"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.
They had left the northern forest know as The Threshold, finally able to escape the confronting situation Thranduil had placed them all in. Her eyes had trailed along the tall base of the mountains that helped funnel newcomers into the vast land. Behind them Wynter trailed behind, often flying off to hunt game. During this time of the year, the griffin was having no trouble finding food. The sliver doe lead the way, her pace quick yet comfortable as she had made this journey so many times. Each time her eyes would settle on familiar land marks, a sense of relief would roll through her body. Perhaps the feeling of complete safety would never return to her, once she roamed these lands as a confident foreign beauty. Now she moved with purpose and always had her guard up, most of the time that guard was Wynter; today however it was Crash and she felt quite safe in his presence. As the humidity gathered around them, a cool breeze was quick to settle over the quartet that was quickly making their way to The Basin. Perhaps it would storm tonight, Arah picked up the pace a little; hoping both companions would be able to keep up. It had been early morning in The Threshold, yet now it was midday and from the way the sky was slowly darkening, Arah sensed that once night time hit, it would fall over them quickly, shrouding them in darkness. It wouldn't do to try and lead Thranduil down into the Basin at night, it would likely end up in him breaking a few bones. Although she didn't think Crash would have a problem with it. A sense of delight trickled through the bond, Wynter had made a kill and was quickly chocking down the prize as to return to Arah; while shaking her head at the griffin's ability to choke down food glanced towards the new stallion. She did not trust him.
Finally they hit the northeast, here lay the crumbled remains of a once mighty mountain range. The doe remembered standing here forging an alliance with the herd who used to reside here. Lakota used to reside within this par of Helovia, but her home had been robbed from her. Now apparently a new herd lurked within the cracked lands, rumour had it (if you were to believe such idiots) that the insane lurked within, unable to control their thirst for blood. Apparently many revolts had already been witnessed within these lands. Yet how could you know for sure? Perhaps they were truly just lies told to make the herd that lived their much more threatening. Still the ivory doe made sure the stay clear from their clearly marked boundaries. Even from a distance one could see the clear waters that rushed in from the bay to pour over the top of the rocks, creating a some of the most splendid and enchanting set of beautiful water falls and crystal clear ponds with pools at various elevations. Arah's golden orbs also observed the sparse forest that dotted the landscape, they clearly would provide a decent shelter from the wind and the elements. Then her eyes moved to study the rocky hills, Arah wondered if they were difficult to traverse save for the sure-footed, but no doubt to those who resided here the well-worn paths would be easy to find, locked away in their memories. An amazing rainbows could be seen bowing across the waters, a promise from the gods. Arah paused for only a moment to watch the way the stunning colours decorating the lands that she knew very little about. Perhaps one day she would be able to have a wonder through the land, the doe began to move again.
After some time Arah paused to look around, she was not lost, simply concerned for Wynter as the griffin had not been spotted for quite some time. Cá bhfuil tú? Finally a screech is called through the air, and the slightly blinding sight of Wynter can be seen. The griffin glides down until coming to a stop on Arah's back, with a sigh at the theatrics of her companion, the sliver doe presses on forward. "Wynter, you shouldn't stay away for so long." They had arrived at the northern reach, before them rose the mighty mountains that created The Basin. The range heaved towards the darkening sky, even from this distance the patchwork of snow and stiff dirt could be seen dotting the land. First however it was to be a journey through the sometimes deadly other times stunning Frozen Arch. "You will need to be careful here Thranduil." For the doe knew that the barren terrain had claimed better lives than him. "If you need me to slow just give me a call. Don't rush or you'll trip and snap your neck." The very thought seemed to amuse Wynter, Arah rolled her eyes at the bratty companion. If the two could share thoughts, Arah knew that Wynter would be thinking something along the lines off 'bet you wish you have wings now.' Hence the Griffin's amusement at Arah's statement. The tundra at this time of year had little, bitter and brittle grasses and shrubs. Her golden eyes studied the land as they passed through, snow drifted lightly down onto her back. Her hooves by now knew how to carefully navigate the many loose rocks the were littered across the ground. There was also a constant danger of crumbling boulders, her golden orbs settled on a particular boulder that was promising to crumble untop of them unless they passed quickly. They were lucky to be passing through during a warmer season, in the colder seasons the ice and dirt combined to become slick sheets of danger, and it wasn't unlikely to have to wait out a monstrous snow storm in the chilly caves made by the glaciers and the frosty archways. A blast of wind howled down at them causing Wynter to shrink back and burry herself under Arah's bountiful amounts of locks. Chuckling at her bonded's reaction, Arah pressed on surefooted through the dangerous landscape. Every now and then she would glance over to check on Crash and then Thranduil, she was as subtle as possible about it; sometimes making Wynter peep out of her comfy nest of hair for a moment to check on the stallions that walked with them.
Finally they were spat out from the Frozen arch. Pausing to looking upon the Basin, the doe smiled, eager to finally return back to her children. "Seiceáil orthu le haghaidh dom." The griffin spread her wings and took flight over The Basin, looking for Asch and Arwen and then would hopefully find either Deimos or Illynx. To the west of the narrow exit that was the Frostbreath Steppe, was the range of mountains preserved with white snow. But Arah only had eyes for The Basin, it always looked magical to the doe, it had been her home from day one. Year round, the Basin's lands were covered in permafrost, constantly making it seem that winter was trapped within the mountains. A narrow mountain pass lead to a small, hidden valley and Arah started towards this path now. Confidence carried her forward, it only took a couple of minutes until they were traveling down the path and heading into The Basin. "We are blessed with a lake that never freezes. You should definitely visit the lake at night when it reflects the night's sky, which is often filled with colorful aurora borealis." Her vocals were soft, quiet yet they traveled through the gentle wind back to the new stallion. "The tundra grasses grow thick and lush here, you'll never grow hungry. Often snow melts to reveal the warm earth beneath." Her golden orbs rose to the tall mountains that offered protection from the harsh, winter winds. Then they skittered down to the shallow caves that dotted the sides; she knew one of them was offering shelter for her daughters. "We also have a large, natural hot spring steams. You will find that it is a welcome reprieve." The doe herself planned to visit the springs as soon as the meeting and welcome was over. "Though what is perhaps our most treasured feature is a the glass mirror. It can be found resting against the wall of a cave, although no reflection can be seen when gazed upon." Finally her hooves hit the ground that was The Basin. Sighing Arah closed her eyes and inhaled a breath of relief.
