"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.
still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
He was fraying at the seams.
Helovia had become a churning pit of disaster: darkness roiled in his wake as he traversed the realm in his madness, blood too-hot in his icy veins, mind shaking within his skull. The shadow covered everything—land, sea, trees, skies, mountains... Exhaustion burned in his limbs, in his throat, in the futile pounding of his mortal heart, in the heaving of his sweaty sides. The air was stale and foul in his lungs, a racking cough plaguing him since he'd inhaled the black, vile cloud surrounding the half-dead girl. He could still vividly call up the image of her glistening lungs swelling behind bone-white ribs, and the steadfast pounding of her heart. The ruined, perfect machinery of a body.
He'd dropped from a canter somewhere, somewhen, lost within the never-receding darkness of Helovia. It clung to his legs like the mists of the Edge, but if he paused, stood still for too long, it grew firmer, almost solid, and he had to pull away.
He tried to tell himself he was mad, that he was just imagining it, but he didn't dare stop and find out. Each time he thought of it—each time he thought but what if it is real?—the terror bloomed in his chest again, sent his heart racing, mouth dry. And Irma... she'd flown and flown and flown, little wings beating valiantly, large heart pounding harshly, just as frightened as he. Until she'd simply fallen from the sky like the last star in his dream, a little tumbling bundle of feathers and tired, wide eyes. He'd fought the darkness for her. He'd torn her from its strangling grip and with beak and talon she'd climbed up his foreleg, leaving red blood to slowly trickle down into his fetlock. Then she slept, claws lodged deeply in his back.
Exhausted, bleeding, and shaken, Mauja somehow passed across the darkened isthmus, across the meadow, and into the east. Mountains loomed like distant shapes in the shadows on his left, the autumn-dead grass crumbling under his frosted hooves. Everything had gone all wrong since he'd gone to the Edge, and now, it was falling apart—Helovia was falling apart. Bleary-eyed and weak he stumbled along, with only one thought fixed clearly in his mind: to find Ophelia. He'd lost Loudmouth, despite swearing to protect her. He'd gone north, to find creatures and the herd nowhere to be found. He was running out of options. He was running out of things to do, places to go, souls to save, and oaths to break.
Starlight broke through the darkness as he heaved himself across the Foothills border, and left the grasping shadows behind. Starlight, blessed starlight, fell down from a cold fall sky, the air a blessing on his parched, raw throat: breathlessly he stumbled forward, leaving the nightmare behind, if but for a moment. He could've fallen to his knees and wept in joy of those distant pinpricks of light, of the sweet air, of the glitter of silver light along the edges of an early night frost.
"Ophelia," he whispered under his breath. Stumbled along. His pulse was slowing, his breath and steps too; with the keen terror somewhere behind him, the madness of his past couple of days caught up. Too much movement, too little sleep and too little to eat and drink. But he was so close now.. so close, but so mortal. "Ophelia!" he cried, begged of the stars. His hoof snagged on something, and his knees bent, and he fell heavily to his side in the cold grass on the mountain-slope. Irma, rattled awake for a moment, shifted upon him before settling in again: the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the stars. The stars.
[ -pokes him- Maybe you should let him sleep a couple of hours so he's more of a game <.< Anyway, just post away, depending on how fast it goes I might start another round without all of you having arrived. :3 @[Rhanna] @[Ktulu] @[Ampere] @[Elsa] @[Aurelia] ]
That’s all that was in the great black beast. After the spider child had appeared and given her the gift of darkness, there was only the drive to spread it. Before, the giantess had been angry, she had been bitter, she’d been callous, and now all that was covered with what she’d never truly had: a malicious intent. Rhanna no longer hungered for grass or oats, the monster hungered for flesh. Rhanna no longer quenched her thirst with water, the monster thirsted for blood. The darkness that had taken her was bliss. This creature didn’t have the bitterness or the longing that she’d had before, this beast had only the instinct to infect, the drive to hunt, and the joy of the kill. Her insides had started to liquefy, and the oozed out at every hole; dripping from her mouth and seeping from where the bone had been exposed on her leg. As each of her heavy feet fell, flakes or skin and dull dusty hair fell from to the ground, leaving a light trail of decay in her wake
She walked in darkness. The hours of the night were numbered seeing as the moon had already sunk below the horizon, but the sun had yet to rise. The stars where the only sentinels that watched the monster as she stalked over the rocky foothill. She’d been drawn to the mountains, and the cold of the north; she’d been born in a place similar to it and even in this state she preferred the harsh environment. Her breath rattled through the fluid in her rages lungs before spewing fog into the air; a horrid death rattle. Dripping nostrils flared as she sucked in the scents around her, the icy air stung so sweetly and there it was...the scent...so sweet she almost sighed with the pleasure of it...
