"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.
01-12-2014, 03:07 PM (This post was last modified: 01-22-2014, 11:21 PM by Odd.)
Gaucho has started a W.A.R effort to fight against the wraiths! For more information, please see here. Any and all are welcome - no long term commitment is required. If perhaps you want your character to become a wraith, but in a 'heroic' way, where your sacrifice will be remembered - this is the place for you!
*no posting order in this thread :3
Gaucho ventured deeper into the caves. He had learned only a few hours prior, that while wraiths could not enter into their underground lair, that they could lurk above. If an effort was to be put against these monsters, he would not give them any warning that it was coming. So, the large dun ventured into the heart of the caves.
Large hooves echoed against the crystalline walls, soon to be swallowed up by the crashing of the waterfall, as Gaucho entered what had come to be called The Glowing Room. While this could not serve as a permanent home for the group he planned to create - for it appeared to be the only source of food thus far within the caves - it would do for now. It was close enough to prevent disorientation, but far enough away that even with the echo, the wraiths above should not be able to hear.
Spreading his black wings which were etched in fire, Gaucho opened his dark lips to release a loud and demanding cry. This was not a cry of reassurance - not a cry to gather those who were lonely and frightened. This was a cry of war, intended to pull on the hearts and minds of those who would not stand by, and be forced underground. Who would fight the darkness that was spreading above, and who would sacrifice their own bodies to the decay, to see the war won.
"Warriors of HELOVIA." He cried, resonant voice flying down the tunnels of the caves. This was no longer about the Throat, or those he loved only. This was a threat that would consume all of them, if actions were not taken. This was about Helovia, and what they were willing to do, to keep it.
Gaucho’s formidable voice was hurled with unusual clarity (perhaps urgency and distraction binding it together), calling up the stone corridor for those willing and able to pledge their commitment to the defence of The Sanctuary, the retrieval of those dearly lost, and the retaliation which pray, could drive back the plague sweeping through the ailing lands of Helovia. Hector’s switching ears turned towards the sound with interest and intent, and at once he turned those standing guard alongside by the entrance to the caverns. "Veci come!" He called silently to the spectre wandering the earth above; watching, monitoring, and left his post to descend into the depths.
He was unused to travel beneath the ground and though the tunnel was generous in size, he found the first flight-feathers of enormous wingspan dragging along the cold, moist surface as he trudged with them half apart for the sake of his clumsy subterranean balance. His large sturdy hooves clacked and scuffed along the way, offering the wary soldier little discretion, but it seemed to be that this sanctuary was a place to harbour them as refugees, and keep them from harm for the most part- no matter how unnervingly unnatural it truly was.
The chestnut fell at last upon a spacious room that seemed decorated with much of the bountiful luxuries that could have been found up top- water gushed nearby the centre, feeding humidity enough to sustain the lush blooms of algae and fungus; so too did a miniature forest thrive there though Hector never paused to sample the goods- he had come to work, and he paused by the waiting Sultan who was rallying the troops. There was little need to speak. The soldier would commit himself selflessly to whatever cause his well-trusted stallion thought necessary.
• Dragon's Throat Rank Experience: Fortify | Level 3
• Permission given for moderate power play, magical influence and damage at all times
You're sweating, shaking, body jolting with every step. You're down to.... two. Two vines. You've been rationing, eating half of one once a day, but your body doesn't understand the sudden drop in toxin in your blood stream and your brain... well, knowing that you only have four days left before you go into full-out detox mode doesn't make you feel any better. So you've been wandering around this cave, because it's cool and because you've been hoping you might find some place where your vines grow. You know it's a futile effort, of course, but you've got to do something. A few days ago you thought that it was better not to give yourself any hope, to just accept your fate. But now... You need something to hang onto, because without that hope you might just lay down. You might just give up. You can't ever remember the last time you went without your vines, without your locoweed.
A call from within the cave rouses your interest for a moment, the sound of a voice that you recognize, though not one of your brothers or sisters. The first thing you think of is Kak-tus, though you're not really sure why. Faintly, in the back of your head, you remember the image of a snake and some antlers, but that doesn't make much more sense than before. Whoever he is, he's calling for warriors not addicts. Lucky you're both. Regardless of who he is, you suppose you should figure out what all the commotion is about. You move through the caves towards him with purpose, trying to follow the echoing sound of his voice. But your drug-deprived brain is having a hard time making sense of everything. A wrong turn here, a dead end there.... but eventually, you find him. The Tribal man. And suddenly it comes back to you, the forest, the Sun God, hit me. It's just flashes of images, but if you weren't so busy fighting off the memory of the two of you sharing those sweet, juicy vines you might actually smile.
As if to spite you, from your shoulder bag, your wispy companion escapes, morphing into the spitting image of one of your vines before your face. And now your confusion, your memories, leave your brain for something new- rage. You bellow, a war cry echoing noisily in the cavern, as the your anger floods your companion's mind and causes her shape-shifted form to falter and then disappear into nothingness, a barely-visible wisp of blackness rushing back into your leather shoulder bag. She's afraid of you. Good. She should be. Now is no time for antics.
Finally, you look back to Gaucho, your body perhaps in worse shape than it was when he met you the first time, though your burns have faded to a few ugly scars. Detox is not pretty. “What.” As for the other present, you pay him little mind. Even the bountiful greenery here does not catch your eye. None of them are what you want... what you need.
