"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.
The Blood King watched as his subjects tried to escape. Rage built up inside and he released a loud unearthly shriek as he circled over the group in the sky. They would never escape him, no they were his and they would succumb to the darkness and ascend just like he had, and all of them would be grateful for his blessing that he gave. “RUN BUT I WILL FIND YOU!” He screamed own to them, the ones that he had given up his very mortality for, the ones he had sworn to protect. Now he wanted nothing more than to see the empire of the north crumble and fall into nothing.
The maggots would have to come crawling back eventually, and he would be waiting for them. He turned his body away from the crowd that fled from the scene and returned to his cave. As he returned to the darkness a loud laugh escaped from his lips as a realization hit him. “I truly am The Blood King now, as I am now one of the sole inhabitants of this glorified pile of ice.” He smirked and stepped into the dark cavern where he would rest and wait for them to come.
Days passed and yet no one came. The Blood King was on constant patrol, seeking out the mortals foolish enough to stumble into his artic kingdom. Where were they? He had been so careful on his attacks, leaving the snow and assaulting the others from the outside to keep his presence a secret. So, it appeared as though he would have to hunt down his subjects. Déodat spread out his wings and took to the sky. Where could they possibly have gone? A memory lingered in his mind of the caverns, and so it was there he headed.
Several hours passed and he found himself in that familiar grassland. Slowly he lowered himself down to the ground and took in a deep breath. Could his crowned herd be so foolish as to delve deep into the ground? They would be no better than cornered rats down there. “Come out and face the Blood King!” He bellowed, “Let me taste of your flesh! It will only hurt for a moment… Or so.” Wicked laughter escaped from his lips as he began to pace about the entrance of the pit. They would come, oh yes of course they would, and he would infect every single one of them, and they would all kneel in adoration. Déodat could see it now, him ruling over all the undead and all the living trembling in fear.
"talk talk talk"
[Déo is at the entrance of the Sanctuary. Basically he is here so y'all can drag him down. Permission to anyone to powerplay.]
Fearful and afraid, Arrane tried to never let it leak upon his face, but it remained in his eyes and tight lips, always pulled in a concerned frown. It was time for war, to protect those innocent from the clutches from darkness. Ivory body pacing restlessly in the caves below, cyan eyes fell to the stony ground, his grim face 'tsking' silently. But his ears caught on to the larger part of the racket being caused outside. A screechy male voice called with demonic bloodthirst, yelling for the world to hear. It sounded strangely as dark and possessed as those others that had attacked him and the group of friends he tried to protect.
Audits pinned on the back of his head, a fierce glare accumulated in his blue orbs. His teeth were somewhat exposed and enraged wrinkles for on his maw and around his brows. Slowly walking towards where this "Blood Prince" was, Arrane saw the muscular form of an infected brute yelling out into the gaping hole. Walking towards him, he still kept his distance, not wanting any sort of infection to spread to him. Arrane wanted to be well to fight against these beastly monsters.
"You will not have any sort of taste of any one's flesh while I'm here", growling through gritted teeth, Arrane pierced him with a glare, only to lift up his head in a swift motion. A bellowing whinny boomed from within his chest, summoning the warriors from the sanctuary. May they hear his call and consult on what to do with this bothersome "Blood Prince". Truly, if he wasn't capable of spreading infection, Arrane would have leaped on him earlier, earnest to tear these beasts apart. The beasts that destroyed his dear friends.
01-23-2014, 05:35 AM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2014, 05:49 AM by Circuta.)
Circuta
From crepuscule comes the call of warfare and hostilities; ominous and forewarning ricocheting between haunted corridors and alabaster lined harks— a song of damnation and extinction against the presipisses of wilting harks and aching domes, shrill pangs of strain and fever burning along the caverns of a dehydrated cranium, snarls and cries of hunger twisting and chaining a writhing stomach backwards within her swaying frame (the illness that dizzies her as soon as the bellowing wail reaches her willowy bodice does not aid in the beast that attempts to devour her from the inside of her own flesh and blood). Nausea rises as bile from within the swan's throat and lays down camp at the very back of a shivering maw and enlarged pupils (malaise and periorbital puffiness seem to latch unto her as the bodies of leeches) and the Nightingale can swear that as inflamed muscles grind into gear and she stumbles forth towards the resounding cries with a exceptional and surprising lack of finesse she can see bloodless milky whites and gleaming fangs twinkle at her from the obsidian cloaks that shadow her every step (is this what hallucinating feels like?)
