough"?
It was the concept of losers.
But damn, seeing that smile on d'Artagnan's face was like a million bells and stars ringing in his skull, and hearing his chuckle brought Mauja's smile out of hiding again. Somehow, such a small action, a gesture that took less than a second to form—somehow, it made things easier. It was acceptance, for now. And who knows what else they might have said, or done, upon that path where the Gods probably weren't watching? (We do not know, at least. Nyx—or the Gods?—saw to that.)
The clatter of hooves had his head spinning on his neck, half his body following the turn to prepare for whatever. Violence, most likely. Some reactions and expectations were so deeply rooted, and convenient if you wanted to survive, that he doubted he'd ever get rid of them. His four hooves were suddenly planted wide in a battle-ready stance, head lowered and neck arched to prepare to impale something and withstand the impact, but all his eyes found was a steel-gray mare who seemed more panicked than murderous. Her breath was wheezing out through dark nostrils, and as she paused and heaved out a tale of Aramis, Mauja snorted. She didn't seem to be in an awfully good condition, and he felt highly judgmental, but kept his silence. It wasn't really in his nature to make barbs..or was it? He found himself looking quietly at the stranger, sampling her scents. Brine. It was like a metal-covered fist around his heart. The Edge.
It was his first contact with the place in a long, long time—anger swept into his soul, a hot flood of red rage, and for one, blinding moment, he wanted to spin on his forehand and lash out, send her reeling off the nearest edge and dream that it was Mirage's black body screaming in the pits of blue lava.
But somehow, he held back, ears pinned momentarily against his neck as his head thrust towards the sky. You don't deserve it if you're not strong enough to take it he growled at himself. d'Artagnan's voice was muffled and full of apology, not at all the rather cruel humor he'd expected. Why not give her a run for her money, pretend they were all servants of Hell and that if she didn't hop backwards thrice and then run in a figure of eight until nightfall they'd eat her soul? Not trusting his tongue—hell, not trusting himself—Mauja kept silent, neck tense and head high, but at least he'd managed to unpin his ears. They weren't too keen on flitting forward, though, and the result was that he looked rather like a sour, floppy-eared donkey.
A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.
Slowly she began to catch her breath, and realise what a fool she must have made of herself to these two men. She had to fight hard not to bow her head in shame - no daughter of warriors should almost give herself an aneurysm at the sight of a dog! But she had learnt to be naturally wary of carnivores, even moreso after seeing members of her old herd devoured by packs of the vicious things. She distrusted anything that ate meat, be it dragons, wolves, bears, even certain freaky equines. She was suitably astonished, then, when the two-horned stallion revealed that he and the dog were in cahoots. "Ah. I'm not normally such a coward, but this place makes my teeth itch and it's not everyday you see a horned carnivore sitting on the path in front of you." She forced an embarassed smile. "I'm Nyx, it's nice to meet you. And, uh, Aramis. Sort of." She glanced around, as though expecting the hound to dive out from behind the nearest boulder to send her into flight mode again.
Her attention shifted to the other stallion, stood in stoic silence. He'd seemed the most alert after her impromptu gallop into his personal space, and she wondered how many times he had been surprise-attacked for him to react like that. Nyx knew that reflexes made a warrior, and there was a definite veiled interest behind her steely blue gaze as she allowed herself to liberally examine him. He had an expression like he'd just sat on a beehive, and the iron lady began to worry that he despised her presence. Perhaps she should make her excuses and leave these two to whatever it is that they were doing before she so bluntly forced her way into their lives, but her innate curiosity prevented her doing that. "And you?" she asked, tones cautious, as though wary of offending him. The silver mare hardly ever thought such things - naturally blunt, she wasn't one to think before she spoke, yet she was being particularly careful today. For one, she did not desire to make enemies so soon into her Helovian life, especially enemies who bonded to fanged, horned dog-demons. But she was keen to know what had sparked the spotted man's violent reaction, which had seemed to intensify once the scent of her home became heady on the air. She was a stranger to Helovian politics, but knew her home had powerful foes, horned ones who had attacked in the weeks preceeding Nyx's arrival. That was why the glass wall had been erected, and why her herdmates were wary of her and her sire because of the horns that adorned their skulls.
She shifted her weight and continued to politely glance between the two men, committing their features to memory. She also took note of her surroundings, seeing for the first time the odd shrines that stood nearby. Her eyes widened to saucers and she itched to go and poke and prod them, but decided it was probably best not to - for all she knew, they could turn her into a toad. Or, worse, into a horned hell-dog.
d'Artagnan's eyes glazed as he watched Mauja's reaction, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the initial seriousness of his friend. By the Gods, if he plans on taking everything this seriously I don't care what damn ledge he gets chucked off yet, he was repaid with a smile he knew quite well and the world, briefly, was a fine place to be. Perhaps the bloodied bandit might have gone on to ask where the hell on earth or in space had he been, it wouldn't have been the first time he'd of asked that question, which led as to why on earth he bothered asking anyway. Maybe it was because he was Mauja, his closest friend, and although d'Artagnan didn't like to admit weaknesses like this, he actually did care about what had happened to him. Somewhere in his cast iron heart. However, his chance to ask such things never came as his mismatched eyes now laid on the source of his new interest.