Blood.
The smell was faint, maybe a few hours old, but she wasn’t afraid of a long hunt. Massive hooves struck the ground as the monster picked up her pace; she altered her path, following the enticing smell. If there was something injured at the end of it, is would mean an easy mean, or perhaps it came from one of the equidae, and she would be able to give them the sweet gift that the little spider-child had given her. Her hunt didn’t take as long as she had expected and she spotted the source. A large white lump nearly glowed on the ground, from the distance it looked like the creature had already died. She slowed, disappointed, she might get a meal of it but killing was always the best part.
As she approached, milky white eyes caught the slow rise and fall of the barreled chest, and a wicked smile spread across the dead mare’s face, what fun! She approached the sleeping figure quietly, steps slow and careful of the ground so as not to wake her slumbering prey. A stallion, and a large one at that, nearly equal to her in size, and an icy-looking spear erupted from his head. Something somewhere in the monster’s memory made her lip curl in a sneer, but she couldn’t remember exactly why the horn bothered her. No matter, that darkness will purify him and make him beautiful. Another scent mingled with the stallions and the black beast peered down to see another little body cozied up to the first. That little morsel would be a great desert when she was finished with this beast.
She was standing over the stallion now, dripping maw hovering over his body as she decided where to bit first. She found the source of the blood: little pricks of it had dried up and down his leg. It was to much to resist. She lowed her mouth to lick the dried blood from around his knee. Delicious But this beast was for changing, not for eating… The monster lowered her forehead to the beasts shoulder, the long spines protruding from her face seeped venom as they made to pierce the muscled flesh. “The Darkness eats us all in the end, and your end is here.”
He called your sister's name. In doing so he stirred whatever protective instincts you may have still had and yet hearing her name made you want to find her. To attack her. Stain her pure body red and make her just as tainted as you were before the darkness took over your body and made you the machine that you are now. "Ophelia." You hiss her name, face wrinkling with distaste as you remember every way you feel that she wronged you. How many times had she abandoned you? How much had you given her and she just took and took? You begin to hope, with each step you take, that she is there with him and that you can slaughter them both mercilessly. Fuck the darkness and what it wants. The monster in you is awakening and it wants to be fed.
When you make it there is already another just like you there and she's already begun to spread the darkness to the stallion who called your sister's name. Deep in your chest a growl rumbles as you watch her. Your magic grows restless and the monster inside wants you to let it burst forth and choke the slumbering fool to death. You remember how much you hate him, though now you feel the same amount of hatred toward your own sister. Rest assured its the darkness that makes you hate her so, but you'll remember those feelings if anyone cares enough to save your sorry soul. You walk closer, watching the other wraith instead of the stallion on the ground and you begin to wonder if its possible to kill someone like yourself. Someone who has been purified by the darkness that has seeped into the world.
"He isn't worthy." You say instead as you look down at the spotted atrocity. "We should just kill him." You think that if she agrees with you that maybe you won't have to try to kill her. Your eye catches the rise and fall of his chest and you're barely able to contain the magic that wants to constrict his lungs and choke him into oblivion. The muscles in your shoulders twitch and your tail swishes against your hocks.
"Kill him." You murmur to yourself, head tilting as your gaze travels up to his face. It wouldn't be fun to kill him while he sleeps, though, you finally decide. So you circle around and you lower your head so your muzzle is near his ear. "Wake up, Mauja." You hiss then snap your teeth at the black tipped ear.
still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
Sleep: sleep is a dark, heavy thing, a plunge deep into the abyss, where the tired body becomes numb, nothing but an empty shell, and the soul drifts away on dark oceans. Utter exhaustion had claimed him, dragged him down to the deepest pits of rest, dumbed all his senses to the world—for his tired mind had no energy to waste on them, so intent on recovering, recuperating. He knew nothing of doom swaggering closer, of foul-hearted beasts coming in, hungry for the crimson blood slowly thrumming through his veins. He was a fool, the lone wolf left at the mercy of the world.
And the world has no mercy.