Before trembling ligaments that tingle and scald her with a numbness she will (has) grown well accustomed to in the tide of a rolling loss of kin and brothers alike she has (never) seen in such numbers before; never expected to fall upon her shoulders. There is a exhaustion that plagues, stalks, preys after her as a feline with a helpless rodent in it's sights— a squinting of widened violet as daylight clashes agonizingly with headache tortured purple, a gaping hole shadowing momentarily the forms of two individuals— a behemoth and a arabian, one that smells of disease and rot and the second of life and existence, colliding forces that awaken each and every on edge nerve within her taut bodice (she is too tense, too tense) and startling blurry visuals into crystal keen focus with a dizzying quickness that disorients the Nightingale if but a second in time.
What the Nightingale sees turns her sinew to stone.
From the collapsing world above gloats the harbinger of Thanatos with sickening ease (you are bringing destruction to your own kind) and her breath is taken as if He is a thief in the night; for He is cloaked in a frame of hardened mahogany and decomposing ashen, lacking of tendrils of (what appear to have once been) but a few strands of onyx mane and sporting a missing cape to trek behind Him. The Nightingale cannot get a completely clear view of the man's dome; but it seems the flesh around His maw has decomposed into bone and ivory and chills run down a shuddering spine at the swords that adorn Him; at the skeletal and raven wings that sprout from His sides (not natural, not natural) and she shudders at the monster in of itself.
He is a servant of Thanatos.
And she is the accursed servant of anarchy.
Within a dome that scurries and tosses thoughts around with the carelessness of a starving canine and the order of a scattered herd of bison she is damned to the imageries of another; for is this what her fellows have fallen before? Conjured forth from the depths of a Machiavellian mind rush in as the evening waves of the sea (and oh, how she misses the brine)— the flash of a royal tinted obsidian woman streaked with the storms of the deserts and gifted pearls of the ocean (no no no no no NO)
attempting to shield the golden son of Apollo with ringed crown, ivories of once calm depths glinting in a half-lit corner (leave her alone leave her alone leave her alone) as a hideous beast crawls forwards from the deep (it's slobbering maw twisted into a murderous grin) and the sound that catches in her throat as it leaps from the muddied Earth towards Leto is a scream that never makes it to the surface.
There is the beheaded bodice of the wingless angel, the medic, the healer, there is the (racing) bodice of her Jester as she attempts to escape that which haunts her from the forests (please don't stop, don't stop) and the twisted little girl whom she has nicknamed (with affection) the songbird of her people. There is death. There is the overwhelming stench of blood and rot and the Apocalypse has come upon them.
Half-awake dreams meld with realities and then the pallid frame of the ivory stallion becomes Him— the pearlescent froth of a long-forgotten by most general and a choked sob is strangled forth from tightening throat (she feels as if a rock has slid down against her windpipe) and salty liquid emerges from grief-stricken violet and suddenly the Earth is moving and her hindquarters have bunched— and then she is throwing herself at the monster with a poisonous dome lowered towards his broad bosom; ire and passion and resentment and sorrow and regret and guilt rising up from within a tumbling, writhing core of endless turmoil (she is drowning within her own bodice).
It is then that the scream rips away from burning lungs, a pitiful, painful keening of a sound and it rises into the air as a siren. It is one word.
One unfinished sentence.
And it holds all of the tumbling emotions she has been subjected to the past few (what feel like) millenia.
"NO!"
Finally, Megaera had the answers that she had been searching for. During a brief moment of rest, frustration at her own impotence had boiled inside her. How could she fight a foe that killed with a touch? How could she protect the family she had found if she could not fight what threatened them? But then the miracle had come, for surely it had been a miracle; a shining moment of glory that had turned despair into hope and frustration into determination. She’d seen the fountain bubble and churn and from that supernatural spout of water, the God of Earth had spoken. These demonic wraiths could be cured of the darkness that had consumed them; they only had to be captured first.