She was slowly beginning to catch her breath, his gaze catching the colour of her eyes that painfully reminded him of Kou. Another problem he'd managed to create for himself. It wasn't like looking into Mauja's blue, there was a feminine scent about her and her bodice was lithe like the soul of his world. He thought about his Nurse and her words, his heart twisting causing his teeth to clench. Recently he'd gotten a decent hold on his 'mind', but with things happening how they were lately, those tentative strings were slowly melting away and the beast was beginning to crawl out of it's forced hibernation. He'd rather burn in hell than listen to Kou's disappointment in him again.
The shade swallowed and attempted to control himself as the onyx crowned spoke, his suddenly tortured pools flashing down to her chest rather than her eyes in order to push the thoughts of Kou away. His features becoming conflicted. "He is quite an enigma, but alas, he's more interested in ripping out the hearts of those bereft of horns." He offered her quite casually, as if the reason was a perfectly plausable one, which it was in d'Artagnan's world.
Nyx. He noted her name as his gaze drifted up to the soft grey of her nose, still not trusting himself to look into those eyes, as he fell silent and waited for Mauja. Who, for once, appeared to have swallowed his own tongue, as the mare bluntly asked for a name. d'Artagnan turned to look at his friend with a haunting gaze triggered from previous thoughts that lingered on his spotted features and spoke silent words. Say something or that ledge will do just fine.
Back on the path, the Nightshade's guard dutifully watched for any more oncoming visitors, attempting to take his mind off their location, wagging a little more happier now as he remembered Mauja's hairy face when he'd leant down. Like a throw back to past times, the hound had playfully stretched a clawless paw in attempt to carefully bat the Frostheart's face in familiar greeting. It had reminded Aramis of the days when his legs were shorter, the world was bigger and full of white fluffy feet.
Our past never really dies
I don't think we even try
There's no difference from
Where we wake or where we die
"When did I become this?" was the one phrase that seemed to have gone through his mind at all times in the past year. When did I become this broken? or When did I stop hating? or When did I lose control of myself? or.. when did I whatever. Over and over he'd asked himself the same question, while never really finding an answer or trying to change—oh, he spent his fair share of time wishing he was different, like he'd been before, but how much had he done about it? Bits and pieces, odd moments, and he'd managed to slip back into the old, unfitting skin.. little flares of life, of fire, on a dark, cold night. And he always traced it back to the time he spent in the alternate universe, blamed it all on Asni and somehow managed to not do anything about it. Had he known, even then? Even that night with Psyche? He knew he'd been conflicted. He'd known that, and tried to force his heart and mind to be what they weren't. To feel what they didn't.
So as he stood there, sour and floppy-eared, he wondered when he'd started to, by his standards, wear his heart on his sleeve. It was one thing to react to a sudden, charging unicorn, quite another to stand there and scream his disapproval of her presence, but he couldn't quite breathe properly. Each exhalation wanted to turn into a warning snort, and with a feeling almost like resignation (of course you get nowhere, if you give up before you even try) he closed his eyes, and focused simply on his breathing. Nyx was talking about how she wasn't a coward but Aramis had scared her. He bit down harder on his own teeth. He didn't need the spiteful voice in his mind ridiculing what she said, reducing her to nothing; he needed the crystal calm that had once enveloped him. He needed clarity.
When he opened his eyes again, truly no less frustrated, he was met with something he hadn't quite expected to ever see. d'Artagnan's gaze was lowered, and he looked genuinely troubled by something as he spoke of Aramis. Mauja frowned. It was enough to tease his ears forward, but more so out of concern for his friend, who seemingly was speaking to Nyx's chest. When had the red bay ever displayed weakness in such a way? Mauja knew him as stormy, defiant, cruel and superior—not emotional. We're quite the sorry pair, aren't we, d'Art my friend? But whatever troubled them would have to wait. Mauja would never confess in front of a stranger, an enemy, and he doubted the Doctor would either. So he bit his tongue again, breathed in and out, shook his head slightly to work the tension from his neck and shoulders. Rinse and repeat, "And you?", and he found himself looking at the mare instead. She sounded cautious, but insistent. He didn't know whether to be charmed or annoyed.
Safer to settle on annoyed.
"Mauja," the snow-ghost responded bluntly, somehow keeping his voice clean, free from traces of negative emotion. Before a battle you worked the routines to create reflexes, actions which took no thought, only instinct, reaction; sometimes this old, cold skin was the same. Social interaction was just another battle, the sparring with words and not bodies, and emotion could be the gap in your armor—a gap your body knew how to seal tight, if only you practiced enough.
Another breath, and the depths of his eyes froze over. Just like before.
Back on the path, Irma swept in low, pale wings flared wide in the sunlight and the blue of her markings glittering. At night they seemed black, but when light struck them their metallic shimmer gave them away. Blue. She had, after all, been born in a time and place far away, joined with her bonded through the tricks of a God, a gift given from the one who had caused them such grief, and neither of them knew. Quietly she angled her wings up, beat them hard as she honed in on the sitting canine, before alighting with an owl's grace—merely stepping from the air onto the earth, strutting a few steps to work off the excess speed. For a moment she held her wings wide, then she gave herself somewhat of a shake and looked at Aramis as if to say bondmates, they're quite silly sometimes before settling in by his side to preen. The sunlight was warm, she had a huge, hairy cliff to hide behind if something evil materialized out of nowhere, and Mauja had found his d'Artagnan. Now if only the latter pair could cheer up, then life would be quite good.