You better run, you better dance Its coming down, I’m yelling timber
Guacho called an assembly together—I was also eager for us to break words on topics such as battle plans and strategy. He wisely led us deeper down a path, wary of ears that might be listening. I nodded and followed quietly behind those that filed out. When we reached the bottom I gently nudged through the wave of bodies that had grown restless with unease—my calm gaze attempted to find his when we settled in the feeding room, and various bodies pushed in. In the days to come this cave would turn into a home, and its occupants would become one big happy family, or mayhaps more realistically, one big unhappy collection of confused stout hearts and headstrong fools.
Our world had already flipped sideways, and it didn’t matter if you believed in whichever god that stood silent above us, or none at all. It didn’t matter if you harbored a dislike for the breed of warriors standing near. Petty concerns couldn’t have the liberty to take hold—though that wouldn’t stop some for partaking in it. Our comfort and privileges are gone; until land had been restored each of us stood as equals. A brother to the other, one warrior would be easier to handle than a wrath if rumors proved correct. We had to try…save as many lives as we could. Kill the rest. The sooner we could form plans on taking back our home and that of our kin, the better. Finally I settled to listen to what my fellow Sultan would have to say, curling my wings tightly against the patched sides of my flesh.
01-12-2014, 11:33 PM (This post was last modified: 01-12-2014, 11:33 PM by Gaucho.)
Gaucho had been in many battles. He had fought alongside those that he cared little if they made it through the day, which stifled his spirit, and made fighting difficult. It was senseless, to bleed and break and bend for a cause this did not matter, alongside faces who were not brethren; who did not matter. Yet as familiar faces approached out of the darkness, the warrior knew that he would not face such a battle this time. Hector. Oxy. Midas. Each strong in their own way, and each of whom he would be proud to die alongside.
But he wasn't planning on dieing.
Shooting a rather awkward and silly grin towards Oxy before assuming a mask of emotionless command, Gaucho regarded those who had joined - speaking loudly enough that should others be lurking in the shadows, that they might hear as well.
"Sun God tell us that this sickness cannot be fought. But that not mean we not do anything about it. Caves are safe - Gaucho see a wraith pulled out. That good for us." His voice was calm as he spoke. The art of war was something that Gaucho find particularly appealing, and soothing. It was a territory that both his simple mind, and his battered body were quite used to. And while the anxiety of the unknown loomed in the back of his mind, Gaucho was at ease with their current situation, now that he was in a better position to do something about it.
"We need to know more. We need to capture one of them - maybe we find the craft-ers, we have them build a cage, and we put a wraith in it. Maybe that work, to see how they become infected. How to cure them.
But we need order, not panic. Too many panic outside, and that get them infected, and then we not help them. Not yet anyways. We need in-for-mation gath-er-ers. Siguls. We need protectors, guardians. And we need fighters to strike when we can - to spear the darkness. If this is war, we be ready. We live together down here, or we die alone up there."
The tandem responsibilities of the Sun God's quest, and of becoming a Sultan, had greatly improved the primitive-beasts speech. His vocabulary was still somewhat lacking, and often he had to stop and have Mara mentally sound words out for him, but for the most part, much of the choppiness had dissolved from his rich voice, leaving it sounding strong, and sure.
It didn't take long for Ampere to pick her way through the caverns to the assembly of warriors. Though her failure against Oxy remained raw in her mind, fighting was the only was even remotely good at. She'd taken an interest in it from a young age, but had never been properly disciplined for a long enough period of time to be considered trained. She had quite a few more years to add on before experience would take its toll too, but she certainly had the aptitude for it, if nothing else.
She was good at sex too, but that hardly seemed applicable now. Well maybe she thought with a half smile sliding on her face, thinking back to the warmth of Mesec. If they did need to repopulate after this disaster, she could help with that. Or, half help, she wasn't quite sold on the populating aspect, just the copulating part of the deal.
The strong voice of Gaucho threatened to keep her mind in that stream of thought, but she shook the girlish fantasies away with a toss of mane and a whisper of feathers, that one strange one given to her among them, as she carefully strode into the glowing room. With every step that took her from the main part of the cave, more and more light began to dance across her body, the overwhelmingly blue tone of the mushrooms causing her electric points to pop until she was an explosion of fluorescence. For a moment she had to squint, a wing lifting up to shield her face as she peered towards those already gathered, but her eyes soon enough adjusted. The beauty of the place was lost on the moment of trepidation that surrounded them all. She could not admire this sanctuary, least of all while it was underground, when what she had considered lovely and eternal was being razed above. The skies were her sanctuary, and she was grounded.
Gaucho's words hummed through the air in tandem with her pulse. Her breath hitched for a moment, his masculine smell easily overpowering everyone else's, aided surely by the thick moisture of the air. The heat of the environment pressed against her flesh, while an internal one swelled beneath her tail as her eyes finally locked on the hulking brute she'd been dreaming of for a year. She smiled, a small, shy thing, and continued forward as if in a trance towards him. Panic had set her heart fluttering like a cage bird willing to break its wings earlier, but now it leapt into her throat for a whole other reason,
The moment was shattered however, the instant she became aware of everyone else in the room.
"YOU!" she snarled out suddenly, her blue gaze pinning Oxy down as she recognized him beyond the haze of Gaucho. She was just nearing their little group, but now her pace quickened, wings flaring as she rounded upon the horned demon, acting completely in opposite of everything Gaucho had just said. "You piece of shit, you deserve to be up there with the darkness!" Hate laces every word that Ampere utters, electricity beginning to sputter to life as nearby pebbles and bits of moss shift into sparks that crackle and snarl with the passionate pegasus.