@[Deimos] | @[Illynx] | @[Crash Course] | @[Thranduil]
Joining/welcoming thread for Thranduil, need a lead to officially accept him. Permission granted to write Wynter finding/guiding you if you wish. <3
Hawk - Tried to give you as much info about the lands we passed as I could, just so you have a general idea of where they passed through and what kind of land Thranduil now lives in! :D
Kissing the Frozen Flowers
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
05-02-2014, 11:32 PM (This post was last modified: 05-03-2014, 12:23 AM by Thranduil.)
T H R A N D U I L He followed the swan,
To the land of ice and snow,
He thought it'd bring him harm,
But he held against the wind's blow.
He despised the cold. So to say he was thrilled to be headed to the herd lands was, well complete and utter bull shit. It had started pleasant enough considering how they left the pines. As the trees thinned slightly he could see them far in the distance. Mountains, faintly peaking. They didn’t look so big from here. Now as he was approaching their base he had other, more, exact opposite thoughts. Plus it was cold. At least that bloody griffon had gone off to who knows where. It seemed ever since they’d left that meadow the griffon was taking Thranduil more as a prisoner than a guest. Keeping watch, with what the golden swore was a smirk. Of course in this lovely silence there had been much to watch. The swan lead the way and from her steps the golden could tell she was in not exactly in a meandering way. As clouds began to pass by the sun, the youth discovered why. Not to mention they were moving onto new lands. Airs of clarity, water, and forest ran through to him. She had carried the same air. The glass horned had been from a place called the Falls. As in confirmation, the swan paused their journey to gaze upon waterfall that rang through the air with its rainbow child. Gold flecked eyes gazed upon it. Lovely, but the beast did not notice much of nature’s beauty. What he did notice was an air, bitter, tense, and dark. Harks flicked about, something rested on those rocks and forest that did not sit well. Something sick lay there. Hooves hit earth, and the twin horned head turned to find the swan and brute moving on, so he followed without looking back.
The clock was turning back. Spring gave way to winter. Cold wind danced about his horns and pulled at his tassels. Shaking his head he tried to remember why he wanted to join this herd anyway. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to her description of the place. Though he was sure hell frozen over wasn’t in her tourist brochure spill. A screech rang out and harks only flattened, he knew that call now as the small creature settled on the swan’s back. It had caused the beast to look up, and now he saw fully the mountains that were to his home. Like daggers they rose from the ice, glaring down upon the small group as the wind hurled itself against them. They did not moved and cared not for the wind, and a sense of indestructibility and ancient ways moved through them. The swan was moving on, and he jogged to catch up to her and Crash. They were approaching a glazier, more specifically, a carved arch in a glazier where the ice had cracked open and been etched, ringing with a…magical sense?
Warning call out and the golden eyes the arch more warily as they enter. Earth eyes followed her in irritation wanting to call back ‘Yes, mother,’ but resisting. Though he swore he saw the griffon smiling. Ice lines the tracks. Apparently whatever nature runner was meant to tell this place it was spring had died just outside the arch. The golden could see his breath in here, and it made his head lower his head. Perhaps to watch his tracks, most likely to match is thickening blood which ran with a grumpiness that fit only a child. Of course, on his mask he painted as little as he could, patience, passiveness, and all around nothing. Once or twice his cloven hooves slipped on a shard of ice. Golden head would raise and balance him out. Youth was on his side, and he felt no pull or strain of muscle from these. His youth also was against him, and demanded he not request a slower pace. Perhaps over time he would get used to trekking over ice and snow…probably not.
After picking his way with more care of his feet than he had taken since a colt, they seemed to make their way back into the open air. It was not a welcomed moment, as cold wind brushed up his hid. Still, the view even impressed him. The Basin lay beyond, and it did seems inviting compared to the ice locked glazier they’d just past through. At least the frozen ground was not complete ice. The griffon pet of the Swan’s was already a ways off when he came beside her. He gazed out to the lands and flicked his tail. She moved when he came beside her and headed down into the lands. Thranduil, after a pause more followed. Like her spill before, and as if reading from a travel book she listed the places of interest now in his home. This time with no distractions the golden harks could listen. A lake. Semi-Tundra grassland (thank god). Hot springs (he did perk up at that). And a curious mirror. Perhaps he could tolerate the cold, if such places did indeed prove true. Regardless he didn’t plan to spend too much time here immediately anyway. The whole of Helovia was waiting, and was a lot warmer.
Still, he apparently had to meet his new ruler, (who he would not listen much to), and begin making decisions on his new profession and responsibilities (which he would be doing very little of). It was all more civil vanities and frivolities that the golden would rather skip. However, this mind reminded him of that day. If you’re playing for keeps its best not to reveal your cards too soon. Caution, youth. Keep your cool. In this temperature it shouldn’t be hard. Though, without the solid ice glazier, and a lush tundra grass ahead, he could slip into the cold with a little more ease. Besides there was the promise of hot springs. Sensibility began to seep into him. The land also offered a training ground. He had, he admitted lost his touch in spars, and though his prime had kept him fit, the golden needed a few workouts and practices. Ice paths for agility. Thin mountain air runs for endurance. Cold for hardiness. Yes that was all sounding like a good plan. Doing it might be another issue, but it was sounding good. The small group came through the small mountain pass and the swan paused, they now must be in the lands of the basin. The air was cold, earthen, but clear. So, all in all it wasn’t a total lie when he spoke to the swan. “It’s lovely." Well, not a full lie maybe, but filled with hidden sarcasm.