I'm taking back my love, taking back my pride, taking back my dreams, and my life
She turned back to the first stallion as she felt his gaze on her, surprised when he dropped said gaze from her eyes to her chest. If she was human, she'd have been assuming he was having a good oggle at her cleavage, but as it was she simply adopted a puzzled expression as she looked at him. In her old herd, an avoidance of eye contact was a sign of submission, and it was a posture she had adopted many times over the years. But d'Artagnan could surely not be submitting to her, as he was a stallion, after all, and they generally didn't know the meaning of the word. Perhaps he found her face repulsive? She found her interest growing, and had to exert a lot of control not to stare at him - only predators stared, and so she averted her gaze to a patch of ground nearby.
But then he spoke, and Nyx smothered a gulp. He set his hell-dog onto the hornless? She'd never been more grateful for the obsidian spear that adorned her forehead, despite all the times she had wished it gone. "Well, that's always fun," she blabbered, trying to sound casual and offhand but likely appearing flustered and stuttery. She daren't admit that she had nothing against the other species, nor that she had borne children to equine and pegasus men merely because they had been stronger than their predecessors; no, she decided she would be much better off keeping that information to herself. She knew racist unicorns existed, of course; Isilme had been plagued with them. But she was unprepared for the two-horned male to be quite so blunt about the prospect of performing open-heart surgery on all things not-unicorn, as though he was remarking on the weather. She didn't doubt he was telling the truth, either - one look at Aramis' fangs and horns told her that he would be perfectly capable of ripping out hearts and throats at will. She thought of what Lace had said about the recent unicorn invasion, and wondered if d'Artagnan and his dog had played a part.
She switched her attention back to the black-spotted stallion, wondering if he shared the other man's opinions on the extermination of everything hornless. Judging by his expression, he looked like he would quite enjoy the extermination of Nyx herself around about now, and she couldn't help but wonder what it was about her that seemed to set him so on edge. She'd been relatively tame by her normal standards! Eventually - and with a seemingly large amount of reluctance - he gave his name as Mauja, and the silver mare dipped her head in his direction. "A pleasure, Mauja," she said, her voice imbued with false cheer, as though to compensate for the ice beast's grumpiness. He might be fine with being rude, but Nyx had manners - mostly - and would be just as pleasant to him as she would have been had he greeted her with open arms. "Do you have a heart-ripping dog-demon as well?" she asked, ears pivoting in his direction to pick up his answer, should he choose to give her one. For all she knew, all the unicorns not of the Edge could have pet devil-dogs, which really wasn't a pleasant thought. She was quite capable at fighting other things with hooves, but she would be dreadfully out of her depth should she ever have to face something like Aramis.
Internally, the shade berated himself and cursed himself, he searched high and low for d'Artagnan the Nightshade, for he would never let such idiotic things trouble him. The heartless, the murderer, the swine and hell's proud son, was playing hard to catch. He would've been all right if it wasn't for this, this blue eyed wench who had dragged up memories he wanted to leave forgotten and move on. Reminded him of the beating heart inside his chest that caused him so much pain these days. Life had never prepared him for this, instead it had played with him and tossed him aside when it had finished. As eyes closed to the world briefly, teeth slid together in a harsh grind, he should know these feelings do nothing but hinder and disarm. It made him look weak and vulnerable. His father had been an ignorant, callous bastard, but if there was one lesson d'Artagnan respected and never forgot, was that the heart did nothing but break you. A ticking time bomb that would eventually kill you. So why now could he not cast it aside, or had he never cast it aside, but ignored it instead. He swallowed and focussed on his breathing, remembering everything he hated and why he was here, why he was not 'home' where he was born. Why he wasn't still Doctor of the Worlds Edge. Yet this mare-
Will you be defeated here?
Aramis' comment forced a short snort of harsh humour from the stud's nostrils, but his mind began to click in slow realization. I will never be defeated he replied to the hell dog with an offended tone, like anyone would dare ask such a question. Yet, the hound perservered and risked over stepping the mark, a soldier shouldn't talk to his Commander in such a manner, but Aramis did all the same.
This mare has you by the throat in a single glance. You might as well admit defeat. d'Artagnan felt his anger boiling, the sound of Mauja bluntly announcing his name passing over his head in a sea of red as ears slid back at the absurdity of Aramis' proclomation of what d'Artagnan truly feared. No. He would not prove his bonded right, it was time he addressed this beating heart that put doubt in his mind and dryness in his mouth. Eyes shifted from Mauja, drifted along her grey body until finally his eyes went to find her painful blue pools, if he could master this, maybe he could master everything else. Though in his mastering, d'Artagnan forgot about the expression on his face that had turned into one of loathing and hate that now stared down at Nyx like she was the last thing on earth he ever wanted to see.
