"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.
Ah yes, here it is. Firmly tucked away into the mountains and filled with the disgusting type that the hybrid was half of, she trails through the pass, her black dust melting the snow where she steps and in her shadow. They cannot escape her, for she is more than willing to barge in and see herself fit in the disgusting rejects that no one else wanted. Today, they feel the full force of the darkness when she takes her first step through their door.
It is a shit hole: cold year long and filled the rancid scent of racism. It sends endless delight through her spine as her feathersdance in her hair. Maybe they'll think she was one of them that went missing who is trying to come back home.
They're just that stupid.
Royal blue eyes ignite when she's inside. Haven't they come to stop her yet? Hasn't her dead scent hit their noses and starting burning sensitive nerves yet? No? Even more to prove her point.
"Come on, Basin! Let's all come see the undead walk right into your house and you not give a shit. I'm bored and intend to play today, so please do show up."
It all ends with a laugh and a fluttering in her unexploded chest. The night air is cold and steam rises when her breath bursts from her nostrils. Look in her rib cage, as you can see inside with her clear lack of skin and muscle there, as to how her lungs press against bone and work though its not real. This isn't happening, they tell themselves as they shake in their barriers.
She begins to hum, singing with words slipping between her lips as one and a half ears mounted to her head. The ghost light her horn now produces illuminates with deadly accuracy. Parts are broken off, definitely the tip. Where the rest is broken, you can see the inside. How interesting to get a rare view.
"Oh Aurora Basin, filled with those of horns and disgusting attitudes, come see what has come to visit you! Does it have a beating heart? My, my, why take a look to her chest and see the bones and the beating heart inside! Mothers watch your children, keep away from the ghost light and beware the night. For tonight, the dead walks in the mountains."
Every word is a mocking threat to those that reside there, attempting to bring them out so she can work more magic. Impatient, her eyes scan the area, glowing in her ghost light with her black eyelashes dipped in liquid silver fluttering like moth wings. Where was everyone to be at?
She goes to a small pond, frozen solid, and stomps. Ice snaps in revolt at her action, asking as of why she was doing such a thing. Her black dust rises up and moves into her rib cage, tickling her and receiving laughter.
It floods the empty place, its source only discovered by the unnatural pale glow that hangs in the air. Basin beware, he'll begins tonight.
OOC: Attack on the Basin in attempts to infect others.
If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?
01-09-2014, 07:26 PM (This post was last modified: 01-09-2014, 07:30 PM by Crake.)
He had been working his way here, slowly, because it was the only location that stuck out in the fog. Though the name eluded him more often than not, he knew he was getting closer as he continued on from where it began. The cold did not bother him, not in the slightest. Was he dead now? Had the darkness and the shadows consumed him and spat him back out as nothing more than a walking corpse? There was no pain, no cold, no matter what he seemed to go through.
Granted, all that he had tested the pain bit with was stumbling over some rocks in near the desert – scraping the skin off of his knees. Mostly they were just that, scrapes, but in one spot he had managed to peel off the skin so that it dangled.
Everything was dangling off of him now. An eye, part of his intestines, now his skin.
Being dead certainly wasn’t beautiful. But the power felt incredible. How had he ever been resigned to the skinny little colt he had been?
He was coming home though he doubted anyone would recognize him – even if he looked like himself. Only that cold knew him here… but perhaps he would show up. Perhaps he would like a taste of the shadows himself.
Unicorns were a beautiful species but they could be improved upon. He saw that now, felt as though he could bring them a gift. Kiss of death, disease and destruction. Whatever it was called he saw no reason why he should keep it to himself and his sulphurous cloud. He had tried with others but always he had been aiming for the mountains here.
Roaming, uncertain about where to begin, he heard laughter and spotted another. The sight jarred him for a moment – the realization that he was not the only one being a complete surprise – but he moved passed it as he moved towards her. “Sister.” He had no idea who she was, but their condition united them - his sulphurous cloud mingling with the black dust that surrounded her. “Welcome to the Basin.” That mocking, sickly, rasping voice choking through the phlegm and terrors that were lurking in his throat. "Think they'll come out to play?"
