"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.
Ophelia had resumed her search for her daughter. She could not help but feel that she was running in circles, but she had to try. Trying was all that mattered since actions mattered. Trying was an action. The universe could forgive her crimes if she actively set forth to make it better, yes? Unknowingly, she had started down the same road her father had taken when he had left the brutal land of fire, Dorngarrow.
He had tried to right all of his wrongs through good, family, love, herd, protecting those he cared about and righting the wrongs of the universe. Inside the soul, something was still slightly amiss, but the trying was what counted, right? Now, his mate laid dead by his own actions, though Ophelia had not quite discovered that truth yet.
The irony is that we cannot escape our fates, and we cannot work against our own destinies. We are toiling against the machine of the universe, and our efforts bring us in a continuation of circles - some small and some large, like a Spirograph. The birds-eye view of life is not liberating.
As the creature fought against the machine of her own fate, she smelled the heavy humidity on the air. Rain. Ophelia looked up at the sky as it began to darken and the temperature dropped to the point where the short hair of her white coat began to stand on end. When the rain began to start, she blinked the crystal orbs from her lashes and pushed forward into the forest. Somewhere in the haze of rain, she had stopped paying attention to where she was going.
The World's Edge was farther north, and she picked up a trot, cloven hooves squishing in the mud and splashing up onto her white lower legs. Rain had plastered her hair to her face and made her long, thick tail wind around her as she moved, so she carried it higher, trying to keep herself from getting tangled. Drenched, she came upon something she had never seen before.
A structure stood in a grove of trees, water wrapped around its massive and strong stone pillars. Ophelia quickened her step, delicately leaping up onto the stone floor underneath a sky of colored glass. The rain hit the panes, but she was free from the torrent, and she watched the way the wind gathered in long drapes, making them dance in the storm.
What was this place? She had never seen this before. Ophelia looked up in awe, standing to the side of the stone room. Thunder rolled overhead, and she decided to take refuge here. The water next to the structure was full of rocks, so she carefully removed the mud from her tail and lower legs before stepping back inside. She would not be tracking dirt into this beautiful and god-like place.
Tinek, enjoying the rain, sat at the edge of the pond, fishing with his claws. The drops popped off of his scales with a tinny sound, and being able to hear him in the background gave her comfort.
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
05-11-2014, 02:37 PM (This post was last modified: 05-11-2014, 02:40 PM by Torleik.)
Torleik
A lone man loved by none:
How long can he live?
Somewhere in his mind, Torleik had felt the temperature drop, but it did not register as important enough for him to attempt shelter. Irelyn, on the other hand, was not fond of rain at all, and as the world around them slowly announced that showers were going to fall from the sky, the owl-griffin took to the nearby trees in an effort to shield herself.
"Wet," she urged her bonded, giving a squawk for good measure, but he did not respond. His head was a gloomy place right now and Irelyn was confused. Normally her comfort fixed this, but after that white mare...his head was shadowy and unhappy as ever. "Sad..." she chimed and watched his eyes flick up to her in the tree.
"Yes and no, my little one," was his reply with that smile that she knew meant he was putting on a brave face for her, trying to spare her the complicated explanation.
"What." She answered with some annoyance. He was always treating her so tenderly, like she would break at any moment or couldn't possibly understand what he was about to explain. She wasn't stupid; they were just different. And she was in his head. The avian part of her was highly capable of understanding speech and its meanings.
"I do not think you're stupid, Irelyn. I just don't want to talk about it," Torleik answered her, able to feel most, if not all of her emotions when she was frustrated. She wasn't very good at keeping them on her side of the bond when flustered. Which made it unsurprising to him when a flare of irritation coursed through their bond as he gazed up at her.
What was surprising, however, was the seemingly liquid fire that suddenly seared into the thick tree branch Irelyn was sitting on and drip to the ground beneath. A shriek from his companion told him she was just as shocked, and she held her wings out from her body, confused and alarmed. In that brief moment that was serenity within a small panic, Torleik recognized the feeling of magic within his bonded, and was in wonder.