Aramis returned Irma's almost eye rolling look with a canine laugh that almost sounded like a cough, a feeling he certianly could relate to. She started to preen herself and his mind drifted, picking up the strands of anger from d'Artagnan with a satisfied nod. If the brute was annoyed, he was probably happier than he was before.
Aramis, don't ask stupid questions.
The hound had to smile, there was still a long way to go yet, but today was progress and perhaps he'd finally broken through to the idiot who needed to remember exactly who he was.
Yes sir!
Our past never really dies
I don't think we even try
There's no difference from
Where we wake or where we die
[ I just need to express my undying love for this thread. It cracks me up. <3 ]
Oh, if he only had enough sense to appreciate the situation, and laugh at the irony of it all—there he was, mood doing backflips and usually landing in grumpy land, d'Artagnan looking like he wanted to start crying, and Nyx, oh, poor devil. What had she gotten herself into? There was a nearly hysterical edge to her response, and Mauja stared at her, baffled. She clearly didn't mean what she said, though some part of him wanted to appreciate that she was trying to fit in, at least. But even that just looped back to honesty.. He said nothing about it, though, just stared at her with a kind of what are you doing? look. Was it truly that frightening, the idea of Aramis going about Helovia and ripping hearts out? Wasn't it.. sort of.. normal? He kept his face smooth, but frowned internally. He had a horrible, sinking suspicion that his view of the world was skewered, and really out of joint with what was "socially acceptable". So maybe he couldn't line up with the Plague anymore, because the idea made him feel both terrified and vaguely nauseous, but aside from that.. it all seemed pretty normal, actually.
Maybe it was because he knew d'Artagnan, though. Maybe because anything but killing hornless would have him wonder if his friend was ill, or had been replaced with someone else. Such as, staring at a mare's chest with lowered eyes, while said mare had actually averted her gaze as if to say oh really I am a lot less harmless than you. If he hadn't been busy feeling like some kind of detached, confused idiot, he probably would've laughed at them. As it was, he just kept staring, listening to his heart pound. Mostly, he just wanted Nyx to go away, so he could talk to d'Artagnan, but he had to admit that she was quite entertaining. And as she turned her attention back on him, fortunately missing out on the Doctor's sudden transformation from heart-broken to murderously staring, he found that he didn't quite mind.
After all, she was opening herself up for more torment. A slight smile, vaguely devilish in nature, curled his dark lips as he inclined his head. "Oh, believe me, the pleasure is mine," he assured her with a smooth voice, timbre dropping down into his chest; a masculine rumble, and his eyes took on a gleam that hadn't been there before. "Do you have a heart-ripping dog-demon as well?" It was an effort not to chuckle. He wanted to, desperately, and maybe to answer why, of course, but he wasn't interested in lying to her about it. No—he just wanted to.. have a bit of fun. It had been a long, long time since he'd been anything but a broken, serious thing. A long time since he'd sent his ice to startle the unwary, or done anything else playful for the matter. Briefly, he looked at d'Artagnan over Nyx's gray back; he was still glaring murderously. Oh, well. If he wasn't going to pounce on opportunities... Mauja wasn't going to pass it up anyway.
"Actually, I don't," he replied in an offhand way, as if just commenting on the weather. "I have an owl—she likes the eyes better." And with that said, he gave a slight shrug. He had no idea if Irma liked to claw eyes out or not, but she wasn't really equipped for heart-ripping, at least not when it came to horses. They were a tad too big for her. "I don't judge her, though, but..." His gaze flicked to her face, intense and sincere at the same time as he leaned forward slightly, as if to confide something in her. ".. hearts are better."
Back on the path, Irma gave an owl's variant of a snort.
She shifted her gaze in time to meet d'Artagnan's for a fraction of a second, and as she did she noticed his expression change. He was glaring like a mad thing, and the mare found herself growing concerned and baffled in equal measure. He was looking at her with a hatred she had never seen before, had never imagined could be directed at her - she snorted in discomfort, snapping her eyes away as she wondered if her momentary stare had angered him. Such was the complicated dance of body language, one stare for a second too long could be the difference between friendship and eternal hatred. It now occured to her that she was trapped between two potentially hostile stallions, both more than likely stronger than her and with one, possibly two, hellhounds at their disposal. Subtly her icy gaze began to wander, searching for the best escape route - she could dash back the way she had come and just take her chances with Aramis, or jump from the ledge into the lava and hope that it wasn't as hot as it looked...
No, she decided; she would not flee this time. She hadn't done anything to warrant being glowered at, and if she was going to be attacked and/or murdered by these two, then she would damned well go down fighting. "Is something wrong?" she asked the two-horned man, gaze remaining carefully south of his own, somewhere near his muzzle. Her question asked, she turned to look at Mauja, although this time she turned her body rather than just her head - this would leave her shoulder in d'Artagnan's eyeline rather than her face, and she hoped that might be more appealing to him. If he didn't stop glaring at her, he'd be getting a first-class view of her backside when she kicked some manners into him. That might cause her immenent death, but she did not appreciate being murderously looked at like she'd just stomped on someone's puppy. For now she contented herself with fitting her attention on Mauja, again being careful not to stare too long or too intently. And she thought mares were the cantankerous ones! She was surprised when he seemed a lot more civil - it was as though his irritable attitude from just a few minutes earlier had travelled by telepathy to d'Artagnan, and vice versa. Bugger the hellhound, maybe the two stallions were mentally bonded to each other.