They would not need to wait long, he imagined, before they came to protect their home.
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
Old loyalties die hard.
Who did he care for, up in that northern bastion? If he asked himself honestly, and answered honestly, it was a short, grim list. Lena, Kou, Faelene... and the soldiers; Tolio, Deimos, Descaro. A few others. Names he knew he cared for but if he honestly answered himself.. did he care for anyone at all? Or for too many? Darkness snapped at his heels as he danced along the shadowy edge of the steppe, its pristine beauty swallowed by the thick cloud of black. It smelled of despair and terror, and the pounding of his heart was enough to tell him that this is right; you have to make sure they're aware. Prepared. Leaving? No; where would they go? Was there any place that was safe from the tidal wave of darkness rushing in across their lands? It had come from the sea, to him, yet it lay here like a midwinter's blanket, except when he truly looked at it, it wasn't all black and star-strewn.. it was all black and empty.
But if they didn't leave... would they be able to get out? Or would the darkness close in around them, like hands around a throat, until it finally started to spill down the mountain slopes of the Basin? Filling it up to the rim with putrid terror, and nightmares come alive? Even the air tasted stale and dead, void and null, but nothing stirred as he crossed the vast place, heart in the back of his mouth all the time. He hadn't planned on returning here, not this way, maybe not ever. He wasn't strong enough but desperation drove him, knowing that at least one of his children ought to reside there—innocent little Sielu with her soft, feather-light mind-voice, and her mother, the red-maned Faelene. Even if his frantic mind could not decide whether or not it cared for all the rest, he couldn't abandon his own flesh and blood. He couldn't abandon the friend he'd wronged with that night-time play, and the promises he'd broken all over again.
The Basin walls loomed ahead, impenetrable, tall, majestic and resolute. But against a darkness that covered land and sea.. could they hold fast?
In through the pass. The snow he ran upon was edged with black, melted; the narrow walls covered in sickly green and black sludge. Was he too late? Had whatever wicked power which haunted them come here before him? The trail he followed smelled foul, of all things gone wrong and all things which should never have been in the first place; his prey's mind rebelled, screamed for his feet to turn back the way they had come, but he pressed on, heedless and relentless. Exhaustion had begun to burn in his limbs, each breath a hot grunt slipping through an aching throat.
The vista of the Basin spread out before his eyes, unsullied but for that hellish trail leading into it. Where were the guards? Surely here somewhere, just about to run him through for barging in—unless they knew who he were, of course, recognized him, but why would he then come in announced?
There was no time for politics. A sickly, ghastly light was cast across the Basin, throwing it all into a stark relief. It was pale, like a diseased imitation of the pristine moon; frosted hooves skidded on the blackened, half-melted slope leading down to where two shapes stood, directly at the end of the trail. He was going too fast to stop in time, slid down the embankment, stumbled to a halt and confronted with the most horrifying, disgusting things he'd ever seen. The air around them was darkened with something he didn't even want to come close to, but he couldn't stop breathing—his tired body demanded oxygen and with it came little particles of that horrible, horrible cloud. Even as he backpedaled, trying to increase the yards between them, he was gagging on it, eyes locked on them in disbelief. They were both young, the bodies of yearlings or younger; but so broken, tattered, vile and rotten. Intestines hung from the silhouette of his abdomen, horns broken, flesh sagging off—he could see bone, ribs so white and pale in the ghost-light, the swell of lungs against their confines.
01-11-2014, 09:53 AM (This post was last modified: 01-11-2014, 09:54 AM by Sacre.)