"Where is it," she seethes, teeth snapping together just before Oxy's flesh - she remembers how foul he tastes. "Where is the life you stole." She never knew what was int he orb, what the creature was or what it was capable of. All she knew was she wanted him dead.
GOT THE DREAMER'S DISEASE
katanimate.deviantart.com
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
01-13-2014, 07:10 PM (This post was last modified: 01-21-2014, 10:15 AM by Nyx.)
The iron woman hadn't felt safe since venturing to the Veins and finding them broken. Nyx would freely admit to often feeling fear - as, contrary to most warrior's beliefs, fear was not a sign of weakness but of understanding one's own limitations - but she had never felt anything like the spasms of utter terror that had taken her over the moment she set hoof into the diseased area. And even though she disliked caves as a general rule, she had the feeling that they were safe. Whatever the threat was above land, it looked as though it could change the face of Helovia forever, and whilst Nyx was tempted to remain beneath the ground until it went away, she knew her conscience wouldn't allow her to. She was a warrior, and it was her time to fight. Admittedly the idea of locking horns with zombies didn't exactly appeal to her, but she would sooner go down fighting than die down here quivering like a rabbit in her warren, waiting to be dug out by the fox.
She patrolled the caves often, having long since lost the urge to jump every time her hoof clacked on a loose stone and the sound echoed like gunshots around her. She had grown desensitized to the darkness, numb to the boredom of spending her days wandering without purpose, venturing above the surface only to eat. The steel soldier knew it was time to act - if they didn't take a stand now, they never would. Darkness would consume Helovia and resign them all to a waking death, and the mare could only lament her lack of supernatural strength when she compared herself to the other residents of this odd land. She had neither magic nor companion, only her own wits and the strength of the horn atop her skull. She was plain, she was average, but she was a willing body. As a result, the second the cry for warriors reached her ears, she turned on her heel and galloped towards it. Perhaps there were other like-minded creatures - others willing to put their bodies on the line for the greater good.
The silver dove flew down the stone corridors, strides devouring the hard ground below until eventually she reached the gathering. It was lead by Gaucho, and Nyx was relieved to see a familiar (and still rather handsome) face. There were others, pegasi and unicorn alike, and the mare shifted uneasily as she wondered if herd politics would be set aside for the sake of fighting the new threat. If not, she could be in trouble, as the only Edge resident here. Her ears pinned as a pegasus mare with electric markings and a bad attitude shouted at a bi-horned stallion, but her focus was mostly on Gaucho. He asked for crafters, for specialists, and Nyx was neither. Instead she looked at him, her piercing blue gaze determined, and offered what she could. "I will fight," came the steel soldier's simple words - and I will win, or die trying.
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
Loretta returned to her bondamte, confident that the young prince was safe in these caves with what was happening to him. Her paws beat in time with the equine’s massive hooves; together they walked through the many tunnels of the caves, unmatched by any other force. What brings these caves? She asked him, mind clouded with confusion. Loretta had walked many moons on this earth at Archibald’s side and never before had the pair ventured to these caves, nor had he ever mentioned them to her. They were foreign and new to her and it caused Loretta to prickle at the slightest noise. There was something about the caves that sent the bitch into high alert.
I am not certain. Archibald articulated through their bond. The crimson and white creature merely nodded her solid dome. The pair continued to adventure through the underground chasm when, suddenly, several voices flooded and echoes over the walls. Archibald snorted and instantly changed direction, heading for the noise. Loretta followed obediently, her ears pricked forward and her tail curled over her strong back. Their journey brought them to a room alight with many crystals, some in the walls and some on the floor and ceiling. Many horses filled the gem-lined room, and Archibald’s ears flicked back against his neck momentarily. Some were etched into the memory of the golden eyed beast and still some remained strangers upon his cerebellum.
The beast saw Midas, a pegasus of which he knew the name and face from Kri’s fleet. He had aided in overtaking the Foothills, and the pegasus proved to be a good warrior. Archibald did not hear words fall from Midas’ tongue, and therefore did not directly acknowledge the stallion’s presence, but he would if the situation called for him to. The one speaking, alas, Archibald also knew. His golden eyes fell on the winged one he had fought with white-hot anger coursing through his pulse and bones. He remembered the taste of the bay’s blood upon his tongue, the feel of pulling the stallion into a painful state of being by the bone pierced through the sensitive tissue of his nose. His words, however, were what held Archibald’s attention. What were these wraiths he spoke of? The disease? He knew the word wraith only to be associated by darkness. Wraiths…Shades. The warlord instantly prickled, eyes widening some with the memories of his homeland. Archibald ignored the warning of the Sun God, told secondhand through the primitive’s mouth.
Were the shades of death from Isilme spilling into the lands of Helovia? Archibald’s ears pinned as he remembered the painful touch of the shades, the scars left on his hide from their ghastly fingers. Archibald’s trip down memory lane does not last long, however, as his ears ring with the voice of a mare. Instanteous anger causes the warlord’s nostrils to flare and a snort to push through his pursed lips. ”SILENCE” Archibald screamed, sun-colored eyes falling like dragon fire on Ampere as she drove for Oxy. In the same motion, Archibald’s right forehoof slammed down on the cave floor beneath him, sending the cave to tremble at his power. ”What this stallion speaks of is dangerously urgent. You would be wise to curb your fowl tongue and listen.” Archibald snarled, his face turned towards the black and blue mare though his words were cast at all in vicinity. Loretta lowered her head to watch the blue mare with narrowed amber eyes, the silver of her magic dancing behind her irises, ready to reach out with uninhibited wrath and strip the mare of her life, to pull her into infancy.