He remarked that he didn't have a dog demon, but he did have an owl with a fondness for eyes. Well, wasn't that nice. Perhaps he was jesting, but the silver lady was not the best when it came to noticing humour in others (despite her own love of sarcasm which, at the moment, wasn't particularly obvious), and her eyes widened in an expression of surprise before quickly narrowing, as though to prevent the aforementioned owl of doom from pecking them out. The stallion leaned in, as though to impart a great secret, before revealing that hearts were better. Nyx repressed a shudder and the desire to faint like a pampered housewife. "If I may ask," she began, her voice several pitches higher than usual due to her bemusement and desire to appear casual (which was clearly working SO well) "where did you two get your dog-demon and, uh, eye-loving owl from? I mean, it might be quite nice to equip myself with one for when I do my own, uh, heart-ripping. It's no fun on my own, you see, and it's frightfully messy." Was she blabbering? Yes, she quite probably was.
Silly Aramis, silly Aramis! Extreme emotion was all it took to trigger the monster inside d'Artagnan, emotion that Nyx had started and his bonded had helped along, the bonded who knew very well what it took to break the chains and drag out the devil. Eyes continued to simmer and burn into the greying mare making him swallow as he struggled to contain it, the Nightshade was always a friend to those baring a crown unless they were traitor, but this time the variants were all wrong. The stars had aligned in the wrong patterns. He couldn't differentiate between his sadness and his anger, the two blurring into one and causing sirens to sound in his mind. Lips twitched and his body had become ridged, he began to wonder exactly why was he holding back. Why did he deem it necessary to be so polite all of a sudden? Why was this happening at all?! He was the very monster horses both feared and loathed, no beast like that should ever show weakness. Foolishness.
Through the mess that was his mind he did hear Mauja speak of Irma and her tendancies to go for the eyes. For some reason the mad man began to chuckle a low throaty chortle, his world was crashing down and they were talking about ripping body parts out. Oh, how he could show them a thing or two about ripping things out. He wasn't quite sure whether to be surprised by Mauja's words or nod and agree with them, these days, d'Artagnan wasn't entirely sure what the Frostheart stood for if he stood for anything at all.
He returned to address Nyx then, whose eyes seemed to wander everywhere but to his own, it appeared he'd managed to unnerve her. Good. The shade smirked and his voice slid into the air like ominous mist descending upon the earth. "Your presence offends me." He smiled a cruel twisted smile as she turned her shoulder to him. "I'm trying to decide on a remedy for this." The mare didn't deserve it, but the shade had gone so far that way he really didn't care any more. Perhaps he should drill his horn into that rudely turned shoulder and conduct an experiment on how lava burns flesh.
"I defeated a monster and Aramis was my prize." As he answered her latter question, quite truthfully, his mind went back to that delightful day where many had turned up to play 'hero', but in the end, no one could stand up to him. He did not leave without scars, burn marks to be precise, but he had won. Naturally. Cold, murderous eyes flicked to the cracked stones of the Gods then and he snorted in dark disapproval. "Ask one of those domineering bastards, that's if, a frail girl like you can make it back down that path their without slipping."
It wasn't until a conversation later, when the subject of owls and eyes had been cleared, that d'Artagnan finally replied; by then, Mauja had a distinct, gut-wrenching certainty that something was wrong. The Doctor's glare hadn't faded away into bright humor. If anything, it had grown more intense, a burning, spearing dislike boring its way into Nyx's gray body, as if to flay her skin open and set her bones on fire. "Your presence offends me." Mauja's fairly jovial mood faded in the face of that twisted, wicked smile—he'd been around d'Artagnan long enough to know what it meant. To know of the magic which could lull you to sleep, and of the hound's strong jaws, and the hot blood spilling forth from broken throats, the spray of severed arteries; a sanguine fountain, sacrilegious geyser. It wasn't the simple shove of a friend's shoulder, the grin of some cliff-edge joke shared between pals. It held the sinister edge of a dark soul, and all the mad, terrible terror of a warped, wicked doctor.
What had happened? What had brought out the beast in his friend? If the earlier mood was anything to go by, it should be Mauja standing there, all broken-eyed and with the death-hunger in veins and mouth, the cold and the dark poised just a breath's away, ready to strike—not d'Artagnan. Not the Doctor who had, willingly, politely, greeted the interloping mare, when Mauja had glared like he had a stick up his ass. Quick, blue eyes darted from the mare, to the doctor, and back again. Nothing had triggered it. He'd simply gone from sad to mad, just as whimsical as the rhyming of the words.
"Oh yes," he whispered darkly at the tail of end of d'Artagnan's sentences, the threat lying heavy in the air. "Frightfully messy." Damn; he didn't want this. He didn't want the sickening rush of his heart and the fear of not knowing what d'Artagnan, would, wanted, to do. Would his rage extend to Mauja? No his heart whispered, too uncertain to yell it, yell it like he wanted, and suddenly all he wanted to do was drive Nyx away and see his friend return. Am I friends with the monster? He wanted, so desperately, to say yes, but with the exception of the loud-mouthed git who wanted to spew word of the Plague to the world, they had never turned upon a unicorn before. "But don't worry," he kept whispering in his deep, smooth voice, drawing in a little closer again, something cold glittering along the rims of his eyes. "You're not alone.. not anymore..." We're here... Frosty hooves scuffled over small pebbles and dry rock, an alien, restless sound in the faintly quiet world; Mauja actually moved a step closer, his being radiant cold and winter, breath pooling into the air with the chilling of his veins.