"blah blah blah."
OOC :: Thanks! Its really helping me sort of get in the grove of him.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
Death in living impasse, waiting for the finality of destruction, sowing and reaping persecution through callous, ruthless indifference, annihilation seeping and pervading from his bones, from his sculpture of reticent ferocity. He stood amongst the wicked tundra, surveying, speculating, contorting mayhem from the tips of his daggers to the serrated tip of his rapier, a twisted, annihilating force of mayhem and distortion, calamity endowed in the quiet, unattainable fortress of his solitude – when curiosity was stoked by the arrival of Arah’s griffin flapping overhead. At first, the notion that their Impersonator had somehow managed to maim herself into another maelstrom conjured a rancorous ferocity, a brief growl, an unholy sibilance through his lungs, but the rancor died away at the slow, listless, languid wings, the encouraging clicks of its beak. Something else brewed within the masses, serious enough to warrant his business and intrigue, and with only the slightest reluctance (because he’d much rather brood in the hymns of the violent, of the monstrous, of the heathen he’d become and those he sought to destroy), he followed the gliding eagle-lion. They pursued along the sweeping boundaries of the winter sovereignty, and he encompassed, possessed, grasped the realm of its element; chilling, rapacious, and wolfish, breathing demise into each step, crooning acrimony with each stride. He spied figures ahead, neither prompting suspicion, one instantly recognizable and likely dealing with the other; ivory, pale, Arah’s fixture, and the stranger, golden and furnished with a sword. His approach, shadowed, apathetic, frozen and Laodicean, an intimidating, severe structure laden, layered and lacquered with devil’s puissance and infernal exposition, was furnished with a subtle nod of his cranium towards both, and then speculation registering on the golden stag. Was this another offering from the Threshold, capable, accomplished and adept, or a weakling, rescued from the boundaries by Arah’s kindness? He tilted his head in vague curiosity, the piercing slate of his stare grasping the stallion’s stature, pondering the worth, the measure, of his life. Vocals, like beasts from the mountaintop, wolves stalking the summits, conjured and brewed in the denizen of his calculations, of his machinations, of his schemes and intrigues. “Deimos, Lord of the Basin.” Bestial conjectures, scythes, cutlasses, augured predilections and inclinations towards the licentious, uttered a single query mottled with a thousand unsaid. “Who are you?” Judgment day, rancorous and seething, loathing and scintillating, the maddening press of trials and appraisals.
As The Reaper approached, Arah bowed her head respectfully. "Lord Deimos." Still sure that she did not trust the golden hued stallion she had arrived with, the doe crossed through the light snow that covered the ground, coming to stand next to Deimos. Finally the call of her bonded reached her ears, the griffin sailed through the air and landed on the ground next to her. "Thank you Wynter." Choosing not to add anything else to her Lord's questions, Arah now stood quietly watching the features on Thranduil deceiving face. Narrowing her golden eyes, the ivory doe waited for him to (hopefully) respectfully answer The Reaper's question. For in the end, Deimos would know about his little show in the Threshold. Keeping the herds best interests at heart, the doe could not just let anyone be accepted into the herd. Especially the herd where her daughters lived. Yet first Deimos would scour and search the Thranduil, while this happened she would watch and wait for him to slip up or pretend to be something her wasn't. From his display during their first meeting, Arah did not believe that he was fit to live within The Basin. Yet at the same time, that was not her call to make; she was not The Lady of The Basin. The thoughts she had on possible recruits would not always be shared among her leaders.
Wynter spread her wings and gently landed onto Arah's back. Height wise her companion was standing just below her knees and was growing fast. It was starting to become obvious that her bratty bonded was going to be quite a large specimen. Getting comfortable on Arah's back, Wynter finally laid down; during the griffin's entire theatrics however Arah paid her no mind. Magical eyes still trained on Thranduil she waited for her moment of opportunity. Bringing him had been the beginning of her fight to show him that underneath all his bravo and male ego, she believed that she knew exactly what he was. Pressing her lips together, the doe remained silent and watchful. Ever watchful.
Kissing the Frozen Flowers
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
05-18-2014, 12:24 AM (This post was last modified: 05-18-2014, 12:26 AM by Thranduil.)
T H R A N D U I L He's learning new tricks,
Pleasant and quick,
Let no signs fly,
of the inner fire.
Darkness walked with as frozen and solid a stance as the mountains above, horn dipped in the blue of ice. Both golden harks trained forward and watched the solid and strong movements of the creature which made its way. Body was tensing from the relative calm it carried upon hearing of possibly hot springs. It was not in nerves, the golden wants me to be sure to tell you sure. Nah, but in the manner of which this beast carried itself, there was little welcome in it. Was there any way the swan could have voiced her dislike of the golden son without his knowing?
A flutter of wings far beyond. Of course. The swan’s pet. But take care now. The dark one nods to each and then openly takes in the golden son. Shoulders roll out under inspection. This cold stare which wisps over him leads not to feelings of exposure, but challenge. Care now. A swan’s sweet voice to her Lord. A spanish neck dips slightly in return. Rising still to its height. Careful. Play for keeps. Shoulders pull back in, and body bends slowly to a less, soldier like stance. The golden son had not been eyed with such looks in many a days, and it brought back bad habits. Well, bad habits to display in front of a creature you are about to take as your lead. Or want them to think you are taking as your lead.