Irma had slept longer, was more rested. At some point during their few peaceful hours she'd abandoned her perch upon his shoulder to nestle against his withers, on the ground, a white little bundle snuggled up all safe in his shadow and long, tangled hair. She felt the buried query running through Mauja's nerves, how they fell short of their mark: he did not stir, but she did. Sluggishly she tore herself from the grip of sleep, blinked her pale blue eyes, and saw.. a sorry excuse for a horse. Cold, she stared at the once-mare. She didn't see much over the arched bulk of Mauja, but felt his sluggish confusion, something in the region of his knee. But what she saw, was enough. A thick, dark muscular neck matted with blood, and the foul, putrid stench they'd been running from in the Basin.
Movement caught her attention. Another was coming up, a perfectly split image of health and death. Irma had never seen her before, but she could hear what she was saying very well: "He isn't worthy. We should just kill him." And it was enough to snap her out of her newly-awakened stupor. With a startling speed for a land-bound owl Irma scuttled out of her hair-castle and, feathers all ruffled up, shot into the air. Her left wing ached, as if bruised, but she defied the pain and settled in a nearby tree, eying them with an intense anger blazing from her pale eyes. There was nothing she could do against these creatures, except stay away from them, to carry word of.. of whatever happened here. She was not one to be afraid, but now she was: not for herself, but for him. Because they wanted to kill him.
And she loved him. She lived for him.
Wake up, idiot. Wake up, wake up, wake up. Her soul grasped his, rattled him like a wolf throws a rabbit around to snap its back, but he was so tired. But slowly, slowly, he began to crawl back to the surface of consciousness.
And he got some help along the way.
Pain forced the heavy darkness of sleep aside, shoved every heavy thought from his mind, cleared the fog and sent the starlight arcing into his blue eyes. "Wake up, Mauja." She bit his ear just a fraction of a heartbeat after something pushed into the flesh of his shoulder; with a startled yelp and a surge of adrenaline Mauja scrambled to his feet, gracelessly tearing away from them. Blood oozed slowly from his new wounds, his nervous system sending a peak of pain into his brain. One hop, two hops, and he wasn't looking like a drunk anymore, but stood firmly; he swung around, ears pinned against his neck, bloodying one side of it where the skin on his ear had been torn. It was an incredibly rude awakening, but.. when you're left alone on the surface of a hostile, darkened world, what do you expect? Something along the lines of this.
His eyes flitted from one to the other. The one which had spiked his system with pain was unknown; she was tall and heavy, black fur all matted and clotted with blood. Substances he didn't want to know what they were dripped from her orifices, and he could see the gleam of his own blood along the spines of her face. The other.. the other he knew very well. And he didn't need to be a wraith to dislike her. Ktulu. But things were all wrong, her white legs colored crimson, half of her torn open, laid bare, mimicry of the girl. He hated to see their lungs work, their blackened hearts pound.
Arguing with the one up north hadn't worked—just see where it had left Déodat.. a broken monster just like them. And running? He was tired of running, and they were tireless, they fell outside of the frames of reality, and would simply hunt him down. In silence, Mauja just glared at them. There was nothing else he could do. Just face this with his head held high.
01-26-2014, 01:55 AM (This post was last modified: 02-07-2014, 02:33 AM by Öde.)
He sputtered in and out of sight almost unwillingly. The strange sensation of teleporting at random no longer phased him, keeping his slow, methodical pace and never missing a step even when the ground warped away. It was, he supposed, some manifestation of his new abilities and the constant need to find and overwhelm those who remained absent of the darkness drug. It was as if their healthy bodies called out to his rotting one, tugging him through space so he might feast upon the organs that bled for sunshine.
Still, he preferred to walk.
With a deliberate speed that maintained a sense of casual grace, as if this shawl of the night were one he'd worn for eons, Öde approached the group just as Ktulu's voice cut through the air - it had grown thick with disease and broken hope. He drank it down like a cold liquor, his lungs full of the tar, and it brought a steady grin spreading along his maw. The motion set wrinkles in his snout, now elongated and host to a set of fangs that glittered under the starlight where his saliva coated them. In his thirst for Mauja's innocence his jowls had grown wet with his mouth's pre-cum, great strands of it gliding down like icicles to splatter on the grasses underfoot.