The notes are old,
They bend, they fold </style>
Sacre had not heard that darkness was beginning to plague the land nor what foul creatures it brought with it. Still sat neatly in his mane was the rose given to him by the Moon Goddess, vibrant red, a stark contrast against his midnight fur. However, the reason he'd been given this rose was to keep it safe, a token as part of his mission to gain the arrow that would glow red if his twin was in danger. It was a couple of days later that the boy had found the wonderous tree with a great many gathered around it, he had been blessed by it's generousity and now, woven in his tail, was an arrow of red in colour that would alert him if his twin was in any harmful situations. A connection to Roux. He often turned just to see it out the corner of his eye with a big, grinning smile on his lips. It meant he needed to find the Queen of the stars, to tell her of this miracle and find out what it was he was meant to do next. That day he'd also met his father again, in the briefest of encounters, there was so much he'd wanted to ask. After all the events in the Edge, but the information he'd learnt from simply wandering around, Sacre's mind could understand some of his fathers actions though he did not believe in them himself. The boy came to realize on the day he was released, that there was no right or wrong in the world, it was so twisted that the way forward was not as clear as that anymore. Life was a harsh reality.
Intending on going to find the Goddess, Sacre made his way across the Basin, looking for Roux to take him too. It had been a while since they'd been on an adventure together. However, he was sidetracked by a voice, a familiar voice at that, one that he'd met upon the mountains one day. It was night time and her voice snapped like a horror story making his skin crawl as he got closer, what did she mean by the 'dead walks in the mountains'? Did she come with ill sounding news? Had something happened? Worried, he increased his pace before he saw her. What was her name, Sikeax was it? Or Sia as she had prefered to be called. Yet, this wasn't the high strung girl he remembered, had she died? Her form reminded him of the zombies told in tales to scare little foals, an ominous black dust following her grotesque form. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, heart hammering in his chest for there was more to this scary tale.
Crake was here too, his coat had bald patches and had turned a shade of infected green, an eye had fallen from it's proper place revealing horrific scenes of inards not looking their best that is reflected by the hole in his side. He was accompanied by a sick looking fungus dust and was his horn always that black? Sacre began to tremble, noticing last the white, spotted unicorn who wasn't infected, who stood opposite him. Or backing away, rather. If he had been born a few seasons earlier perhaps Sacre would have recognized the former Lord, but he wasn't and he didn't, this was just another unicorn who was in the same predicament as himself. "Wha- What happened to you?!" He screamed his question at the two wraiths, the zombies he had once known to be souls full of life, was he in a nightmare?
He crept closer to the uninfected blue horned almost instinctively, eyes never leaving the the pair he'd once known as Sia and Crake.
Endless patrols, constant waiting, and ever looming anxiety weighed him down. Sleep deprivation left Déodat’s mind clouded and his mood foul. It just added to his ever present paranoia and as he moved about patrolling within the borders of the Basin, his head jerked at the slightest sound, and he jumped at shapes that weren’t really there. Maybe it was time to rest for awhile, no matter how much he wished he wasn’t, Déodat was mortal not a super soldier. Once he finished this patrol he would head back to his cave and find rest. It would do him some good to fall into a dark abysmal sleep and forget about the things troubling his mind and the bitter resentment that lingered in his frozen heart.
That rotten stench filled his nostrils once again. It appeared as though that there wouldn’t be time to sleep. Could the darkness be at their doorstep? Déodat moved without any hesitation toward the commotion. The Blood Prince galloped toward the scent and sounds. Deep down he could feel a fear that lay trapped within his frozen heart. What if the darkness destroyed the Basin just like it had his old home? Never again would he let his home be destroyed, and these dark thoughts encouraged him onward. As he drew closer he could see four figures. Two of them were like the monster he had spotted within the Threshold. So, it appeared as though the darkness’s game had been revealed. These monsters needed to be destroyed, and it was time to figure out how.
The stallion came up on the side of the black colt, and he heard the boy call out the monsters.Why did he know such foul things? Déodat glanced at the two figures, neither of them were familiar. That mattered little, in his mind they were still a part of the group he had been sworn to protect. “Get out of here demons,” he said, his tone dark. If one would at him for but a short moment they would see precisely how exhausted he was. “You should get out of here.” He leaned in toward the colt’s ear and whispered. “Don’t risk your young life.”