"It seems you and I are both learning to deal with our ability to channel magic, Irelyn," he informed her while eyeing her up and down. "Just...make sure you don't have a moment like that on my person, yes?" Torleik was certainly not fond of fire, but it didn't seem strange to him that Irelyn possessed such a skill. After all, he'd retrieved her from Helovia's molten heart; how could she possibly have any other?
The small fire on the ground that his owl-griffin had started was immediately doused by the advent of rainfall the dropping temperature had foreshadowed, and Torleik closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd been caught in the rain, and it felt...cleansing. It did, however, give his ability to freeze the ground below him a slightly larger span, and Torleik snorted when he saw he was standing on a patch of frozen, muddy grass. This constant ability was something he'd learned he had some control over, and could stop it from happening if he concentrated on it. Now, though, what was the point? It disappeared as he moved on anyhow.
Irelyn's will we set towards finding a covered place to not soak to death, and she took begrudging flight. Torleik followed in her general direction, finding that the rain made the ground where he was about to step freeze before he even touched the ground, making his steps constantly crunchy. Amusing. He looked up when something shiny and colorful caught his bonded's attention from the air, intrigued. Shiny and colorful? In this place?
Quickly after, "Yoonee!" came through and Torleik picked up his pace to a small trot. A unicorn was here as well. Caught in the rain, too? His gait slowed again to a walk when the shiny, colorful thing Irelyn had found came into view. Pillars set beneath a dome of beautiful glass told him a strong civilization had lived here once, and the Bloodskald was in awe of the stone construction. His people had only ever used wood. A large reason his entire village had been wiped out with fire, he thought bitterly. Perhaps if they'd learned to quarry and shape stone...
The rain was pouring down hard now, though not in sheets enough to impair visibility. The droplets themselves were thick and heavy, this rain a long time in coming. Jet black from the drenching rain, the white on his chest and in his mane and tail standing out in stark contrast, Torleik slowly approached this covered rotunda, every shift and step of his body making the strong muscles beneath his coat strain at his skin and stand apparent under the slickness of his coat.
Irelyn was nowhere in sight, and given her current state of feeling much better, he assumed she had taken refuge under the covered rotunda. A figure became apparent to him within the draped coverings of the structure, a white figure, and he tensed, halting his walk.
Not again.
"Not same!" Irelyn suddenly chirped in his head.
So it wasn't Brisa. Then who?
"Shiny bird!"
Irelyn seemed quite excited over this 'shiny bird' which confused Torleik entirely. A white figure that wasn't Brisa and a shiny bird. What was he walking into? Well, something he wasn't just going to walk into, dammit. He'd had one surprise for today and it was highly unpleasant enough. No more.
"Hello?" his deep voice called out, wanting whoever was within to answer, or emerge first, before he took one step further. The rain didn't bother him one bit; he could stay here for as long as it took. Not like he was getting muddy with the ground freezing beneath him. It seemed if he stood in place, the new rain froze over and over as it struck the ground. Useful.
@[Ophelia]
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OOC: Torleik looks sexy as hell caught in the rain, all muscular and manly and beard dripping with water. XD And they get to meet Irelyn and Irelyn already loves Tinek because he's SHINY! Yay!
Tinek was the first to spot the flurry of feathers and fur as the little griffin flew inside of the beautiful, large marble rotunda. The dragon eyed her curiously, not afraid of something about the size of an average meal. From his spot at the pond, he had been able to hear the flutter and his keen, red eyes had seen the rest. He narrowed his gaze and abandoned his fishing expedition, concerned for Ophelia's safety.
He heard her chastise him in his mind, but he ignored her. She could ignore her own safety if she wanted, but he was not about to let her get attacked again - not like with that illiterate oaf of a pegasus. Tinek had not forgiven himself for letting her get injured that day, and that battle had ignited inside a fire that had never quite burned with such rage. As such, he flew into the rotunda and landed on one of the supporting beams near the glass ceiling, eyeing the little creature with uncharacteristic suspicion.
Ophelia looked up from where she stood, water still making small, quiet patters on the ground from where it dripped from her white coat and bloody mane. She almost expected the water to turn to blood as it cascaded down the dark crimson fringes of her hair. Strange, dual colored eyes looked out from under thick, white lashes at the small creature and Tinek, sighing at his attitude. He had gotten so cold since the battle with the primitive pegasus. While he was still carefree in his own ways, she knew that he had been forced to grow up, forced to realize that there were those out there who wanted her dead. He had seen first hand the cruelty of being persecuted for who she was and what she was.