"I can smell his soul..." Öde growled out softly, the words churning in his chest like boulders grinding against each other during an earth shake. Although in this moment Öde had lost most of himself to the monster within, he would agree with ktulu. Why must they spare the living and make them infected? Öde had never felt better and it was not a feeling he was so readily willing to share. "I am a god, I deserve this...he does not."
The monster inside him bucked, a sensation that spun through the core of each of his bones. It was there again, that need. Thankfully the act of infection coincided elegantly with slaughtering, he need not try too hard to differentiate.
The thoughts of it and the aroma made Öde excited. His jaws slacked apart, his tongue licking the rim of his lips, flapping over the tip of each pointed tooth. "It smells GOOD!" Öde whined, the anticipation building in his body until he burst forward with his last word, hooves flying amid a swamp of feathery hair. His jaws split, the wolf's head opening so vast he could nearly swallow Mauja whole. The line of his face nearly split to his withers, his horn nothing so terrifying as the gaping maw of demise.
He lunged, a snarl crawling on his face while he readied to engulf Mauja's fore front.
EVERYTHING THAT KILLS- ME MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE
Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
Your teeth close on the tip of his ear and you bite down hard on the tender piece of flesh and cartilage, holding tight to it even as he pulls away. But your teeth are not made for holding on to something like that and he slips away from you, stumbling, graceless, classless. However minute his new wounds might have been the smell of his blood wafts toward you and you breathe in deeply. The scent fills you and the beast within claws at your decayed flesh, wanting you to let loose of the reins and allow it to destroy him. You refrain. You keep the monster locked up tight inside as a young one comes to join the party.
You listen to the youngster as he speaks and he makes you smile wickedly, your gaze leaving him and traveling back to the washed up king. "Worthless." You murmur as you look at him. Your body shifts and you begin to circle around and though it may look like you're looking for a weak spot on his body you are not. It is his mind that you want to fuck with right now, for no matter how strong the body is the mind is delicate. No matter how fearless the expression on his face might be there is always fear lurking in the back of the mind. You want to tap into that fear because you believe that fear will break him. After you break his mind you want to break his body and completely destroy him.
The young one lunges toward Mauja and your circling stops, your head tilts to the side, and your ear tilts forward as the boy appears to be split in half by his own mouth. Your tail flicks and you decide to aid the boy so he can have a taste of Mauja's blood. Your magic surges restlessly within your veins and within a matter of seconds you let loose of it and it surges through the air toward Mauja, seeking out his lungs and settling there to hopefully prevent his breathing and any escape attempt he might have in mind. "Kill him." You urge the boy. "The unworthy must die."
still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
One beat. Two beats. Three, four, five, six; the sound of life was roaring in his ears. His heart was pounding, the back of his mouth dry. He swallowed, swallowed nothing, pale eyes going from one, to the other, to.. to the most fucked-up thing he'd ever seen. His gaze stuck on it in sheer disbelief. No.. no no no nono... Only a dragon could've been worse, but a dragon would've been normal at least. For what did approach on little lithe hooves, if not a fucking wolf's head? It was the body of a child not even half-grown, all long, narrow limbs and angles, but with a wolf's head. A wolf's head with a mouth full of huge, glittering, sharp teeth.
Heart racing but expression stoic, he turned his head towards the deranged, half-dead Ktulu, as if to say are you kidding me?. But of course, she was not on his side; she had never been. What have you done to Ophelia? Did she roam the darkness blackened and diseased too, nothing but terror seeping through her veins? A black heart pounding dust through empty veins? She was everything pristine, the starkest of white, and the thought of her walking this desolate shadow-world with gore oozing from open, infected wounds made him want to scream.
He glanced at Irma, but the leaves were in the way. He couldn't see her, his lovely white little companion with her stony heart. It made his soul ache. I wanted to see you one last time. "I can smell his soul..." The wolf growled and Mauja's ears clenched tighter against his neck, frigid eyes settling on it. Mauja hated it. He hated it, loathed it, and feared it.
But there was no time for fear now. Every time had come and gone: with their hungry eyes searing his skin, it seemed only the time to die remained.
He swallowed dust again, dreamed of clear water and sunlight. Jaws clenched. Eyes blazed. And his mortal heart kept pounding, pounding, pounding.
"It smells GOOD!"
Shut the fuck up. That was Irma.
Then everything happened at once.