Then he turned his eyes back toward the monsters in front of him. “You will not take my home!” Déodat’s ears swiveled back and he charged toward the two monsters. It was potentially suicide to take on not just one, but two of the undead at once, especially when he had such little sleep. First he swung his horn toward the male monster aiming for what portions of his side remained. Then he flung out his hind hoof toward the she-wraith. There would be prices to pay for his reckless actions, but he hoped most of all that this sacrifice wouldn’t go to waste.
01-12-2014, 07:14 PM (This post was last modified: 01-18-2014, 05:38 PM by Roland.)
Wandering about in a wasteland, Roland was bound to think acosmist thoughts. Darkness rolled like a length of silk from one stretch of mountains to the next, and along its fabric rippled violent autumn winds. Long after sunset, with only feeble strains of moonlight to illuminate the rocky landscape below, trees and rocks simply melted into the inky air. To the Impersonator's unaccustomed eyes, the valley seemed void of all decoration. And so he wondered, as he walked, if he was trailing footprints across a giant void; if he had been swallowed up by shadow entirely; if this was simply a figment of his imagination. Or perhaps he was dreaming.
If the stars had not been hanging over his head like an infant's mobile, he might have believed another Endless Night had settled upon the land. Even though he was sure it were not so, he shivered at the memories of moonless nights and ghostly golden lights dancing across the snow. He had never felt so alone before in his life, until he'd heard that the Gods had left them. But they were here now, somewhere, though that didn't seem to be much of a comfort. Roland shook out his mane and blinked into the darkness, eyes straining as he picked his way gingerly over the uneven rocks.
The Gods be damned. They had dealt him a poor hand; yet what did he, a creature raised upon the milk of faith, have to turn to but religion? What practice might set his heart at ease, if not devotion to a wiser power? Sabaism? Worshipping stars might indeed be easier than worshipping Gods. Either way, he reasoned bitterly, his prayers would go unanswered. Any wishes he made would go ungranted. The stars were reliable, ever present above his head and rotating about the horizon in their lazy, astral ways. He had always been turned towards the sun, he himself being an individual of gold and habitual warmth, but perhaps the night was better suited to his dubious routines. Perhaps he was missing out by shunning the darkness in favour of light.
But all the bravery he seemed to have mustered in the darkness was all swept away when he stumbled across a pair of ghastly creatures lurking on a stretch of rotting ground. He had kept to himself for most of the season, finding solitude in dark caves or chasing the last vestiges of sunlight across the Frostbreath Steppe. Had he missed some invasion, and just now stumbled blindly into their party?
A jolt of adrenaline shot through his veins as he halted a few feet from the spectral pair, a dangerous light glinting in their sunken eyes. The sickening stench of death hung around them, rolling off their slender forms in dizzying waves. Roland blinked, wavering on the edge of uncertainty. It was only then that he noticed three others not far away. Were there more of these toxic creatures? His breath caught in his throat as he squinted through the watery light, suddenly recognizing a pale white face and spotted coat, and relief followed not long after his surprise. A dark skinned colt stood by Mauja's side, his shout of confusion combatting the skeletal mare's taunts. Another stallion whom Roland did not recognize was with them. If his threatening words were anything to go by, the Impersonator suspected they all had escaped contamination. So far.
Roland took a steadying breath and moved closer to the Frostheart, afraid to speak in case he failed to keep the nervous tremble from his voice. His gaze flicked warily over the pair of sickly creatures before them, finding solace only in the knowledge that they currently had them outnumbered. An infected stench hung in the air, sticking in the back of the stallion's throat with such a weight that it was all he could do not to choke. Dysphoria settled like disease in his stomach as he watched them, trailing his gaze over the moonlit ground and off into the distance. It was then that the tense silence was shattered by the bay stallion's movement, throwing himself towards the corrupted beings without pause. Roland stared, frozen in his indecision. A coward like himself stood little chance against the tainted beasts, but he would not stand idly by while a member of his herd was wounded by broken horns and fleshless limbs. Or would he? Cursing his fearfulness, he looked to Mauja and the colt, reluctant to make a decision that might cost him his life, for it was the only thing of moderate worth he possessed. While fighting against his own cowardice, he made sure to save his breath; it would be needed if he found a spark of courage.