Go, his heart said, told the unfortunate girl. Go, before it's too late.
A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.
She cast another wary glance towards d'Artagnan, careful to keep her angled body well-balanced in case she should need to turn around to engage him if he decided to strike her. She saw no reason why he would, but she decided it was better to be safe than sorry. The throaty chuckle sent her ears flickering momentarily backwards, eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. She was generally good with dealing with fear - a sarcastic comment was usually enough to diffuse a situation, but there was little she could do to lessen the bay beast's irrational hatred of her. She almost gawped at his words - cheeky sod! "At least you're honest," she crossly retorted. She was still confused, unamused and a little bit scared - how had she managed to incite the wrath of two stallions simply through a misplaced stare?
His talk of how to remedy the situation sent shivers down her spine, but this time she refused to let herself show just how much he had unnerved her. He then had the audacity to call her frail, and a snort of disgust fled her flared nostrils. She swung her body around to face him squarely and her frozen gaze sought his, all attempts at appearing placid gone in an instant. The iron lady had the storm inside her; she was the daughter of thunder, and she had quite a nasty temper when provoked. A potent mixture of annoyance, anger and fear had smothered her natural instinct to run, as well as her sense of self-preservation. Standing up to a stallion who had a hellhound and a black-spotted friend with an attitude problem likely wasn't her wisest move, but her already fragile mood had shattered. "Less of the frail - I'd like to see you shove a foal out of your ass," she retorted sharply. Although she appreciated her position in life - that was, inferior to men - she did not care to be called weak or frail when she had experienced something more painful than a stallion ever could. Unless she kicked him in the nuts, mind.
Mauja's eerie comments added to the bedlam inside the storm queen's head, but she only shifted her true attention to him when the crunch of pebbles told her he was moving closer. She was in the unenviable situation of being trapped between two very strange stallions, both with pets that could rip her eyes and throat out without a second thought. She knew it would be best to run while her hide was intact, but dammit, she would not prove d'Artagnan right in pronouncing her frail. She was not a coward - she was jumpy, and had a healthy preservation instinct, but her heart was wrapped in steel and her body in iron. "What in the name of Cinnoru is wrong with you two?" she hissed, one hoof pawing the ground in discomfort and her neck arched so her horn was slightly lowered and thus easier to use as a weapon if it came to it. "Are all Helovians so...bi-polar?" Her blazing blue eyes darted between the pair.
d'Artagnan struggled. He didn't know what his rampant mind wanted, of all days to catch the Nightshade on, this was probably one of the strangest. His world was crashing down and the red stallion fought between two extremes. Murdering everyone or breaking down into the depths of uncontrollable sadness. Perhaps if he threw himself off the ledge this pain would stop. He'd first felt it the day he'd decided to step away from the Basin and it had done nothing but intensify. In short the Nightshade was broken, unpredictable and lost. His internal mess didn't effect his face this time, he remained cold, his face set into a dangerous glare. The mare responded and, on a normal day, d'Artagnan would have laughed at her quick humour and complimented her sharpness before responding with his own, bluntly put retort. Today, however, the shade said nothing and instead listened to the rest of the conversation, his lips automatically curving into a wicked smile at the end as she lowered her head slightly. "I'd be careful where you put that girl, I wouldn't want to take something so precious from your head." His blood pumped, ready to jump into action and his mind sought out his store of magic. However, he didn't manage to get very far as Aramis' voice reached through his dark veil.
Sir, we leave, before you regret. d'Artagnan snorted. He would not regret killing the girl, on reflection later it would've been a poor loss, Mauja however... Aramis knew he'd regret that. If that worse case scenario happened the hound was almost sure he would lose d'Artagnan forever. Not a risk the hound was willing to take. Trust me, please.
d'Artagnan swallowed and his gaze snapped away from the mare, looking at the rocky path thoughtfully. Did this mean defeat? If he walked away now, had he lost? Lost what? It just didn't seem right, he should stay and show the world exactly what they should fear. Prove that he wasn't worthless. Kou- No victory here, no help Kou. Chain the monster. Leave. His bonded's voice was firm and d'Artagnan made an audible noise to represent his disdain, before walking back towards the path. He'd wanted to find Mauja and he had, but what he wasn't expecting, was the way in which his emotions would effect him.
"I'm going." He stomped off, nearing the path as he swallowed away his murderous intent, grinding his teeth so hard it hurt. "Some other time Mauja, don't look for me in the Basin, I no longer belong there." He informed without turning around, worried that if he did he'd completely lose it. He stopped before the path, took a minute to try and find what was left of his composure, before descending.
Aramis gave Irma a withered, canine smile before setting off after his idiot for a companion.