The edges of his vision blackened as those jaws split open wider and wider, darkness and rows of teeth swallowing up the night and the forest and everything: in deathly silence Mauja spun on his haunches, an ice spike slamming up from the ground where he had stood but a heartbeat ago, to, perhaps, punch the looming face of death in the mouth, and buy him another worthless moment of life. For what did he fight, if he already knew how this would end? For pride? Bravery? He fought for no one but himself, with no one for witness; no one would know, nor care, how he died.
It didn't matter. He was past the point of reason. He only knew the pounding of his heart and the utter despairing exhaustion burning through his leaden limbs, and the din of his own mind's voice whispering IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou over and over again as the owl gently rocked and cradled his fraying mind.
And then his body stopped breathing. Sides heaved and dragged night air in, but he was drowning, listening to the distant sound of Ktulu condemning him to death. She was somewhere far above the surface, death's black hand extended through the starlight and into the murky waters, beckoning for his tired old soul.
His mind's chant changed to fuck you, and, heart pounding panic, he tried to shatter hers with ice, fighting to reclaim what few breaths he might have left in this world.
02-06-2014, 08:50 AM (This post was last modified: 02-06-2014, 08:51 AM by Circuta.)
From refuge and harborage comes forth willowy pillars and aristocratic frame, emancipated in ship and glittering with the starlight of azure hue and malachite tides, crisp and florid in scent, decadent as the brine, hyacinth floating and shivering amidst diseased air as cleansing waves upon drenched shoreline. Each tremulous scream is a dagger, hilt facing from her welcoming grasp, buried within the backbone of her spine, each wailing cry for assistance a murderous tug upon her heart, for she is all too aware that if the screams have begun they are far beyond redemption, beyond the gentle caresses of clammy sinew and aiding steps, and she is the intelligence and the Sigul and she should not be frightened and filled with dread at the softest of crunches out of her sight, should not waver as a leaf upon the wind at the monsters that hunt in the night, for she is one of them— she is a accursed being and they are merely her humble servants (she is built in which to overcome), she is the rushing strength of the tide and they are the merest of grains of the sand (she despairs, for even the brine is aware of the losing battle in which it fights).
And so from salvation she has come, a beacon in which to lead those lost into the golden gates she has come from, willing to spread destruction and carnage and primal desires upon those whom come against her, to stain foul scented claret upon her crown once more if it is what it takes for her to bring the lost lamb far from the grasping arms of the false shepherd, rumors and rumors of tales beckoning lyrical song of children amidst the daemons in which haunt and grasp the lands around her even now, goosebumps formed upon icy flesh with the eradication that scalds once familiar landscapes, the acrid stench of death upon her tongue (far less sweet than that of the Reaper); and it is with dim recognition that these were the lands in which she wished to ravage, to spread anarchy and supremacy upon, to wage endeavors not seen before in the history of her kind, to bring dominion and ascendency in the very veins of her kin— but what the Nightingale sees her promises of ruination, of forfeit and inferiority, extermination done naught by the touch of lusting blood and instead by the hands of Thanatos himself. It is with heartache that she has found not one twinkling eye among the ranks of the dead, not one frame in which to bring away from the coils of damnation and under the sheltering wings of the lord of Earth himself, for surely the sanctuary in which they have gathered in is kept with divine interference (and yet, she queries, if the gods could not stop this catastrophe, what right did they have to believe they themselves could?).
From within the tumbling corridors of her mind the Nightingale wearies from her journeys into damnation, into the darkness that has swallowed whole the frames of her kin, for the screams rest blearily into drooping harks, and as the charcoal woman rounds the top of a rotted hill, and the abruptness of the reality in which she has come to face with trepidation in stride is abundantly clear.
Before her stand a circle of four, a achingly familiar scent upon the roof of her mouth— a onyx son birthed into that of a canines dome, hideous in it's deformities, lengthy fur draping into the budding coat of a childe, fawn like pillars still stretching into comical length, claret stained vermilion and slavering jaws opened to a angle the momentary Queen of the Asylum did not believe was truly possible, a grotesque distortion of equine and canine in a unholy mix, produced by sin, furthered by the dagger that juts from it's brow. There are she daemons, one riddled in it's diseases, lacerated in it's infections, bloodied as the childe with the wolves mouth whom has the stance of that of a feline preying upon that of a fresh mouse— then a giant of statuesque height and fish liked webs upon its dome, milky pearls dripping with foul scented essence down her cheeks. The scent of rotted flesh is overpowering, the urge to scream dancing within the lines of her throat and lungs, ivory and indigo flashing as the whites of violet pearls show — and then there is He.