Meg ran from the room where the fountain churned, eager to begin her new quest. Excitement coursed through her; she needed to find Gaucho, he would help her, and other members of the W.A.R. effort as well. She began a circuit of the main cave of the Sanctuary, eyes alert and on the lookout for those familiar faces. Then She heard it: ”Come out and face the Blood King!” the shout was gruesome, and the wicked laughter that followed was even worse. The bay mare halted in her tracks, eyes and ears pointed at the cave’s entrance. Blood pounded in her ears, her own rapid heartbeat a mighty roar to none but her. There is one here! I could do it, we could take him down.
Quick, forceful steps carried her to the short tunnel that led to the world above. A grey stallion stood there, and one of the mad mares of the Asylum as well, and above paced the creature from nightmares: and amalgamation of boney wings and jagged horns and rotten flesh. "We need to get him to the waters by the Wall of History.” She spoke quickly and her voice was loud and harsh with the warrior’s rage that bubbled in her at the prospect of a fight. She didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t even look to see if the others would follow her, but running on pure impulse and instinct the bay mare charged up the slope an out into the open air.
Bursting out of the hole in the ground, Meg gave a bellow of rage. She struck a stone-hard hoof against the golden stone that marked the entrance (For luck) and it rang like a gong, reverberating through the air. Thought raced through her mind, almost to fast to recognize them: Avoid his horns! Avoid his hooves! Get him down! Push him! She skidded around, stretching out her wings for balance and spinning dust and rocks from the dry ground into the air. The brute was between her and the hole now. She lunged forward, slamming her wide chest into his side and reaching her snapping teeth to the side to bite at the base of the beats neck. “TO THE CAVE WITH YOU, BEAST! AND THE WATERS TAKE YOU!”
FAC FORTIA ET PATERE
be brave and endure
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Megaera in all posts ::
01-23-2014, 09:21 PM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2014, 09:23 PM by Midas.)
Midas</style>
I'm breathing in the chemicals
A demon came to our doorstep, we knew one eventually would. Much like how Jiji had…. They often raped our dreams with teeth slipping from sockets and breathe caking upon raspy tongue (if one was still present by full swing of their disease.) Truthfully I’d not been looking forward to engaging such monstrosities before learning that a cure was readily available. Though, despite our recent heart lifting news delivered from none other than the king of Earth himself; we knew little of our enemy and was thus still at a disadvantage. Their weakness—and strengths. Death seemed to walk as favored friend beside the flanks of each who had been infected—the very air which they consumed was rapidly exhaled as poison by each rasp and snort.
He shrieked down to us, a furious cry that sent a shiver down my spine and gave no direct comfort. Whatever yon creature had been before the illness set in, he no longer was. Other than stating a need to harm brethren and Samaritan alike, they appeared to have interest in little else. I stiffened and followed the trail of warriors and mares who happened to overhear his bellowing. We approached the entrance with an alabaster warrior, who bared his teeth and rasped out brave declaration to defend those within our temporary home.
Rather suddenly a mare broke rank, her head down with adorned weapon pointed toward what remained of the flesh upon his breast. Megaera was quick to follow, directing the flow of attacks with words and motions. I summoned my armor, and piece by piece it slithered apart from the steel casing which enclosed it. Fina roared to life from the den below, her cries echoing from below. “Stay down,” I murmured softly through our bond. Power rose up from within my breast, the voice of magic calling down below to the hardened soil beneath us. Earth shattered apart at the head of yon beast and beyond my kin, a hot wave rose to heaven--threatening to burn those it touched. Sand, golden and deadly rose from the ground. Its shimmering flakes dug out from the pit of earth down below.
“Keep him still!” I shouted, “I’ll fashion a prison around him.” The beginnings of sticky perspiration began to pool upon my brow, ivory feathers rose from my side as I slipped the sand round and round. Faster and faster by the second it spun to capture the beast inside, until a tight circle had formed an impossibly violent sandstorm with enough of a center to hold our wraith. Gold began to slide over the top, coating thickly enough to make a strong barrier. “Get away!” I warned them, struggling to maintain distance for the safety of comrades. Slowly the sphere of spinning sand would be completely enclosed by gold, trapping the individual. All that would remain would be to slide yon globe to the fountain. By now my sides heaved and breath came in quick, little gasps. Armor clanked as I held concentration and shifted my weight back to pull against the sphere.