Deimos. Lord. Rulers never forget their titles. The name fit the black heart. Movement, one hark trailed it, but she soon came into view. The swan moved to stand next to the black. Her face high, but pursed. Damn, was he answering to mom and pop or being welcomed to a herd? Judgment day already? And look an angel from heaven, and demon from hell come to tell him his fate. The suspense if maddening if only he didn’t know which place he was going since he was three.
Screech and hustle of wings. Inner body tightened. From the corner of those earth eyes the griffon, landed upon the swan’s back. God, could it shut up for one moment? With every cry it broke a bit of concentration, and here is when it was needed the most for a hard question was leveled at the golden son. Who is he? Ah, what is he not would be simpler. He is not your knight in golden armor. He is not the pillow under your head. He is not someone who’s seen the light. He is not man’s best friend. He is not glass of water in the desert. He is not a rolling play ball. He is not anything he claims to be. Oh but how to simplify all this. “Thranduil, at your service…” Play for keeps. “…my lord”. A slight dip of the head, raised in reverence.
It was grinding him inside. Escape this funeral and he could skip out for some lighter company. The Basin herd seemed to be respected, revered. It should be, the picky entry requirements were enough. The title could give him the security and weight he needed to stir some small fires, though the golden was beginning to think, perhaps he ought to hold his cards closer for longer than he thought. Delay did not settle on the youth well, but if it meant he could stir up better fires later then perhaps he could curb himself. To that end, there were so many more responses to this, sorry, his? lord, but lips remained closed. Perhaps he’d take a note from dear swan over there, and put a tinge more value on the information he let out to this dark character. Being passive was not usual for the golden boy, but keeping his mask was. So paint a reserved but pleasant face, and let the coming storm blow over as just simple clouds. For now.
"blah blah blah."
OOC ::
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
05-18-2014, 06:33 AM (This post was last modified: 05-18-2014, 06:38 AM by Crash Course.)
Crash Course
AMERICANA, EXOTICA
"Hilarious. I remember your name being moron." The depraved, relentless, velvet azure of the incubus's spheres sweep across to the resplendent pinhead, varnish and tinsel, onyx tresses slapping against his hocks as he lumbers forth— a barbarous, a wolfish smile slithering across his lips, a rapacious, despoiling dance to the way he moved, slinking upward in hopes of circling the appeasing craven as if he were a slice of meat, a sheep all too ready for the slaughter, and if the curl to his lips indicated that he was a carnivore, and the guilt laden cur his supper, the impassive, apathetic, devoid gleam to his gaze indicated nothing at all. He spared the most meagre of glances towards the porcelain doe— his porcelain doe, and the gilded boy better keep that in mind before he found his pretty little sparkling bottom bruised, crimson and out on the icy sidewalk— as well as the Reaper, before training it brutally back unto the certain object of interest, raising his dome in a denouncing manner. Indeed, the incubus had come late to the banquet, but it was better late than never, no?
He had detested the childe for her choice in attire— for the lack of a scythe and crown, for the false apparel she donned, encased in faux glass and infuriating dressing, for the blasphemous way she had beheld herself— she may have known that they were the true species, yet she had been scourged at birth, cancerous and grotesque, and she should have served her ties beneath them as a slave, not a false prophet in their name.
But the incubus had learnt, as well, and he would not forsake nor doom his herdland for the righteousness that parched his throat, nor the pyre that ignited his bosom. This.. cad, this wretched scoundrel, had not been disciplined, had not been schooled as the dog he had proven he was, and as such, he felt no shame in his utter contempt bestowed.
Perhaps in another life, they could have been colleagues— if he had not had a kingdom to fret over, and two babes he has already claimed vehemently as his own to shield.
This was not that life.
"This dame made quite a show out of himself, Reaper." The baritone of his hymns stretched forth, rich and ominous, infernal songs, damnable breaths. With a well-practiced slip of his dome, he aimed his dagger to prod the aurelian's sinew, mere a pinch— as if he was some strange new avian, entrapped within a cage, to observe and learn from, and then slay for scientific endeavors. "Humiliated a lass from the Falls. Quite the mess, if we had sought to be their allies. If you'd have asked me, I would've said he has a little problem keeping his mouth shut and not flapping around all the time." His harks flash backward into the tendrils of mane at his crest, for diligence and tolerance were not the soldier's forte. "Or maybe he simply needs to fill it with something worth listening to. Don't you think, brother?" Derisive, dripping with satire, mocking in the most caustic and acrid of ways, a jab, a knee in the ribs— the cur would remember his words well, and the incubus did not see fit to allow such mutt's within his home.
He didn't like how he trailed after his matron, either. That needed some fixing, too.
Or divine's bless him, he'd use his intestines for the holiday decoration.