Push your luck if it makes you a promise that turns con men honest.
Sikeax is no longer a character on Helovia. Please consider her character an NPC which will follow Crake's lead. You may continue this thread under that assumption.
So close the spotted stallion got before realizing his mistake, Crake did little to chase him but took a quick step forward so that his gurgling laugh and the flying chunks of you-don’t-wanna-know flew out in his direction. “No need to be rude.” He croaked out towards the retreating figure in his mutilated voice, bogged down by the thick black phlegm growing in his throat. “There’s plenty for everyone.”
More were coming, drawn by the darkness or the eerie light, and there was one that yelled out in familiarity. Removing his eye from the larger stallion he focused on the colt, twisting his neck unnaturally to get a good look. “Do I know you?” The name of the colt was flickering on the outer edges of his consciousness but it was eluding him, like the name of this land. Memories from a former life that hardly seemed important in that moment.
He moved to approach the colt but suddenly someone else was there. Someone who didn’t feel like hanging back. Defense did not seem to be important and Crake allowed the horn scraped his side, peeling back rotten flesh and allowing black ooze to seep out of the wound, mixing with blood.
He felt nothing.
For a moment he just turned to look at it and wondered if he should, if there should be pain associated with it, but the thought was gone as he reacted. He was no slow-moving zombie, though he certainly preferred to take his time usually, and in a swirl of black dust he turned after the brown stallion and with a snarl reached out to grab hold of anything he could with his rotting teeth – even just to scrape a layer of skin off of his back or hindquarters. He felt a couple of the worse-off ones splinter and fall out from the action. He hardly needed to do considerable damage, just enough to share what he had brought.
Again that sickly laughter rose up before his voice thundered at those that had gathered – another had joined them though he seemed less inclined to charge into the fray like the one had. He was shorter than most here, barely a yearling, but his voice and his presence swelled - that haze condensing around him. No, there was nothing youthful about him now. “YOUR HOME IS IT? This is my home. I am PESTILENCE and DEATH and you... are pathetic. But you could be so much more.” Funny how he remembered not considering it home before this very moment. But if someone was willing to attack him and his companion for it, it must be worth a little something. Lowering his voice again he coughed up more words accompanied by a smirk. “You’re all welcome to stay, provided you evolve.” His state of mind made him reckless, uncaring about the fact that it was him and a rotting mare against a group. Well, sort of – only one of them seemed remotely interested in defending their home.
That single working, dark eye found the colt again. “It won’t hurt.” The lie was choked out and with its punctuation he advanced towards the others now, his sick sister joining him, forgetting the stallion that had attacked him and focusing on the other three. The first few steps were taken slowly as he got used to the movement with the new gash in his side – that sulphurous cloud falling in behind him – before they lunged after them.
Crake, or the creature that was Crake, cackled manically as he focused his attention on Sacre – his rotting teeth once again snapping but this time the aim was more for the nose, the ears, the flesh on the inside of his neck, anything sweet and tender. Something easy to bite into and infect.
The girl went for the chestnut, the one who stood by, using her glowing horn to feign a stab before rearing at him – striking out with her hooves. Her fury flashing with her sharpened teeth, a promise of what was to come. They had a gift to share, and no one would be exempt.