They come. One by one by one they all came, and each and every one of them would fall. The Blood King would play their game, he would toy and permit them to believe victory but they would soon see his how great he was. Even being able to gaze upon him was a privilege to the prey that lurked down in their little caves! First of them was a disgusting hornless who spews out threats. A loud laugh erupted from his frame. “Come out and fight me coward. Come out and hold true to those words you proclaim.” He stepped closer and leaned in, just at the edge of the pit, making an effort to waft his vile breath into the pale one’s face.
Shortly after the pale one came a mare shrouded in darkness. At least this one was blessed with a horn. One that would be worthy of servitude, and one that was willing to defend this abyss they hid in. Just as the dark mare came a second one erupted from the cave at him. Before he could give any reaction to the second rodent, the first one struck the sword directly in the center of his broad chest. A loud roar erupted from his lips, mimicking the agony he should’ve felt at such a blow. Perhaps it would drive home a sense of guilt to the weak-hearted. The Blood King may be a mere shroud of the proud soldier that lay buried beneath the layers of death and decay, but his mind and body still had that of a disciplined warrior. Two stubborn mares wouldn’t defeat him so easily.
Déodat felt the other mare strike at his shoulder and he fleet himself stumble slightly and barely managed to avert the bite. As she drew close, the Blood King outstretched both his wings with great force in hopes of striking the brown mare that drew close. “It will take more than that rodents to defeat me!” All along, he hadn’t noticed the fourth figure to appear. When the voice called, his gaze snapped to the one adorned in armor. Whatever he had called out to the mares had gone over his undead head. Around him a violent sandstorm began to brew and with it came gold. What!? His eyes turned to the winged stallion.
“Of course a skyrat would stoop to cheap parlor tricks. You’re no better than the fool that lingers in the cave.” The Blood King screamed. He knew there would be no point in flying with the harsh winds around him. In the back of his wicked mind, that remnant of mortality was laughing and rejoicing for it knew what was coming, and so did the monster. A roar of rage filled the air around him as he saw the gold begin to form around him. “ALL OF YOU WILL FALL TO DARKNESS! THERE IS NO RUNNING FROM FATE!” Those were his final words as the sphere solidified. Now he was trapped. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. He was supposed to rule them all. The Blood King wasn’t capable of grief, only malice and rage. Just as he always seemed to, Déodat had failed even in the body of something supernatural, and ironically enough, it was the skyrats that caused it all.
The Blood King had fallen. The pathetic mortals that should’ve been groveling at his feet had defeated him in a matter of moments.
"SHUT UP", hissing with all the hatred mustered pounding within his pallid frame, the ivory stallion pierced the man with a loathing glare. These beasts from hell, rotting with layers of decomposition, consumed completely by madness and darkness destroyed those held close to him sentimentally. Adamant, awaiting those that would join him at his bellowing call, one unicorn mare approached, seemingly unstable with shifty violet orbs. His face could not produce a kindred grin at the moment, velvet lips pulled into a stoic frown.
Glancing at the approaching woman, the demon that proclaimed himself "Blood King", continued spitting out a string of words. Paying no heed, a gurgling wail choked in her slender throat, her bodice bunching with force, lunging forwards with ferocity, a scream ripped through her throat, choosing only one word for a battle cry. 'NO!'The femme, launched into motion seemed like an elusive shadow, striking from the darkness at its prey. Aiding her in the assault, Arrane bunched his powerful legs only to be stopped by an enraged voice behind him.
The ebony fae pierced the man with her dagger like horn, and Arrane let out a cry of triumph. He yearned to leap into battle, to bring him down with a flurry of hooves, to bite him into submission to the blessed waters. Anticipation bubbled within his veins as the ivory stallion continued on with an entrancing stare. Muscles rigid, his heart began to beat faster with the prospect of a battle. Ears pinned back, the warrior launched into motion, following the footsteps of Megaera, the mare that was a part of W.A.R.
Teeth were bared, cyan orbs were narrowed with all the anger, rage and grief built up within his heart, like a dam ready to burst with fierceness. As she leaped to the demon's side, Arrane quickly turned to the left, aiming to sandwich the beast in between the two of them, as the unicorn fae kept him in the front. Not in his right mind, as Arrane brushed around the left of the "Blood Prince", he bent his neck to the right, hoping to aim a wicked bite to a soft spot in the man's spine. "YOU NEED TO BE WASHED, DEMON", growling with hidden barbarity, a fourth presence joined the fray.