”What have you seen exactly?” Archibald demanded harshly, eyes and face snapping towards Gaucho. The tone of the Dauntless’ booming voice left no room for argument. Archibald wanted sensory facts and answers. He wanted truth. The safety of his family—and ultimately everyone in Helovia—was on the line, and the swarthy beast was willing to kill anything that stood in the potential of endangering them. ”Tell me everything you know about this threat.” Archibald took a step towards Gaucho, ready to pull the information from a dying breath if that was what the situation came to. ”I have seen darkness come and destroy a civilization and territory that matches Helovia and if you know anything more you need to speak now.”
[Archi is using his magic of earth tremors. He controlled them enough to keep the safety of the cave structure, but powerful enough to gather the attention of those in the room and shake them. They last only as long as Archi says “silence” until he begins his next sentence.]
ARCHIBALD the DAUNTLESS Only the dead have seen the end of the war.
This was the moment worth waiting for. The time where the palomino fighter could be useful once more. Emerald orbs flashed with ambition and pure glee, knowing there was a way to protect the herd that had entrusted him. He no longer wanted to be a somebody, the stallion wanted to achieve the goal of being a warrior. What they were up against was now explained to him by the dark stallion that led him here from the Throat. Guacho. His voice rang through the caves, a vicious yell that had lured him to listen into everything.
Informed with knowledge, something he'd been yearning to know about, it was his turn to speak, and then eventually step back and listen. With a content smirk, Phoenix parted his mouth after the resonant voice of the man sending tremors. "I'm here to aid kick wraith ass in whatever form", a dirty word slipped out, but ignoring it, the man didn't give a crap at this point. Whatever they assigned him for, it would fly with Phoenix. It would be nice to play hero once and guard for those he cared about.
Ignoring the rude mouth mare that yelled at a stallion, a simple roll of his eyes were offered. This was no time to be fighting with each other. This was a period where everyone needed to be allied, and though it wouldn't be outwardly admitted, everyone in these caves were now brethren. If his life was one sacrifice for the whole of Helovia, so let it be that this be his death. But hence his name, Phoenix, he would always rise back up after being pounded, and never give up. It was time to listen on and be led into the plan.
01-14-2014, 01:58 PM (This post was last modified: 01-19-2014, 04:02 PM by Odd.)
ARRANE I will always be there, for you
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GIbber gabber blah blah blah
A true warrior at heart, the ivory stallion had been born and raised not in blood thirst, but in tactics and militaristic strategies. Battles have been forged into countless memories, but none of them were as vicious and grueling as these fights with the wraiths. They had murdered his friends, their haunting images would never erase themselves from his mind. That day, that only day where tears had managed to leak out of cyan orbs was the only day Arrane had truly cried. The mauling of Abishia, the infection of Boa. It was only right for a fighter to falter occasionally, but it was out of character for Arrane.
The ivory stallion wanted to kill those beasts in equine form, but had been told to run. Why had he? Why hadn't he stayed to destroy them as he longed to. Bitter with a new found hatred, the grieved and traumatized mask peeled away. This aspect of war would help him channel rage into fighting to kill these demons of darkness that had also invaded the bodies of those he loves. The laid back stallion that enjoyed bright days filled with joyous harmony was now rigid. His war life had now come back, and he was no longer in the body of a friendly man.
He was in the body of someone who wanted to fight to win. Someone that would protect those he loved, to protect the Foothills, and to defend Helovia. So that no other horse, under his watch would be turned into those monsters. That is why the call had spurred him to quickly make a move to the glowing cavern. Warriors of Helovia. Arrane was a warrior to the death. "I am a warrior! I WILL FIGHT!" Tones were laced with hidden rage, his voice resonating with cold power. His gaze was steely, lips drawn tight in a straight line he only wished to say one more thing.
He wished to be the vicious fighter that plunged straight into the fray. He would die for the Foothills. Boa's infection would not be in vain, nor Micha's.
"Talking"
Words: 349
OOC:; //Ugh these posts will get better >.<
Impulse was Megaera’s biggest failing at the moment; the young mare was to quick to jump into a fight, to face any challenge, real or imagined. The state of her wings was a testament to her immaturity; the tips had been burned away in the great pit of fire not far from here. She had been stupid. She had been reckless and arrogant and stupid, and now she was paying the price. Se had healed well from her dance in the fire, only a small pattern of scars remained on her front legs and around her black mouth, but she still felt like a cripple. Flight had meant everything to Megaera, it had been freedom and safety and strength, but her wings would not be whole again until her feathers molted in the spring. In the meantime, she was learning to do without.
She had come back to the caves breathless, leading her little sister Alina to the safety of the underground sanctuary. She’d found the girl not to far away, paralyzed with fear; they both had suffered from fire in the Heart’s territory. But Meg had managed to coax her along and they had rejoined their herd here. It was then that she had heard of the meeting called by Goucho, and had hurried farther into the caves to find where he had called the Warriors to meet.
She had found them in the room that was bright with little glowing flowers, but as she entered the cavern the ground beneath her trembled and the massive black stallion shouted for silence. Meg surveyed the collection of bodies as the giant continued to speak. Stallions dominated the gathering, all strong and brave, warriors truly. Even the two that she exceeded in height had things she did not. Her black and white sultan and the ornery-looking blue mare both had wings intact and the former a powerful warrior’s build. The intimidation that might have come was extinguished be that drive to prove herself; this mare was not one to back down from a fight.