Each individual had their worth, layered amongst rock, rubble, fortitude and might, and he openly absconded virtues, sins, follies, and tribulations from his patriots, bestowed their credences, their promises, with ruminations of their capacity, with prowess and opportunity to enhance their pernicious abilities, their carnivorous appetites. But as he studied the gilded brute before him, as his calculating eyes, as his indifferent, apathetic gaze searched and seized, he pondered only a few queries, a parcel of notations. A sway of the spurious, a simpering of the fallacious? To whom does he play for: the ivory Impersonator, or the Reaper, with his scythe armed, ready, devouring and eager? To what end did this Thranduil intend his mark: the world, burning beneath his daggers, the kingdom, ice palace thrown asunder? Or did he hold, contort, no control, no motivation beyond the slip of destruction, wanton chaos, swinging pits and pendulums, incised and acrid? Considerations flowed and mused through the flow of the Machiavellian titan, fused and embroiled over what to make of the beast before them, feigned for masques and corridors, or capable of being molded into a furtive gatherer of information. But as the day bellowed, another joined their minute throng, Crash Course, and threw exposure, revelations, condemnations. A moron, a fiend, a fool, brought to his doorstep? Was this a jester’s courtyard, taken to juggling and minstrel idiocy? He nearly queried why they’d even bothered him at all, but dragged the vexation, the frustration away, remained the intangible, the impervious, the reticent. The statue’s ears flicked back and forth, captured the drawl of the unrelenting warrior, the hints, the mythos, unraveling and shredding credibility. If the stag’s maw was always open, and his senses always listening, the abomination felt no necessary edge to his sword; if the tongue was faster than his rapier, unwinding, unveiling, pouring out secrets, clandestine, confidential oeuvres, he’d only be a hindrance. Complications, interferences, and inconveniences were blights on the horizon of their corrupt campaigns, of their avaricious sights, of their rotten, wretched munitions. For a moment, he pondered over whether the beast should be expunged, eliminated, and eradicated right on the frost-laden doorstep, buried amongst the ashes of others who’d followed his same ignorant methods, dancing in the glow of foolishness and concealments; suddenly detected and discovered amidst their infantile snippets. If the stag sought grandeur, he wouldn’t find it here. One appreciative glance, a slight nod, was given to his soldier, to Arah, before the chiseled gravel and gavel fell before the swing of disapproval, the rise of malevolence. “We have no need of flapping mouths.” And for the moment, Thranduil had naught to spout but the noxious, nefarious spurn of his frame – sent back to unknown regions, off into the distance, to coil and sow his embers elsewhere. Finality pulsed, then reigned with the arctic distortions of Deimos’ sinister demand. “Leave.”
With her dark hued fawn in tow she arrives to the gathering just inside the vale late, perhaps too much so, one mangled ear raised alongside the whole to catch the words parting from the lips of the Lord of the icy manor following some faintly heard statement made by the painted stallion. Those same dark rimmed appendages fall backwards and into the folds of her dark hair in both dark wonder and annoyance with the abruptness of the Reaper, golden eyes slipping across the faces present to find only one stranger, clinging most to the side of Arah.
She wonders what sort of situation this is in which the Lord is turning away a new arrival, no matter how loud mouthed he is. She herself has not been known to be the most tactful of creatures, and here she walks with one of the two frigid crowns that mark the most honored members of their herd; she slips into the group with an amiable sort of snort to announce her presence, Rikyn’s slender frame sliding in alongside her and peering at the gathered fold with honest curiosity as to who these people are and why it is mother seems to be radiating so much negative energy towards the tall and seemingly powerful stallion who was talking when they arrived.
"He’s only just arrived, Deimos," her voice rings out, perhaps too sharply in her haste to diffuse the burning of any bridges, gaze settled on the milky gold frame of the stranger rather than any of her known comrades, only the slightest glances spared to each aside from the dual horned one, "all things of this land are foreign to him. Perhaps he saw an opportunity to fit in with certain individuals and like any clever boy took advantage of it…" Her words trail ever so slightly as she severs her stare from the white haired foreigner towards the painted one, vaguely remembered from clandestine mention between herself and Psyche and sighted often in the presence of known Plague members.
She could only assume whose energy the man had been attempting to emulate, if her words held any truth to them and if her assumptions about the putrid state of the pinto’s heart were correct.
”Our home would be an empty one indeed if we turned away every novice to our culture we encountered. Don’t be such arrogant fools as to think you’ve impressed everyone you’ve met in all your life, especially in first meetings; expect nothing you can’t do yourself from anyone else or spend the rest of your days longing for something you can never have, I don’t give a damn which." Shuttering her eyes in defiance of the others present, she flips her nose in an extravagant way, dark locks splayed through the air before resettling across the bridge of her delicate features, golden eyes reopening to find the white mare before her. "Arah is no fool, and I trust in her judgment -" her gaze slowly slips over towards the painted one, lips sneering in a mocking and humorous way as she looks upon him, "while I don’t even know your name."
Looking to the white woman once more, she replaces her unkind smirk with one of genuine interest and concern for the answer she was seeking. "I assume you’ve found him worthy, or he wouldn't be standing here?"
There was a river once, with many round stones enchanted by shallow hopes of embracing the ocean; water is peculiar this way, how its life is a line that cannot bend or change without the approval of its bed.
Lady Illynx arrived to the party just after Deimos had dismissed Thranduil. Arah's eyes watched her Lady and offered her a sweet smile in greeting. Ever since Illynx had welcomed Arah and her babes back into The Basin, the doe had felt a certain adoration towards the golden hued Lady. "My Lady." The Lady's sharp voice rings out, Arah turned back to Thranduil as she spoke and allowed Illynx's words to wash over her. 'Ní dócha go' Sighing in frustration, the doe wondered in Thranduil would indeed be welcomed into the basin in the end. Arah had only brought back the trouble maker as she did not feel it was her position to turn away possible recruits, yet now she was coming to regret that decision. Especially as it seemed that Illynx wanted too...what? Give him a chance? Put him on probation. As if sensing Arah's growing discomfort in the growing situation, the griffin seemed to become unsettled in her sleep. Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, the doe attempted to settle her emotions. When she looked back towards Illynx she felt calmer and ready to face any situation that presented itself.
Her eyes turned to study Deimos and then in turn Crash, a expressionless mask covered her face. Did Illynx really just call them arrogant fools? Or was she merely saying that their behaviour reflected such? A nervous tremor rolled down her back, but her eyes now came to rest momentarily on Thranduil. Her Lady then flips her nose in an extravagant way almost in defiance, dark locks splayed through the air before resettling across the bridge of her beautiful features. Feeling the golden eyes of Illynx resting on her, Arah turned to look back at her Lady once again. Bowing her head in respect the doe was humbled by the show of faith in her, both Deimos and Illynx seemed to listen to her thought and opinions. She did not wish to let either of them down. The question posed to her was one that Arah considered to be dangerous. The mask crumbled and a frown formed on her delicate features, she looked over at Thranduil. Pausing to consider her answer, Arah one again studied the specimen in front of her. "Well." Turning to Illynx she smiled. "When I first spotted him in The Threshold I saw a lot of raw potential." The doe did not doubt The Basin's ability to teach respect and who to fill a role. "I thought he might make a good recruit and so I offered him a visit to The Basin." Then she frowned, her magic sparking to light inside her. "Then he...turned, My Lady. Became wicked and thoughtless. Attempted to begin and include Crash and I in a scuffle." Her eyes rested on on Illynx still. "I brought him here for judgement, he has potential but I do not believe he will respect you or Lord Deimos."