He is dirtied, tattered, and yet the snow blinding hues of his flesh are not lost upon a reeling memory, speckled with onyx and kissed with cerulean upon his dome. But the last time the woman saw him, he was not fighting for salvation, was not encircled within the snarling jaws of death, he did not radiate the scent of life so sweetly upon her tongue, he did not strike icicles into existence with a beat of his hooves.
He won't die. She can't let Him die. She can't let him die and no, no no, no no no NO— in Hades name get the Hell away from him and NO.
Her mind is churning and her throat feels odd and before she has time to truly think through her actions she is cantering, stumbling, dancing with the force of the wind behind her croup, a screech of animosity and passion winding up from a dry throat.
"NO! NO NO NO, NO! GO AWAY. STOP IT YOU SHALL NOT HAVE HIM— Á pusta! Ego, mibo orch!"
Garbled in tongue and lyrical influence, emotions dancing within her lashes she reaches him, pressing along the side of his icy frame, poisoned dagger lowering into a threatening position towards the diseased, the rotted, seeking annihilation upon those whom would take loved ones from beneath her very bosom, harks pressed flat in aggression against her dome, swaying and dancing for a still victim is easy prey and she'll do her best to carve them a new dome if they dared to come close enough to his beating heart in order to do so. "Flee towards the Heart of our land, Frostheart! Salvation awaits within the Labyrinth below. These beasts cannot be fought! Noro, NORO!"
--
Permission from Neo to say Circuta ends up close enough to Mauja to touch his side.
Á pusta! Ego, mibo orch! (Stop! Be gone, go kiss an orc!) Noro! (Run!)
02-07-2014, 12:35 AM (This post was last modified: 02-07-2014, 02:33 AM by Öde.)
Teeth gnashed against one another, woefully absent of unicorn meat, before sinking against a pillar of ice. Deep gouges rusted against its sides as the demon's fangs carved into the protruding spire that rose from the earth as if a unicorn titan dwelled beneath the husks of soil and mud. The magnitude of the force lifted all his hooves from the ground, his body rising with the glittering sword which had driven through his lower jaw and out between his eyes, almost knocking his own tower from his face.
Öde yelped, the cry a shrill tune of agony strummed from the dischords of some mechanism in hell. It did not take long for the wolf-colt to reunite with the land however, his nose splitting and shriveling away from the icicle with a hiss. A smear of black residue contrasted against the pristine organism of magic, the burned flesh of the demon like a stain of boiled tar.
On the ground Öde shook himself back into health, vibrant violet dripping from his wound as his face hung half torn from his skull. He leered after the galloping horse while his hide knitted back together in a wash of bloated steam that was rich in monochrome hues and tainted with sulfur and carbon dioxide. Where his skin met again a rigid line swelled up; white and bulbous like pockets of pus.
"Ow," he growled, the word barely audible amid the chaos of noise that tumbled from his chest.
His hooves shoved off the dirt and he was running again, stuttering in and out of sight as he fought to retain his mortal movement, wishing to savor the joy of hunting this prey down with his own might. Even so, he ran faster than his legs ought to have been able to, faster than Mauja's could ever manage.
It was then, as Öde was gaining upon the Frostheart, that the mare appeared like a hopeful flare on a bleak night; a single star trying to shine through the dark. Öde smiled as he looked upon her, the movement of his lips tickling against his shoulders. He shoved against the ground suddenly, his legs folding beneath themselves with a popping of bones and another wash of bile and vapor. He broke broke towards her, literally, disregarding his craving for a popsicle and choosing to pluck this nightingale instead.
His jaws opened like a black hole, reaching to grab and tear through her midsection as he pulled alongside her, saliva whipping from his teeth like silver ropes. "HUNGRY!"
EVERYTHING THAT KILLS- ME MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE
Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
[ Writing this to wrap things up.. if anyone wants me to change any specific detail, just let me know! <3 ]
From one disaster to another; he escaped the slavering jaws of death, drew breath again for a moment. Sweet, blessed air, like spring water and nectar running down a parched throat—hopeless hope blossomed in the starlit night, pace slowing to look over his shoulder. The wolf was coming, bounding in with long, lithe steps, moving far faster than it should've been able to. It's face was whole again, the intent obvious.