Two more stallions spoke their desire to fight before the bay mare stepped forward and directed her first words at her leads: “I only just returned, I’ve retrieved our little Alina from just beyond Helovia’s Heart.” She turned now and threw her voice to all in the cavern. “There are some of the foul creatures lurking just beyond the sanctuary of these caves. They are foul things indeed, and they spread their sickness with a vicious drive. Any contact with them is a risk, even the slightest touch could be enough to catch this sickness and you’d be lucky if you got away with only a touch. It has decayed their minds as well as bodies, they seem driven to attack anyone and anything.”
megaera
someday we may see a woman king, sword in hand
swing at some evil and bleed
FAC FORTIA ET PATERE
be brave and endure
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Megaera in all posts ::
How long had she lingered in the back of his mind, demanding his attention but never finding it? How many times had the two missed each other by minutes - never knowing how close they had come to a reunion? And yet, it was odd, wasn't it? There initial meeting had been simply by chance, and not very long at that. He had been dirty, she, preening. They had shared a handful of words that carried far less weight and intention than the looks that were passed between the two, and a splash. That was all. And yet there was something, wasn't there? Some primal connection between the two birds, clearly from a different flock than the rest of Helovia?
Perhaps -
Ah. But she was yelling again. At least not at him.
Whatever might have transpired between the two was abruptly cut off, as the blue stormed towards Oxy. Gaucho remembered now - the large stallion had mentioned that he had won the right to the creature - clearly now hatched, and clearly not a snake.
His attention was drawn away from his unfolding drama, by the appearance of the white dun, Nyx. Gaucho's stormy gaze flitted to her; welcomingly, approvingly. She was strong, both mentally and physically, and the dun was glad that she had followed his call. This feeling was increased at her brazen claim, bringing a smile to the warrior's dark lips. He nodded, grinning broadly now in her direction.
Then it all changed. The mood, the tone, even the floor of the cave.
Archibald. Gaucho remembered well his meeting with the larger beast; his nose twitched unconsciously at the thought. You will not forget this day - the Dauntless had told him. I am Archibald the Dauntless, master of war. Unsure of his intentions as he first entered into their secluded spot, Gaucho's flame-tipped wings immediately shot from his sides, rising high from his shoulders. He was not so tall as the Dauntless, but that did not stop his instincts from trying to make himself appear larger. As Archibald's words rocked the floor of the cave, Gaucho's large hooves rose and fell to remain balanced, causing small flames to linger where his hooves had touched. These bursts of flame seemed to accompany the ring of the former-General's word, as well as his magical reinforcement.
As Archibald's focused moved from Ampere back to Gaucho, the dun raised his antlered brow, turning his broad chest to square-off against the movements of the draft. Although the words he said rang true - and Gaucho knew that an alliance between the two (were that even necessary) would be wise, part of him wanted to feel himself collide against the only opponent who had truly bested him in any meaningful sense, since coming to Helovia. He did not want revenge - far from it. Archibald physically bested him in a number of ways, and his magic was frighteningly potent. Yet Gaucho had grown since that first meeting - he had trained, acquired magic, his antlers, and Mara. He did not want revenge - he wanted to use the only litmus test that he had, to see how much he had improved.
But the time was not now. Not when there were dark forces on their doorstep. If the god's allowed, he would dance again with the Dauntless. Until then, they would fight together.
"Sun God tell our oracle that this darkness could not be fought." He began. Gaucho's voice was not so deafening as Archi's was only moments ago, but nonetheless it commanded attention. He addressed the Dauntless without hostility, nor fear. He spoke with the respect of one general to another; from one War Lord to another. "Wraiths. Zom-bee's. Call them any name - they still the same. They are ones we know - not invasions from somewhere else. They get infected; makes them dark, shades their minds. They bite, sneeze, cough. Infection gets passed on. Sometimes change happens slow - sometimes fast. But always happens. Some not get infected - our Oracle, attacked twice, still okay. Maybe immune, maybe lucky."
Pausing, Gaucho's dark ears twitched for a moment as he mentally conversed with Mara, to ensure that nothing important had been left out.
"Caves safe. We know that. But we no come down here to hide. We come to plan." The flames lining Gaucho's body flared for only a moment, as his voice lowered passionately. They were not going to stay, as rats trapped. But without the power of physical force on their side to fight this (as suggested by the Sun God), strategy would be key. One crucial aspect, would be a unified force. Individual sects trying to achieve the same goal, would result in far too many inefficiencies. They needed one unit, heralded by those with the experience to command. The spar between the Dauntless and the warrior so long ago, perhaps was a fated event - that these two might come to learn things about the other, that could not be gleaned from conversation. They were warriors, the both of them. But would they stand together?
"What say you Daunt-less ? You join Gaucho in this?"
[Insert Archi's response...]
Gaucho's gaze moved from the darkened-sunlight gaze of the Dauntless, to Meg. He was glad to see that she had come, though he hoped she would. His stormy gaze revealed a small portion of the relief that his emotionless expression did not. As she spoke of Alina, his lips tightened momentarily. The white mare - in need of another rescuer. When he had first met Alina, Mara had almost died in an attempt to save her, and here again she seemed to have found herself in need of a life raft. Meg had been careless to go out on her own perhaps - but it had all ended well.
01-17-2014, 02:17 AM (This post was last modified: 01-17-2014, 02:22 AM by Circe.)