Kissing the Frozen Flowers
[Skip Crash.]
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
06-09-2014, 12:16 AM (This post was last modified: 06-09-2014, 12:18 AM by Thranduil.)
Moron. Gold chest inhaled slowly, Spanish head turned to the brute. It had been mongrel, you’re the moron. There were bigger problems though. The golden’s welcoming was being turned into a stage show to laugh upon the twin horned. And Thranduil did not laugh. He burned. Tasseled tail began to flick at the tip, but the rest of the remained still, with earth eyes following the damned brute. Inside though heart began to pound a terrible deep beat and it roared in the golden’s ears. Breaths were drawn slow and careful as if a ticking bomb lay beneath that dorsal stripe on his back. Though face was kept placid and smooth remembering its previous warnings, those earth eyes turned darker. Not a hard glare, he knew who else was watching, but he could not hide all of the growing anger. Harks pinned as the brute stepped closer, golden lips thinned as he took a stab at the golden neck. Gold head rose and twisted, but body held ground. Pressing in the brute prodded, scuffing off some golden hairs. Teeth ground as the tail lashed low and hit the gold’s hocks. He held his gaze on that damned brute though, mind raging at the hypocrisy. In all honestly his rage is not completely understood for Thranduil himself is a known hypocrite. For instance, the clown was only showing off what the golden son had done to the lass in the Threshold. No, it was not just what this brute was saying that caused the flames to burn so bright and hot in that golden chest. That golden son had been a flashy son at the top of his craft. He had waltz and nearly never before laughed at. He made the jokes. He had always caused the laughs. Oh but two years alone had apparently shaken groundings. The stallion had slipped and without a clear perspective had fumbled the game. That golden son had made a mistake. And it burned in him.
At last, the damned brute reserved and shut his own wide open hole of a mouth. Still, eyes did not leave that brute, rage burning too hot underneath a rather smooth exterior. Dark vocals cut in. It seeps across with the tones of a sentencing and funeral wrapped into one. The earth eyes are reluctant to move from one they wanted so badly to bury, but this was not about that damned stallion. No need. Tail lashed, and eyes narrowed. Talents years in the making reduced to a ‘flapping mouth’. Teeth pressed against each other, then he might want to investigate his lieutenant if that was a qualification. Jaw tight, yet breath draws. He was not about to….
He did. Storm let loose under the gold skin and it ragged against the stone and iron walls of the stallion’s levee of a mask. Keeping the rage tucked away it only stood solid. Jaw let loose and harks disappeared beneath those twin horns and tassels. Earth eyes now look out as hard as rock, too keep the emotions below well hid. Oh but they ragged and lashed. The golden hadn’t really wanted to come to this particular land. Cold wind blew across the gathering, but felt its biting bitterness no longer for he was ablaze. Born of sand and heat, and this place was a frozen graveyard of souls. Yet to be denied loaned the desire for entry. It was not that the brute felt he should have a welcome everywhere he walked, the golden son should just be able to speak his way through. Like those council meetings of old. Yes, yes, those council meetings. The real fun was not in chatting of the other daughters, but slipping into those locked walls. Rage focused. Seconds ticked. Mind was forming its words and actions. He would get in this damned land if just to have the satisfaction, of denying it to the di-colored brute.
Hooves. A new mare announces her presence with a snide remark. One hark swings forward. That was a rather tart way to address a lord, unless he holds no sway over her…. At her toe a young one trails and the golden finds he cannot look at it long. Now was not the time. Regardless, this gold bladed dark mare sweeps up to the group with an air of being above their heated moment. A cool breeze. It works slightly. She was halting his immediate banishment. The gold marked woman had the floor. Fire burning hard and bright pauses in curiosity and confusion. The mare was working in his favor, but to what end.
Now this mare thought as he. Fire resolved to embers. She was buying him excuses and time, but who was she? The gold crowned had a hand in his decision, could call the one beside her an arrogant fools, and toss about herself an air of invincibility. The swan spoke up for the first time, with most helpful information. This, was the lady. Gold dusted eyes glance to the swan. In his rage the youth had forgetten she had yet to speak. Clarity brings more thoughts. The lady is trusts the swan. Both harks lean forward as she settles her gaze back on the golden coat. Having not heard his name. A warning. Sneer and snide slip from her and worm into him. She was giving him what he needed, but the gold blade was just as devilish as them all. Everyone had to get in their laugh didn’t they. The golden boy could forgive her for that though, after all, the lady was doing much for him. So pensively, with a tightness, the golden volunteered with a slightest dip of his head, “Thranduil.” The dark lady must find qualification though, so she turned to the swan. Harks lean back, as the princess paints a picture, and her recounting of the story makes the golden lean back with an in roll at the exaggerations and misrepresentations these two were counting. While she did it was more tact than the brute he could no longer stand these ignorant fools. He’d had enough of it. Mind had shifted and shaped while the gold blade and swan bought him time. If it was to be judgment day the golden son was not about to be buried as a flapping mouth two year old. (Though he appreciated the comment on his wickedness, at least his epitaph would hint at something prideful.)