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
[ I could've sworn Mauja had threaded with Déodat or been at a herd meeting with him. I was wrong. ]
Suddenly he wasn't alone anymore. It wasn't just him and this nightmare vision and his pounding heart, and the too-hot red blood thrumming through his veins. It wasn't just him bathed in that sickly pale light, but others, too; others that were warm and healthy flesh and faces.. faces that had both eyeballs still in their sockets. The yearling colt with the blood-spattered flank he didn't know, though he almost felt as if he should; next came someone he knew who it was but couldn't, for the life of him, recall ever having had a conversation with. Mauja was panting, sides heaving, as much from the run as from the shock of coming face to face with this—something that was so reminiscent of the terrorizing darkness that he couldn't stop thinking of Loudmouth and.. things. Wide-eyed he kept staring and realized that until the blood-soldier started shouting, he'd not heard a word of what the wraiths had said. He'd stopped backing, too, and had sort of hoped that the stallion wouldn't just.. throw himself at them. They seemed so sickly and contagious with their black-green clouds of doom and destruction and Mauja would rather not touch them. But that hope had been in vain. Déodat was charging and the colt sort of sliding along his way, and as his frantic gaze snapped across the scene he realized that Roland was there, too.
Déodat's horn scraped along the mutilated colt's side. Rotten skin and flesh sloughed off in a macabre display, and the fetid stink of them wafted against Mauja. And somewhere thereabouts in that moment, his mind began to function again. They were still the absolutely grossest things he'd ever laid eyes on, and he'd much rather spend an intimate evening with the stinky Oxy than touch either of them even with the tip of his horn, but some things had to be done. It was too late to cry no at the red stallion, or even at the stupid sickly colt that was snapping after him. Mauja gritted his teeth. In a way he envied the soldier his foolish courage. Though right now, he thought it was better to stare dumbfounded until you got your wits about you again.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. His pulse was still pounding in his ears, nostrils wide and his body rimed with freezing sweat. Slowly he drew his head up, forced his ears boldly forward to listen to the horrifying voice as it rose, swelled, into a shout, and then a honeyed kind of promise. Mauja had no idea what he meant. But he didn't like the sound of it. Saw the way his one eye eyed the black colt; knew he was too far away. There was only one of Mauja. And two of them.
They were advancing like little cats on the prowl, slow at first, and their age just made them seem all the more awful—young little faces and too short at the withers, with not enough bulk to fill out their bony frames yet, and.. those.. eyes and sides and his gaze just kept returning to the swelling lungs in the filly's chest. She'd be just about Sielu's age, wouldn't she..? Wouldn't she.. Was she..? Her pale light cast a sickly kind of wet glow even on herself, and she was creeping closer to him and Roland.. more towards Roland. Damn. She lunged, and Mauja reacted—no thoughts. Simple motion.
Yelling "NO!" at the top of his voice he threw himself between them, a shield of flesh between the living and the undeath. The black cloud was suddenly all around him, dragged deep into his lungs, and he threw his head aside as the light scoured his eyes before he felt her. He felt her hooves smack against his ribs, trace the gentle curvature; felt sharp teeth bite through the mess of his mane. Felt them against his skin. Against his flesh. Against his blood, and if he hadn't been gagging on the darkened air he would've screamed. And the pain was the least of the reasons.
It was just the proximity. Those things. Forcing himself to breathe in the horrid stuff he swung his head back around; saw the perfect machinery of her ruined body through the gaps in her ribs. It was now or never. Either he just kept screaming and backing, or he threw cowardice out the window and acted.
And when you put it like that, it's not much of a choice, really.
Baring his own blunt teeth Mauja leaned back on his hindquarters, rose and turned towards her, twisting elegantly to try and stab her anywhere along her exposed flank. Wherever he could reach. And from the depths of his soul, from the depths of the ground, he pulled the ice: five deadly spires where she stood shooting up in the sickly light, grim determination in his breast. There was no holding back. There was no mercy. The quicker she lay broken at his feet, the happier he'd be, and with that thought in mind he gave it his everything. No remorse, no control, and he just hoped he wouldn't impale himself in the process.
A light emanates from the holly branch in Mauja's possession. Given Deodat's prior action, the protective radius does not extend to him, yet it does extend to Mauja, Sacre, and Roland. They remained uninfected.
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