So for what did he fight? Why did he not lay down his arms, and die? He'd come to the end of the world, chased to the last place of solace, where the stars glittered in an otherwise empty sky: he had nowhere left to run, barely the heart to keep fighting, his energy somewhere far below his feet. Muscles burning. All he wanted was to lay down and rest—why give them the fight? Why pretend he could survive this? He ground his teeth together, Irma's stream of sensible emotions cradling his mind and breathing on the embers of his heart, urging the flame back to life.
The fires of this world will go out without you.
They already have.
Please.
I can't.
Hush, don't think. Just do.
What is the point?
What is the point of anything? Just do. For me. For us.
The adrenaline of pain was fading fast, and his bleary eyes watched the wolf approach. His feet had stopped moving, just waiting for death and destruction to rain down upon him. He didn't even know if he was breathing or not.
And the sky broke open with vehement cries of denial, as forceful as the pleading voice of Irma in his head. His head swung around, wondering whatever creature could scream so loudly for his survival, and in whatever pit it had survived: and out of the starry night came nothing but its own daughter, Circuta, blazing anger and radiating life.
There is nothing but the promise of salvation that can breathe hope and life into dying men.
From where did she come? How was she still alive? Why had the darkness not taken her soul and body along with everyone else's? She was hot and alive, pressing against his side, too real to be a mirage invented by a desperate mind. "Circuta," he whispered through a dying throat, harkening to her directions: heart? Labyrinth? Why did she speak in riddles now, when what he needed was clarity? He stumbled backwards as the wolf came on swift paws, flattened his ears. He wouldn't leave her here, even as his heart pounded dark red blood through strangled veins.. even if Ktulu choked the life out of him, he'd fight until the darkness to save this ray of light in the black world, the only chance for salvation he and Irma had.
If he figured out where to go.
But first, the wolf.
Wolves were climbing fast on his list of things he didn't like.
Would his trick work again? It came too fast, aimed for Circuta, and still in silence—conserving what oxygen that hellish bitch allowed him to have—he tried to knock the thing off course, hoping the fleet-footed nightingale would dodge in time.
Where are we going? he cried out to her. The caves!
Good that at least one of them had their minds with them.
"Go!" he snarled, and turned his heart and mind onto the tree. Go, she echoed, talons gripping the branch firmly. Irma? The world slowed to nothing but the slowest, most painful beat of a heart; darkness crowded in on his eyes. He could feel the ache in her left wing, where he'd gripped her as he tore her from the shadows' hungry grasp. I'll come. Don't worry. Go! What are you..?
Despair. Desolation. Fury, hopelessness. It washed through him, a unholy flood, denial pounding through his veins with every beat of his heart. GO! I'll manage, and somewhere in the wildness of her voice there was his despair, mirrored, the keening of the wounded wolf and all the fury of a mother separated from her child—and in the torrent of darkness and love and hopelessness, there was logic in her choice. He needed to be able to buck and run his way to the damn caves, and she'd be in the way.
She needed more rest. To heal her wing.
"Don't wait too long," he whispered with tears in his eyes, turned, and ran. The nightingale flew with him.
The scent of blood and shadow was acrid in his mouth and nose, burned into his brain; exhaustion whispered at the back of his mind, told him to just give in, and the fleet-footed wolf and the choking witch ran with them. From the stars into the shadows, through the shadows towards Hell: flames twined themselves along his muscles, hot, harsh breaths pounding out from a raw throat. And sometimes, not at all. Towers of ice were left in their wake as terror embodied chased them across the face of Helovia, snapping at flanks and strangling lungs; his knees were scabbed from all the times he'd fallen, vision blackening and muscles unable to move, until it had cleared and he'd struggled to his feet to keep going. Blood covered his back, nearly black in the night; the wolf's sharp teeth had lacerated him each time he was too slow to dodge, or too slow to send the ice flying into his face. A time or two he'd even tried to freeze the beast's jaws into numbness, to buy temporary respite.
The black sky watched them as they fled. The darkness reveled in the taste of fear and blood, and shunned their resolution to live. For what is life compared to the glorious undeath?
Everything.
Irma's talons gripped the tree's branch, blue eyes staring at the lonely stars. She would come.
Head over heels Mauja tumbled into the dark hole beside the heart, soaked in blood and sweat. Circuta came crashing in with him. How he made it from safety's threshold to fall asleep somewhere else he didn't know, but somehow he did.
But he would not dare trust in hope until Irma was safe by his side again.
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62.5/62.5 HP