Head rose and eyes alighted less of stone stare to mimic, the gold blade’s lighter air. “Pardon me lord and lady, but I am do not like to be judged by strangers after only a moment’s conversation. And I’m having a terrible time these translations, so allow me to search for clarifications.” Earth eyes slipped from them to the swan who stood beside them. Lips hid the slightest hint of curl. In its full form it might has resembled the lady’s only moments ago, but he resisted as much as he could. “Dear swan, I am no thoughtless brute. The lass with the false glass horn was about to be eaten for supper by your friend. You don’t have to have a flapping mouth to speak threats.” Head tipped to that damned brute before back to her. She still held a nice figure, pleasing to say the least, even with those scars, but he also knew her to have intended to bring him for only judgment and mockery, when she promised welcome. Furthermore, she thought she knew enough to see through him, but unless she could read minds, that swan knew oh so little. “I also protest the request for a scuffle. As my coat will tell you I’m not a warhawk. It’s a skill that’s very rough at the current moment, and I’m not stupid enough to wave dagger at any sword fight.”He slipped to a grin.
It was coming easier now. Gaze slipped back to the dark ice lord, and his more like minded lady. If he ever got in this herd, he’d have to thank her. “I do plead that I am guilty of m’lady’s explanation though, when in Helovia do as the Helovians do? I plead also you find no blame in my reading what was plainly on Crash Course’s face.” Hesitating, with more consideration. “However, ignorance can be replaced by wisdom, but my talents will last.” Eyes narrowed but lips showed more a grin. “Some may win some by keeping quiet and that is a keen skill I’m working on, but words are just as dangerous.” Though he did not enjoy giving this long speech, it was showing himself too much but the golden’s favorite part was coming up. “Oh, I can destroy with a small meeting, and create it back up again a not a day later. I can make tangled webs faster than spiders themselves, and clear then with a flick of my tail.” Head mocked seriousness. “True, as an outsider you may not ask of me obedience, but as you may notice I’m not outside.” Grin regained and shoulders shrugged. “Think of only of this past incident as an audition of some of the talents I can bring to you, to serve you both.” Body straightened, hoof stepped forward, eyes kept on the dark lord’s. “For hounds are tamer under a masters’ hand, than running loose and wild beyond his and her door.” He side glanced to the golden blade, then retired himself, took his step back, his speech done. Rage once flared had, like heat to a jeweler’s furnace, been given purpose. It no longer flashed out but focused on the bottom of the pot and melted the metal to liquid gold. Craft it as you will.
OOC :: Yeah! I'm so excited to keep this going. XD Also I'm so sorry for the length, there's just so much he would be thinking about, and feeling. So to help out:
SUMMARY :: He stands still, with hidden inner rage. Then just read the speech.
"speech"
Finding gates bared and locked
The golden burned in his own fire.
Oh but if the fire could be caught,
And take the golden for hire.
Choose wisely on a flame this hot,
Before it all becomes dire.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
She waits for Arah’s response and listens to the words spoken thereafter by both she and the man who sought a place to stay. Delicate, her smile does not falter on her mask despite what she thinks of each explanation in turn, her eyes twinkling deviously in her still mask of illusionary benevolence. Her gaze rests momentarily on the dark and pale frame of the large stallion, sensing in him a darkness as palpable as that which skirted the Reaper alongside him and those she had come to call family under the lofty title of their hidden coven; The Plague.
While the golden stallion with two horns may have nearly brought Arah into an unwanted scuffle, she has her doubts that the behemoth would have hesitated to drive in for a kill should the situation have sprung sour. She hears the warning, the subtle statement that to allow this one in was potentially to allow a dagger to angle at the center of her spine during his duration here…
But it’s intoxicating, that rush. To play a game that the other is sure to lose; too many have tried to bend their pawns around her and she had crushed each with the heavy weight and freedom of a queen. She does not fear the golden boy, nor does she fret too much on what harm he can bring her; she is surrounded by her peers while he is an outsider, a drop of fresh blood in a lake deep and proud.
Only a ripple; she could unleash upon him a thousand waves that blotted out the heavens.
When it comes time for the stallion to defend himself from these accusations, he is met with her golden stare and a slight raise to her brows moving across the stillness of her softly smiling mask, for the stranger is of a land so foreign to her that she cannot decipher what language he initially spoke; its humorous, the bounce and weave of his voice, the poor way which he constructs his words. That the others have tried to immediately banish someone who can barely formulate sentences in their tongue was embarrassing to her in ways, she herself having brought a few members into the herd who were not originally from Helovia and, who seemed to lack the skills she thought necessary.
They had succeeded, each in their own way.
Still… as she watches his lips bend and the odd way he formulates his wording she cannot help but see him as a man wearing two tipped weapons on his head and one who seems to enjoy words.
As he mentions a false glass horn, her mangled ear twitches ever so slightly in the most unnoticeable of ways, a memory of a painted mare arriving to mind, one she had promised something to. That she had the glass horn and had not come back to the mountain did not settle well with the Gilded Blade, not one bit.
No one refused an invitation from her.
While the man continues to speak, she cannot help but feel a certain fondness for him; he reminds her, in ways, of a stallion she had once known who had gone missing, named Ruka. The bay was, as this palomino, a savant with words, one who made his life being clever and subtle. She could understand this stallion more than she could the Lord Deimos, that was to be sure, and that he admittedly spoke of his talents in the art of acting before her was promising in its own right.
One seeking evil does not tell the truth in such situations; a snake hides, as do spiders.
If he is dangerous to her, she doubts it.
He confirms her suspicions that he had been following the unspoken word he’d seen written across the behemoth’s face, and her mind sours in disposition towards him most immediately that he was the first to cast a finger on the golden stag.
"Thank you for your honesty, Arah and Thranduil," she begins, her smile falling ever so slightly at the corners as she looks between the two who had spoken and the one who had only blamed, "and your fine decision to bring him here." She pauses after a fleeting smile towards Arah, glancing over towards the striped stallion who was from some far away place, hoping to ease his worries that one mistake in the field had cost him a chance to walk beneath the rolling lights of the God of Time.