[merp sorry he just left D: it just sorta... Went there? idk >< gah I enjoyed this so much <3]
He didn't know where it was going—and he didn't like it. Neither the lack of control, nor the uncertainty. Clearly their brutish behavior was provoking her, going from shrill submission to retorting, returning the Doctor's barbs and offending honesty. Mauja's heart clenched. It was not wise to provoke the already mad stallion, and he was too loyal to call the red one out on his irrationality. And besides, what point was there in it..? If his eyes were anything to go by, he was too far gone to listen to reason, and in the worst case.. his insanity would stretch wider, open up like the arms of everything dark and terrible, and swallow Mauja too. The last thing he wanted was to feed that mutinous, quiet whisper. No. Today, his hopes lay in scaring this poor mare off before someone died.
But the more he pushed, the less she yielded. Mauja's deranged creeping faded out into stillness, his icy eyes troubled beneath their hard-cast surface. Just get out of here he wanted to yell at her, give her rump a smack to get her going. She wasn't making things better, for anyone, by sticking around, and the Doctor's perfectly serious threat sent his heart plummeting into despair. d'Artagnan, don't! He could taste the disaster.
Back on the path, Irma gave Aramis a long, hard look; not faulting him, but imploring him. For the sake of her own bonded.
The Doctor snorted. Mauja's ears flickered forward for a moment, his eyes darting down the path and back again. Were they talking, the hellhound and its bonded master? Discussing the best pieces of Nyx to devour? His heart was pounding, not out of fear: not out of concern of Nyx, or even for himself (matched tooth for tooth, if he and d'Artagnan broke out into a fight, they would likely die together; Mauja was likely to cause enough internal damage before falling into the never-waking sleep), but for d'Artagnan. For whatever troubled him, to bring such sadness to life in his usually hard eyes, and then such madness at the tail end of it. He wished Nyx a thousand miles away and more, silently followed the Doctor's gaze in despair. The path, yes. Was it Aramis, then?
He departed in relative silence, giving a disdainful snort of sorts, began to move away and never once looking back. Mauja took a single step forward, just in case Nyx was about to move after him; shook his head, in case she watched. There was absolutely nothing to gain from provoking him as he retreated. "Be mindful of the ledges," he called after his red friend, heart heavy in his chest. It seemed better, wiser, to let him go, instead of follow and try to solve his twisted mind—he did not want the Doctor's wrath, not when all he did was care.
You need some of that plant, my friend.
And now wasn't the time to examine all the things he had said—d'Artagnan, having left the Basin?
Irma moved out of his way, her pale eyes revealing nothing even though she cocked her head mildly at Aramis, as if amused. Once the Doctor and his hound had passed, she scooted back into the middle of the path, an odd white perch blocking the way.
"Sorry 'bout that," Mauja said quietly where they'd been left. He'd gone from annoyed to amused to despairing in too short a time, and wanted simply to go and shove his head beneath the waves and breathe in the salt water. Nothing like a brush with death to remind you why you need to stay alive. "He can be a bit prickly, though.." Mauja frowned, his face set into hard-chiseled sorrow. It didn't make sense. He'd been pleasant enough, then gone sad, of all damnable things, and then mad. He shouldn't be that way. He shouldn't be perfectly serious when he talked about murdering unicorns. It just didn't add up.
Unhappy, Mauja never finished his sentence, simply stared into the distance after the red one.
A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.
Her gaze continued to flit between the pair, trying to decide which of them was more likely to attack her. d'Artagnan responded with another threat, and a snort of disgust fled the silver mare's nostrils. "And I'd hate to have to fish it out from your colon," she retorted. Exchanging barbs with a stallion who clearly hated her wasn't something Nyx thought was particularly clever of her, but she had a natural instinct to use sarcasm as a defence mechanism when she felt unnerved, angry or afraid. And right now, she felt all three - in buckets. Finally the beast's gaze shifted from Nyx to the path, an odd noise coming from his general direction. The fact he had been the one to break the stare gave the steel soldier a hollow sense of satisfaction, but it was a small victory. She had earnt nothing but disdain and irrational hatred, things she could really do without. Her body visibly sagged with relief as the stallion took his leave, and she drew in the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding.
Her attention now shifted fully to Mauja, gaze scanning him for any sign of emotion to give away what just happened. She was careful not to meet his gaze fully, for fear it would send him off at the deep end as it had done his bay companion. The stallion stepped forward, as though to prevent her going after d'Artagnan - he needn't have worried, as she had no intention of following the bi-horned man. She could provoke, but she would never seek out conflict without good reason. To her surprise, Mauja apologised for his friend's behaviour, and Nyx's eyes widened a fraction. From seeing the spotted stallion as her biggest threat, he now seemed to have almost morphed into her biggest ally. Prickly, he said, and the iron woman chuckled; a sardonic, cold noise that fled her dry lips like a breath. "I've met porcupines less prickly than him," she muttered. Mauja stared into the middle distance after his blood-bay friend, and Nyx felt a pang of sympathy for him, as well as a healthy stab of guilt that it had been her fault. Now the heat of the moment had passed, the girl felt rather ashamed of her behaviour - she usually knew when to submit and when to push back, but her lines had become blurred on this occasion.