CIRCE
The smell of sickness was hard to ignore—it’s clammy, pungent odor had a way of sticking to the inside of the nostril, causing suffocation, nausea, the desire to turn away from the rancid thing causing such a cacophony of unhealthy scents. This particular scent of unclean--now it did hang low over the land, shrouding the once sun-lit vistas into a curtain of dark and putrid fumes. For now, the meadow seemed safe from the impending cloud—but the cloud was ever imminent. The marrow in the shadowmere’s bones told her to flee far before any sort of misfortune could befall any of her sons; she had sent her Archibald ahead to follow their eldest son and take Abraham along, so that all her men would surely escape the incoming miasma.
Circe had followed as soon as she could, well after the dust of their road had settled; her parting with Archibald had been brief and stoic as ever, the roiling panic of her blood kept just under her skin, out of sight and notice. Now it consumed her; she ran to the heart of the world, following the fast-fading scent of her kin, her heart-beat becoming a rapid tattoo against her rib-cage, a frantic beat that was not borne from her exertions. She needed to see with her own eyes that her sons were not consumed by black—for an anxious mind is not logical. Surely they came this way, yes, but in Circe’s head swam many visions of her wandering sons, leaving the protective embrace of their parents, seeing the black cloud on the horizon as a challenge, a willing opponent. She had seen this combative nature of her children—and so, she feared.
The mouth of a cave opened itself to her; Circe hesitated for moments, for Archibald’s musk did cling about this place, as well as the odors of what seemed to be swaths of others—but she did not completely fathom his reasoning for entering such a questionable place. Sucking in her breath, Circe ducked into the tunnel that wove deep in the earth; in due time the flickering reflections of the crystal-studded walls twinkled in her glazed eye as she marveled at the beauty of the antechamber, her anxiety lowered to a manageable tempo as she stood mesmerized by the beauty of the chamber. Her trance was broken almost at once.
SILENCE, came a boom of a voice, accompanied by a tremor that rocked tiny flecks of pebble from the walls of the cave. Circe knew that voice—and so, the shadowmere whisked herself down the tunnel from which the roar emanated, her tail curled tightly in the small of her back in her haste.
The scene she came to was one even more marvelous than the one she saw before; an enchanted forest embedded in the rock, where a small crowd seemed to have gathered, seemingly unscathed by the sickness of the plague. Had Circe paid closer attention to those who were present, she might’ve recognized some faces from days passed—certainly she would have recognized the electric bite of the tiny Pegasus she had “played” with once before. However, this was not the case, for her gaze had immediately caught the living golem of shadow that loomed in the din of the glowing forest, his eyes glowing brilliant gold even in this light.
“Archibald!!” she called in a strained voice, bolting straight for him. Many things boiled in the shadowmere’s breast—relief at seeing him safe, confusion that clung about this strange place, her fury that she saw none of her sons standing safely at his hip, awaiting their mother—
It was such that, when she reached him, she could do no more than hook her head over his wither, pulling herself close to his body, her neck clutching him, her breath hoarse against the hairs of his back. She bit him once—twice—but they were confused ticks of her nervousness; she didn’t know if she were punishing him or trying to find out if he was a substantial hunk of flesh and not some illusion of this alien forest-of-the-rock. “Where are my children?” she hissed against him—and in that hiss said many things. I was worried, What is this place, You’re real, I love you, You’re here, Where are my goddamned children, bastard?
So, the thing about detoxing is that you’re not really all there. Of course, you’re present; your body is there, but your mind… wandering free like a feral cat. So moment-by-moment you drift around, mind ebbing and flowing. With every second the air in the room seems to become more still, more stagnant. Living underground like his is deplorable, a crime against humanity and your anger about the whole situation continues to tumble through your mind. Your druggy friend speaks about caging a beast, but you think that the beasts have already caged all of the normal citizens. You’re all trapped down here, hugged close together, with no chance of escape. Yes, this is cage if you’ve ever known one.
But your musings on being caged are quickly interrupted when a very familiar face rears it’s ugly head, bearing down upon you. You! she shouts, wings flared out, and you stumble backwards a step, memories of her waves of shock and pain causing your flesh to twinge again. You’re not afraid of her, but you’re not eager to be molested by electricity once again, either. And then she’s biting and you’re laying your ears back, about to snap your teeth against her hide when your little boggart, the meek girl that rarely sees the sight of day because she is forced so often to live in your leather bag, surprises you. Perhaps because she has a natural instinct for knowing what others fear, perhaps because the word had been suggested by Gaucho just moments before, she morphs into a spitting image of Ampere, although in miniature, locked within a cage of steel- metal bars holding her in place, iron chains wrapped around her hooves and holding her wings to her side. But the image is fleeting, lasting no more than a few seconds, as the thundering hooves of a monstrous beast trampling into the room rattles your mind.
With hooves spread wide it is all you can do to remain standing and for a moment Ampere is forgotten. Although, after he is done speaking, in the confusion of several others entering, you can’t help but smirk and look to her, your voice but a whisper. “I named her Ampere, do you like it?” A lie, of course. You haven’t given her a name at all, and you don’t intend to. The words are meant only for the Blue, quiet enough that no others should hear, your eyes searching her face, waiting for a look of shock or rage. She never did share her name with you, but Gaucho did after you met him in the forest. She’ll have to wonder how you know, you think.
As for the rest of the politics, you let it be. This is their planning session. You’ll do whatever they ask. Now you’re just here to harass the little Pegasus with an attitude the size of the frozen North.