"I hold no ill will towards you for your treatment of Abishia," she says with a brightening of her smile, "the little bitch had it coming for her ungrateful nature. It might be said you were an instrument of Time himself, delivering my displeasure with her impudence before you ever knew it existed." Gaining a slight drift and mistiness to her gaze as she speaks and ponders on how to go about… reclaiming her lost Abishia, she quickly resettles them back on the stranger known as Thranduil, smile still vibrant on her lips. "Your tongue is golden, and, presuming your act was only an attempt to blend in among your desired peers, your claimed skills are valid. Even Arah did not notice your guise. Still…" she says, crisp feminine voice trailing into the air, "it cannot happen again. We have friends in the world outside, my dear, and I’m sure you know just how valuable such things are in your field of work. As far as you… Crash Course, was it?"
Her gaze slides towards him, golden eyes narrowed and her smile all but vanished on her face, "If a situation like this ever arises again in your presence, I’ll personally see to it that the Sentinel holds you prisoner on this mountain to prevent you from further damaging the flow and function of my home. Remember your place, which is evidently one alongside unkempt, rabid hounds." Flicking her dark tail in annoyance, she turns to both Arah and Thranduil and attempts to soothe the rancor etching through her veins.
"He may stay, if he is not so offended by the events that have come to pass that he’d rather find elsewhere to live," she says, "in such a case as you find yourself remaining on the mountain, Thranduil, come to me when you are ready to learn of the home you have chosen."
There was a river once, with many round stones enchanted by shallow hopes of embracing the ocean; water is peculiar this way, how its life is a line that cannot bend or change without the approval of its bed.
Oh that golden lady was cold in her stare, but she was hotter, and more wicked than the fires of hell. Her smile pauses upon her face with the ease of an old painting. The golden though doubted she was that still and at peace for she had shown that her mind worked just as his. It gained her respect. More so than what the dark devil of a lord possessed at the moment. Of course, respect in the smallest type, as a comrade, never an equal. Still, the feeling, the golden boy thought, would allow this transition and mask to hold ever the easier. The golden was watching her close, and saw her hark flick at upon mention of the painted glass equine, but he considered no more than simple listening. At that time he had still been talking his way in. When the golden brute spun the last thread and retired at his peace he waited. Harks forward and earth eyes swimming of chocolate to entice. The lady speaks first.
Oh how smooth the golden blade rolls over the rough rocks that this conversation had become. Between her and the twin horned, this could be a regular conversation on an old southern porch. Sipping lemonade, and rocking in the slight breeze. Yes, that was a much nicer image than standing in the hell that froze over this god forsaken wasteland. Much nicer than the cold wind than blew up his coat. At least he felt none of it. His rage, though molded and shaped, curved and refined was still just as poisoned and deadly. That is, until she spoke her ease. A fine decision. The flicking tail, slowed and head rose slightly. She paid respects to the swan and the golden son, to ease them. Was she really pleased, or simply planning her own schemes? Time will tell. Still though, in the spirit of the gold dusted lady his lips curved in a civil modest grin, just like those fake ones spun on those southern porches.
The lady speaks. Smiling as she damns the glass horned. It seems fate favored the one which choose to walk up to that small meeting in the Threshold, that it should be Abishia, one hated by the lady. The golden son counted closely how much of a bit of luck it was. The lady though reminded him though, that it was only luck. Her warning was short, but firm. She was praising him, but also daring him to do it again. It gained a small dip from the leaf starred head. And as if in an act of what would befall him if such situation ever did arise she nearly damns the painted clown to hell. Earth eyes dance slightly at this seeming justice, however twisted it was. Oh yes, he liked this lady. Smile never wavered as the threat rolled from her to that brute.
He may stay. Breathe of the rage before exhales in satisfaction. Then an invitation to the lady, nah, his lady’s side once he settles. The golden’s grin is warm and pleasant, hiding the deeper satisfaction and vainness. True, as stated before this was not what he had wanted, but worming his way past two negative witnesses, well that lended too much of a challenge to pass up. Besides, the accomplishment was a much needed assurance that those skills so long ago learned still lay hidden. True he had told his lady of his talents, and perhaps the honesty would lead to thoughts of assurity and openness, but think not that the golden son would hesitate in unleashing the twisted snakes and spiders held back by his tongue. Though this recent encounter with one so like himself, did resolve the release date to a little later. For now, it was time to win acceptance, gain respect, and take friendships. Then he would burn them all to hell. For the golden did find peace with this golden blade, but it would not keep her safe. Her title held little threat to him. In the end she was just as he. She ate her grass, and walked just as he did. Any army or powers she might possess did not seem above his ability to run should the situation require.
Rage was gone, and cold was still bellowing in. Without that inner fire alight and ablaze, it gold body gave way and even shivered. Mind turned and twisted. The smile placed so pleasantly let forth words just as smooth and sweet as his lady’s. “No offense taken at all, but the cold welcome has left me rather frozen over.” The golden son commended himself on the play of words. Tail began to swing low again. “So, while I graciously accept the offer my lady and look forward to joining you here in the mountains, I beg you excuse me till the sun reaches this land a bit more, and my heat seeking body can ease more into its icey walls.” Head dipped again, earth eyes looking up to her, and her alone. “Know though, I will serve and keep your word. At your service, my golden lady.” For all her seeming wit, that the golden and bay mare knew not what creature she just let slip through the door.
OOC :: I guess this is the end? He'll goes south till summer comes just so I can work everything into the time line. Also, can one of you let me know how to get him all 'fitted' in? I have no idea. ;P
"speech"
Open the door to the night,
But beware you also open to fright.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