Hoping to keep him still, the ivory stallion, seething with malice backed away at the command of Midas. It took every ounce of moral strength to back away as told so, for he wanted to leap in a fit and injure the demon. With the fast wisps of magic, Arrane bit out a reply to his fellow comrades "Back off!" The prison was sealed around the unicorn stallion, and Arrane only hoped that the mares had stepped away from the writhing beast. Sweat lined his flank, little droplets forming on his back. Plastered to his face was a red tipped mane, and eyes were wild with the rush of a battle.
In the fray, Arrane had still managed a few cuts from the rocks lining the ground as he charged, but the pain naught mattered to him at this moment. It was now time to cleanse this devil of the sins of evil.
Ligaments set into perpetual motion— the cries and lyrics of fellows in the blackened realm beneath the surface as they crawl forth as ants from the onslaughts of their mere soil civilizations. She is aware; and she is not of a cacophony of song and dance, of the importance and measurements required of the underground refugees (and she quivers with a lack of understanding at the lyrics that haunt her harks; for why would the woman of the night allow one such monster into their ranks?)
It is then that she feels a (triumphant) and slick sounding thwack! as her dagger melds into mahogany bosom; sinew and flesh tearing and ripping, veins breaking as string in her minds eye; the adrenaline that surges along with a chorus of emotions in her own vermilion veins shuddering with brief pleasure at the well-aimed hit— and the next second trembling with dread and horror, distress and remorse as the whispers of he could have been your brother drip acrid and poisonous inside her cranium. Whom would miss the mutated hulk of a soldier before her? Whom would fall before the onyx wings of Thanatos and beg his return? His remission and reprieve? Whom would stumble with adoration and sorrow in stride toward the remnants of a forgotten lover, comrade, a brother in arms?
Alarmed and shock ricochets down a feminine spine as a bellowing roar clashes against sensitive auditory ranges; a scalding realization that he has not fallen from a blow that could (should) have laid dead weight against a delicate dagger and caused both Nightingale and Claret King to be brought down to their knees before the watchful pearls of their people (she shudders in trepidation; for what must they do to end these beasts?) Get away.
The whites of glistening violet show in understanding of the position in which she is placed before, for when she attempts to yank back the dagger in which has been struck into his wide bosom— it is lodged within muscle and sinew and flesh and claret, a tangled mess of objects that slow her descent into the blessed shadows once more (and the salvation of her kind). Get away.
A flash of terracotta as a force slams against bloodied brute and Nightingale alike; for as he stumbles with the projectile of a woman that reaches for his neck even now with gleaming ivories she, too, stumbles along with him, the dagger that has planted itself into his chest both a success and a failure, a leash to keep her chained to the monster, and the monster chained to she. Get away.
Futile attempts at extracting the dagger from it's rooting place continue as the grainy touch of sand begins to alight upon her hide; the voice of a familiar Sultan ringing upon alabaster lined harks as the King of Claret throws forth insults of skyrat and fool. GET AWAY.
Aureate begins to harden in the sands, and with a cry of fright, the Nightingale wrenches backwards with the entire strength of her weakened frame in tow, a last attempt at salvation (though she does not deserve it)— and as a poisoned dagger slides back and out with a sickening sloshing noise and foul-scented blood splashes against a crazed dome she is free and stumbling backward out into the caverns once more, slipping down the slope of mud and grime and feeling her croup slam into the solid rock of a wall with agonizing force. There is a dazed moment in which the Nightingale observes the King ensnared within gilt and shore, the realization in which this could have been she, the Nightingale, entombed along with the wretched beast.
A dim murmur within the back of her mind that tells her she is safe. She is unscathed. She is alive.