01-19-2014, 05:12 PM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2014, 02:05 AM by Ampere.)
A M P E R E
Ampere has never had the satisfaction of anyone being scared of her. For all her magic and all her might, her short stature and inexplicable inability to be quiet have earned her more in the way of rivals than enemies. There exist in the world those she has bettered, those she has not, and those she has simply annoyed that in turn seek to wedge a thorn in in frog, if only because they could. If the girl had any tact at all she would learn how to be truly intimating, for the potential is there, but alas, she has none.
Oxy responds in a way that only Oxy can; absolutely infuriating.
That which she lost, that which splinters her heart, is flaunted before her mercilessly, one could even say cruelly. To reveal the bond with a smile would have been enough to enrage the girl, but the display does not stop there. The boggart, no more than a puff of smoke, a most curious thing to Ampere, drifts down thanklessly and embodies the most horrific of feelings for her. Crafted in front of her nose is the lack of freedom that shudders in her nightmares and winds her gut into knots.
The tiny Ampere in the cage is so real, so true to her most private of emotions, that Ampere becomes her. She can feel the unyielding chains hugging her side, a cold dread that floods into the marrow of her bones and makes them lead. She can see the giants looming in the room, their outlines broken by the haze of steel bars as her forelock drifts across her vision, muting the blue of her eyes. Its the cave her thoughts scream in a sudden panic, her body jerking back abruptly, head twisting around as she wildly searches for an exit, for the sky. Ampere would beat her wings against the cage until one of them broke, if only for the small chance it would not be her that did so first. She is a bird, small but unbound, and in this place she is trapped.
A voice booms out then, the floor rolling and rattling as though the very force of the words reverberated from the cavern. Ampere's hysterics slowly crawling through her body are snapped away as her feet are forced to scramble for purchase, her wings steadying her at her sides and probably the only thing that kept her upright. The magic that had began to grow as snarling blue sparks at her feet fizzled out while her eyes, wild with fright, began to mellow and focus upon Archibald as he spoke. In the aftershocks of her panic however, his words were lost on her.
She glanced over at Oxy, the boggart gone and with it the horrifying image of her imprisonment, which was of some relief.
Ampere gulped, her mouth terribly dry.
Oxy leaned closer then, his whisper slithering through the stale air like a snake come to bite her. Her right ear twitched, as though struck by the venom and It was the final twist needed to lodge the nail in her hoof. Try as she might Ampere could not control her reaction, her heart leading the charge while her psyche remained winded from combating her fears.
In a blind rage Ampere wheeled around, her magic extending to a nearby boulder, about half the size of Oxy's fat head. As she turned it wriggled in place, shooting out towards his flank just as her body struck towards him, as if it were connected by an invisible line that echoed her motions. "FUCK YOU!" she screamed, shoving past him and galloping out towards the main hall of the cave, to its entrance, to freedom. She wanted nothing more than Oxy to be out there, for him to be consumed by the darkness plaguing the land, but she was still shaken by what she saw and she needed to stretch her wings or slowly go mad down here, lashing out at everyone.
Sparks sizzled off the boulder as it landed, whether it missed or hit Ampere didn't care, she just wanted OUT.
[Ampere has left.]
GOT THE DREAMER'S DISEASE
katanimate.deviantart.com
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
01-20-2014, 06:03 PM (This post was last modified: 01-21-2014, 10:16 AM by Nyx.)
Another arrived, a large stallion, and a snort fled the mare's nostrils as the ground beneath them began to shake. She braced her hooves against the cave floor and pinned her ears, waiting for the tremors to subside - her gaze shifted accusingly to the male who had evidently caused the shaking, an irritable expression on her face. Was there any need for that, really? Again the iron woman was reminded of her own inadequacies; of the fact she held nothing more than the body she had been born with. What hope did she have against those who wielded both magic and bonded beast? Others followed, speaking their parts and offering any information they had. Nyx had nothing to add - she had not ventured above the surface since the threat began, and knew only what she had heard and seen during her brief forays for food and water. She noticed Gaucho's look in her direction, and despite herself found her mouth twitching into a broad smile in return. The stag-stallion spoke, and Nyx listened - he was the boss of this little gathering, regardless of what the earth-shaking fellow seemed to think, and she treated him with due deference.
He spoke of an infection, spreading through the Helovians like rabies; undefeatable, unavoidable. It seemed the steel soldier's instincts to come down here had been correct, and she felt suddenly glad for the terror that had gripped her in the Veins and drove her to seek solace here. "The wraiths must have a weakness. Everybody has a weakness." She mused mainly to herself, although her words were loud enough to be heard by everybody gathered. Nobody was invincible, regardless of what they professed. The key to being a true warrior, to defeating terrible odds, was to accept those weaknesses and embrace them, rather than hiding them behind a mask of bravado and brazen arrogance. But even Nyx was lost as to what weakness the zombies could possibly have, when they seemed to be able to infect everybody that touched them. They were hardly able to experiment, either, as one touch and you would be consumed; the girl was at a loss. She had a couple of ideas, but she was no leader, and lacked the confidence to speak them aloud - it was rather ironic, how a woman who could stand on the battlefield and bleed out onto the sodden ground could feel daunted by the fear of ridicule from her peers.