She had not wished that for him, but she could not change the past. God, she could never change the past, and it haunted her forever in perfect clarity.
Ophelia swallowed down the constriction in her heart that threatened to shove the organ out through her mouth. Blinking roughly, she managed to keep her emotions at bay once more, the memories of Roskuld and herself fighting that monster. That was the last time she had seen her child.
"Hello." A voice had called inside. The white mare's emotions were shoved and locked in a matter of seconds, expression turning to porcelain stone. She knew that voice even before Tinek's gaze spotted him from outside of the structure. Torleik. Ophelia frowned. Asking 'what was he doing here' was rather pointless, so instead she just asked 'why'? What god of fate decided that it was fun to play around with her, so she just sighed heavily, breath coming off in a puff from the temperature and humidity in the rain.
Not one to shy away or hide, Ophelia approached the entrance without hesitation, her expression unreadable. She paused before descending any steps, her coat still dripping wet from the rain. As she saw Torleik, she felt that for once, she didn't feel much of anything. He had been interesting enough to run into, and his tragic past had been a very upsetting venture into his mind. But, he had rebuffed her and that was that. She was not going to cry or mourn over his cold demeanor, but she was also not going to go out into the rain with a smile and greet him like an old friend. In fact, she was going nowhere. This place was beautiful and a great shelter from the rain.
As she stared at him, she realized just how attractive he was though. The stallion was strong, tall and muscular with a build she had seen before. Though his coat was dark, so black that it shone like a Raven's wings and the white braided into his beard and hair was very bright. What intrigued her the most though was the fact that he stood upon ice, and she could see that the rain froze around him before hitting the ground. So, he had magic, and she assumed then that the griffin Tinek had spied was his; he had done well for himself - earning the favor of the gods.
"Hello," she returned simply, the tenor of her voice delicate and almost child-like. Ophelia continued to look at him without faltering, her bloody red and pale blue gaze a true indicator of the duality of her nature. The rain continued to fall around him and on his coat, saturating the hairs and showing his true, musculature beneath. Objectively, she found this attractive, but her heart was guarded. And without her heart, attraction did not move her to do anything but be halfheartedly polite.
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
Irelyn had never met Ophelia before, though her bonded had - but that was not of the utmost concern to her at the moment. She had caught sight of Tinek, a shiny silver dragon, and she was in love.
He was shiny.
Shaking herself to fling off some of the water, Irelyn puffed up her feathers, trapping heat next to her skin. The rain was cold and her back feline half was not as waterproof as her avian front. Feathered ears perked towards Tinek curiously, owlish eyes gazing up at him adoringly, wide, as she cautiously drew closer to him from the ground. Once beneath him, she sat, tail swishing slowly to and fro, studying the way the beautiful multi-colored light reflected off his scales in the rain.
She chirped softly, settling into a pleased purr, wanting to show she was friendly. He looked a little...spooked. Hearing her bonded's voice call out, Irelyn glanced back and watched the white and red mare move. Her mobile perch did have a problem with the females of his kind, Irelyn had noticed. He was always stressed in his head, always unsure, always frustrated. She wished she could help, but she didn't understand. So she returned to gazing longingly up at Tinek, wanting to touch his shiny silver scales.
Torleik's breath caught in his muscular chest when Ophelia emerged from the draped rotunda, just enough that he might see her. "Ophelia," he breathed, his word nearly inaudible above the sound of the rain. How often had she crossed his mind? How often had he wondered where he might find her, knowing she had wandered off to do whatever it was that drove her to keep moving that night and neglect his company? He had been offended then, but looking back, he wondered what it was that would not allow her a night's rest.
It must have been something deeply unfortunate. Had she completed her task? Torleik was mildly wounded as she looked displeased to see him, perhaps; not thrilled at all, at least. She was probably angry with him somehow. He seemed to have that affect on the women around him. Regardless of her lack of pleasure at the sight of him, he was glad to see her. Closing the distance between them, Torleik stopped about a foot away, looking over her. She was still quite drenched, but slowly drip-drying. She looked beautiful, wet.