The Nightingale breaks then, a shuddering muffled sound that rises from within her bones and into her very marrow, the salty tang of liquid entering through cracks in a perfected expression; bloodshot violet glazing over with the remnants of fright that jolt about in her blood (her pillars tremble) and in one instance she finds herself grounded, knees pressing against solid gravel as sickly scented vermilion dribbles down into snow washed lashes. There is the irregular beating of her heart in her throat; fast and fleeting as butterflies wings, the sudden lack of oxygen to cranium and lungs as breath comes in struggled gasps spinning her world into a dizzying array of colours and sound, of light and darkness. Her flesh is clammy, despite the warmth that should (rightly) follow a skirmish. A dim echo continues to whisper within her mind— trembling from her maw without her consent, without her acknowledgement, a odd mantra to which she has no knowledge of.
"Safe..."
Everything seemed mixed in a horrid paining of the gruesome fight, and all tinged with the foul stench of decay. Megaera’s ivories closed around nothing, and the snap sent a pang through her clenched jaws. But her body hit true. She felt her front collide with the Bloodied King and an angry growl rumbled out as she pushed, black hooves digging into the ground as she strained. The monster stumbled but out of the corner of her black eye, she saw the Night mare falter as well; her horn was firmly lodged in the monsters chest. There other stallion had placed himself on the monster’s other side, the blue eyed grey that had seen the Earth God’s message, and Meg new he was another ally in the fight.
Winds rose, and Megaera felt the sand sting her face as it whipped around. Confidence surged as the Heard the voice of Midas. The bay mare was a soldier, and now that her commander was near, they couldn’t fail. ”Keep him still!” she heard the order and moved immediately to obey. Again she pressed her bulk against the cruel beast, but instead of pushing forward, she held him in place. The storm of sand raged around her, and she was forced to shut her eyes against the gale.
”Get away!” She heard the shout from Midas and hastened to move away from the wraith. Midas’s magic must be closing in, and she knew its power she shuffled her feet to be clear of it. But her eyes were closed against the storm and her trajectory moved around the wretched stallion more that away from him. The orb of gold began to form from the swirling sands and a hoof-size chunk struck her across along the jaw, sending her head flailing. She felt the blood start to pool on the left side of her face and she drew her front legs to her, raised off the ground as she let out an angry scream.
The mare shook the sand from her eyes and opened them to see the golden cage solidify. The thrill of victory started there. They’d done it? Was it really captured? She forgot about the slow drip of blood from her jaw as her eyes sought out the others: Midas was concentrating on the orb, “Midas! Is the beast contained, can your cage hold it?” The grey stallion had only minor scrapes, but the dark mare was on her knees, muttering to herself. Meg moved toward her, “Are you alright, sister?”
FAC FORTIA ET PATERE
be brave and endure
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Megaera in all posts ::
Parlor trickery wasn’t a very nice way to describe a pain inducing talent, but at least it shut him up once the dome was completely sealed over. I’d learnt by hard lesson that these beasts would say anything and do even more to stir your blood; cause a normally leveled head to fall aside from reason. I’d not stoop to his level, just as he wouldn’t be smart enough to stoop toward magic. In the end it was the combination of brethren which halted his rant, my power only made it cease that much quicker, “Fina,” I rasped, breathless, “make a way. We are coming.” The warriors fell back, eyes wide and glinting with excitement from this short lived victory. She busied herself with pushing curious individuals back.
My teeth ground upon themselves, feet that had been planted hard into the earth felt tender when I shifted my weight right. Sand, flowing like a snake fluttered across the ground. Shifting under the large globe and drawing it up. One of throats own asked me a question, I stiffened and grunted hoarsely. I was unable to look away or break concentration out of fear that the whole thing would crumble apart. “For now,” I mumbled to her, straining to keep control of these multiple expenditures. “To the fountain, stand on either side of this all of ye.” I paused shifted the sand further ahead until the golden orb rose from earth a few painful inches, “if it cracks before we get below, be ready to subdue him.”
Last thing we needed was mass panic down yonder. Golden granules made a path for the orb to slide along; and like a belt of living aureate it slithered slowly toward the entrance. Armor clattered against bladed feathers as I shifted back and closed my wings, step by step leading them down the trail and back into the dark musk below. The hardened element surrounding said sphere shifted ever so slightly before tightening, bending to the shape of the creature inside so that it might fit through tight corners. I tried to keep the ball mostly upright…once or twice it slide over, likely shifting the individual instead inside on his head. “Make way,” I called, once we’d gotten to the bottom. Now to the fountain and an end to this horrible plight.
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