Taking a deep breath to completely calm herself, she spoke. "I'm sorry, I should have left when I realised he was getting so..." Her sentence trailed off, unable to find the right word. Antsy? Narky? Irritable? A right bastard? "What was it about me that he took such a dislike to? He seemed okay at first, but then..." Again she couldn't complete her sentence; the words simply deserted her. "Did a grey mare once piss in his water or something?" She spoke with a note of humour, but there was a serious question behind the mask of sarcasm.
It didn't add up. Nothing about it added up—not for himself, nor for d'Artagnan. He couldn't draw any kind of conclusion about Nyx, because frankly, he didn't know her. But maybe this was just as strange, just as uncharacteristic, for her, as it were for them. Troubled, Mauja kept staring into the distance, down that path. Following now would likely to do him little good, yet he wanted to, because the red doctor was his friend. And weren't you supposed to take care of your friends? True, d'Artagnan wasn't really the heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy, but he'd shown once before that every once in a blue moon, life got through his walls and to his heart, too. Just like it did for everyone else. But whenever something did... it wasn't just a hoof in his rock. And that, was what worried the former king.
The tension had largely gone out with d'Artagnan's departure, and unless Nyx was going to start mouthing off about his friend, he felt it was unlikely he'd get all prickly himself again. He was just too tired, too troubled, and when he was, he just turned blue. Still, her words drew a harsh snort from him. It felt like something good-natured in disguise, and was fairly accurate. But it didn't make sense anyway... Nyx was a unicorn! Her only fault had been her horror at the fact that Aramis was a heart-eater, but that kind of thing had never been enough to set d'Artagnan off in the past. It wasn't like they'd blabbered to her about the Plague and had to silence her (because frankly, if so, she'd be dead by now). And what was that about having left the Basin..? He wanted to sit down and yell what's going on?! to the skies.
Staring down the path like that, he'd almost forgotten about Nyx. He knew very well she was there, but he'd sort of expected her to not say anything. Cease to exist in the mind, pose no questions or speak no words to break his thoughtful silence. One ear flicked back, listening in.
"Did a grey mare once piss in his water or something?"
At that, Mauja snorted again, before turning back to her and shaking his head. He didn't know any other mare which looked like Nyx, nor had he seen d'Artagnan with one. Kou, with her dished head and cream locks, was the furthest thing from his mind in that moment. "No," he said quietly, frowning slightly. "Not that I know of." Because despite everything, they actually didn't live together. They didn't spend every waking moment by one another's side. He sighed. It was a useless mystery to ponder, because much as he liked d'Artagnan, trying to deny that he was mad was pointless. And who knew how the minds of madmen worked?
You're pretty mad, too. Thanks, Irma.
"I don't even know," he said after a moment's silence. "He is unhinged, but.. that horn should've kept you from it. And he's not enough of a doormat to get angry with you just because I didn't want to be interrupted. I have no idea what happened." His voice carried that slight tone of tightness, of unease, worry; because he knew that the Doctor was troubled, and not by something trivial, either. He just didn't know what, or if d'Artagnan would even let him help. Or when he'd see him again. Helovia was vast, and with him roaming the lands like a nomad.. it could be months before Mauja got lucky and found him again.
A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.
01-21-2014, 07:29 PM (This post was last modified: 01-21-2014, 07:32 PM by Nyx.)
PROLONG THE ENJOYMENT 8D
She glanced again after the departing stallion, still lost in thought. Nyx was not the sort of mare who enjoyed an unsolved mystery - she liked to bookend every encounter, and she knew she wouldn't rest until she got to the source of d'Artagnan's dislike. But even she knew she may have to admit defeat if she couldn't get an answer out of his black-spotted friend, as she thought it unlikely she would ever run into the bi-horned man himself again. Even Mauja couldn't seem to give the explanation she wanted; he seemed as baffled as the iron woman herself. She had met some fruitcakes in her time, but d'Artagnan was right up there with the best of them. Unhinged was putting it mildly, in her opinion. Had he acted like that to her from the start then she perhaps could have understood; she could be quite irritating, she freely admitted that. But the fact he had gone from reasonably friendly to grade-A bastard in the space of one mistimed stare...it was confusing to the extreme.
He spoke of the fact her horn should have kept her safe, and a wistful sigh fled the mare's jaws. She had thought so, too; she had gathered quite early on in the conversation that both stallions were all for unicorn superiority, and thus had assumed the black spear atop her own skull would have kept her safe from harm. Perhaps she hadn't been vociferous enough in her dislike for other species, but that was because she had no dislike for other species. Whether horned, winged or naked, they were all living creatures, all equal, but she accepted this to be a viewpoint that would not win her many friends. She simply hadn't grown up around enough racism to consider it a valid argument - who had the right to say having a horn made one automatically more deserving of life? Nobody should have that power, save for Cinnoru himself. "I have to ask - do the pair of you really go around slaughtering those without horns?" She lifted a gaze a fraction, scanning his handsome features in the hope of discovering any deceit. Now the heat of the moment had passed, the silver mare wondered if their comments about heart and eye-ripping had simply been to test her mettle, or to frighten her off; the notion of such brazen racism was one she did not want to believe unless all evidence to the contrary was removed.
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[O] you're the antidote to everything except for me