Another mare arrived, who proceeded to bite the ever-living crap out of the stallion who had shaken the earth. Then her attention shifted to another of the males who spoke back to the loud-mouthed pegasus female; Nyx had no idea what they were bickering about, but now really wasn't the time for petty feuds, in her humble opinion. They had a common enemy to fight, a greater good to pursue. She remained silent, awaiting commands - she was a soldier, not a queen, and she obeyed orders more than she issued them. She trusted Gaucho would decide what to do, and Nyx would simply lend her body to the cause when instructed.
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
Archibald watched Gaucho, unphased by his attempt at threatening. Archibald was not afraid of fire, it had scathed his hide before and he was sure it would happen again. Archibald's eyes narrowed and he tucked his chin some, nec arching with powerful muscles bulging. All voices were lost behind him as he stood his ground in front of Gaucho, unafraid. He listened carefully to the words the primitive creature spoke. The Sun God had given the poor brute information, and as much distaste and rage the Dauntless felt towards the pale god, he knew he needed to heed his words. Letting fall a breathe, Archibald simply nodded. "I will lead this effort to cure Helovia with you, Gaucho," Archibald's ears flicked atop his dark crown, starting to catch the voices around him.
He needs you, your intellect and your experience. Loretta said, amber eyes falling towards the iron mare that spoke of weakness. The red and white cur lifted her lips into a silent snarl, exposing her teeth threateningly. I want to see her scream. Taste her blood. Archibald looked down to his companion briefly, tail flicking over her back to calm her. In time we will test her, He comforted her, gold eyes trailing back to the smaller, bay stallion. "Are there others like your Oracle? Immune?" Archibald asked, tail flicking again.
What could be the cause of this? Surely not the Gods--for only darkness came in their absence--but Archibald was sure they still held purchase on each of their thrones. Snorting, Archibald asked another question, "Has anyone tried to heal them? Use magic against them? What of herd healers?" Archibald's mouth hung open as he prepared to ask another question, but was brutally interrupted by the voice of his own lover. The king turned to see her barrel towards her, her lithe movements too quick for him to thwart, as she lifted herself to land bites on his spine. The beast grunted and took a step towards her to throw her balance back onto her own hooves. He turned his body then, wrapping his neck around her own and her withers, hooking his outside leg over her outside knee to keep her in his embrace. "They are safe, in the cave. Loretta was with Abraham, Reginald not far off. Explore and you will find them. They are safe. They are safe." Archibald repeated the simple statement twice more, his voice merely a whisper for the shadowmere only. He could feel her heart tremble in her breast, and he kept his hold tight on her for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Archibald took a step back and looked into her crystaline, dark eyes. "I am going to keep them safe, and you. I am to help lead these horses," Archibald made a sweeping motion with his head before reconnecting eye contact with Circe, "Helovia is not safe. Find the boys. Do not let them leave these caves, do you understand me?" His voice was stern and quiet, eyes hard. On any normal circumstance Circe would not take his dominance without a stomp of her hoof, but the way Archibald's voice rang towards her now would take no argument.
ARCHIBALD the DAUNTLESS Only the dead have seen the end of the war.
For a long while she had lingered in the shadows of that enchanted chamber; shroud in the gentle roll of mist, lost through the passionate strike of many unfamiliar voices. That longing to speak; to interact and mix carelessly through dynamic hordes had for some time now, been just a flickering memory of a childhood long buried in the past. Africa had been slow to develop socially- her manner had always been so reckless, ignorant and scattered; it had been difficult for her to settle into conversation and simply absorb the thoughts of any other.
Even by the ripe age of three when most youth staggered into the confronting world of post-adolescence and adulthood, Africa remained awkwardly oblivious to the laws of maturity and played on, through imaginary worlds with fantasy friends- her innocence was bliss, yes, but it would quickly be her downfall too.
A lifetime away from that free-spirited happiness, the mare, now wrought by the painful memories still raw and corrosive in her mind, watched the commotion unfolding around her- before her (standing well clear by the furthest wall where a waterfall spilt playfully through a crack near the ceiling). Though understandably she pledged herself and her service to the resistance stirring at the hand of her bay, antlered Sultan, the Oracle remained pensively silent so as not to draw the many eyes upon her corner. She wanted neither the attention nor company; to her, the cave was the gift of secluding darkness like that she had spent much of the last spring hiding within. These days she held not the energy to brush with the ebb and flow of a cruel and confusing society.
Many she did not recognize spilt into the stew of sweat and emotion; it was intoxicating. There were some also who were more familiar- though not by name and certainly not through the network of family faces she had built. The two who caused her breath to choke were the featureless stallion (he who had been intoxicated; strange) and the arcing mare in the Threshold who had launch both an angry tirade and spiteful attack squarely at Africa.
The one-winged mare shrank further into the swallowing grip of shadows; the soft glow of those creatures around the walls unable to penetrate the thick mat of underground vegetation which shielded her. Unsurprisingly both personalities still seemed to her to be rather unhinged, dramatic and impulsive- no sooner had the blue mare arrived and spoken her flood of overbearing words, and she turned again and hurled abuse at the same stallion and flounced raucously up the passage.
Africa wanted nothing to do with that pair especially.
Others spoke in turn more or less, and to them she warmed marginally- the respect and courtesy portrayed, not for a second brewing discomfort through her already troubled mind. Though she wasn’t enticed from her place, curiosity did eventually begin to simmer behind her attentive pale gaze and so too, did the strange prickle of enthusiasm meet their spirited thoughts. When called for, the elusive Oracle would present wholeheartedly to help. But while these brave souls raised their opinions to the crowd, she felt no stir of confidence willing her voice to speak.
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![[Image: 5388c9b80fe59]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5388c9b80fe59)