"I...did not say goodbye, last we parted. I have regretted it every day," he murmured. "I am glad to see you again. May I join you, and escape the rain?" he asked quietly, voice so barely hopeful it was almost sad. Glancing behind her, he saw Irelyn on the floor, looking up at Tinek. "Hello, Tinek - you've grown," he told the young dragon, hoping that would please him. "That is Irelyn, my companion. She likes shiny things; she thinks you're very handsome." Maybe Tinek wasn't angry with him too. He didn't know.
Tinek watched the meal sized, feathered thing shake water from her form, and he stared down, tail waving back and forth as hers did. The creature chirped and purred, scooting closer beneath him, and he peered downward, large talons gripping and scraping at the stone as he leaned forward, sniffing through leathery nostrils. Even if this creature was to suddenly turn on Ophelia, she wouldn't do too much damage. So, Tinek opened his wings and fell to the stone floor with a thud, sitting rather catlike as he looked at her pale and brown, easily camouflaged coloration.
Ophelia watched his blue eyes meet her own orbs, and he muttered something from the movement of his lips. However, she did not hear. The rain was still heavily falling on the glass roof, the sound a steady roaring of white noise. She raised a brow, wondering why he was approaching as he did. The ground seemed to freeze beneath his massive, furry hooves, and she stiffened her neck slightly. Ophelia tensed, bringing herself to full height by raising her head, ears tilted uneasily to the side. She was being brave, standing firm, not letting his size and gender overwhelm.
His words were surprising. How unlike a man to admit wrong. The pale princess let her stance soften ever so slightly, though her dual colored eyes were still closed, still walled off carefully as she revealed nothing of her confusion inside. Did he regret ignoring her goodbye and her kindness? Did he regret not understanding that she had to go, alone? Certainly one such as him, to have wandered this far, understood the need to face your demons alone. As much as she looked it, Ophelia was not a delicate lily, easily stopped and needing protecting. She was Forsaken, chosen by one god and rejected by another, strong, a leader, a mercenary, a survivor.
She had witnessed death.
When he asked if he could join, she decided to accept his apology. Without word, she stepped back into the shelter of the stone, inviting him inside with a gesture of her delicately shaped head, forelock of white and crimson falling over her left, blue eye. Ophelia turned her back to Torleik, walking around toward her dragon before facing him again, standing tall, though still wet, water clinging to her lithe figure tightly. She watched his electric blue gaze move to Tinek and almost smiled when he spoke to the dragon.
Tinek looked up at the stallion who had bothered Ophelia and made a sour face at the black beast. Even so, he listened and looked between him and this Irelyn, interested in the two. Some of the words, spoken from his thick, male voice, were difficult for Tinek to understand, and he glanced at Ophelia. "The griffin finds you handsome," Ophelia translated in her mind. "She is interested because your scales are shiny." Tinek puffed his chest out slightly in response, trilling.
"She is little. She has feathers like bird but paws like... food." Tinek said in her mind, looking up at the big stallion again. "Griffin, you said." Ophelia nodded to him.
"Tinek says that she is little and he has never seen a griffin before," She relayed, looking at the little griffin. A smile broke over her lips, the emotion genuine when interacting with the tiny creature. "Hello Irelyn," she said softly, her voice gentle, like a pillow of dandelion on a cool, summer's evening. "You are very beautiful and have well preened feathers. I am sure Torleik is very proud of you." If there is one thing she learned about these little companions, it is that they were all incredibly and adorably vain.
Ophelia lifted her neck once more and looked at Torleik, a little more shyly since he had seen her kind side. Still her eyes retained that hard, confident and defiant edge. "How did you find yourself here?" she asked. The question was curious, not accusing.
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
Torleik’s brows furrowed as he watched Ophelia bring herself to her full height, stance rigid, ears telling him easily that she was unsettled. Was his presence so threatening and unwelcome after one mishap? The proud stallion did not shrink or try to appear any smaller for her comfort, but he did not mirror her body language. Instead, he kept himself distant, making no attempt to box her in to the space she occupied; rather, despite his large size, he hovered on the edge of their potential shared space, awaiting her permission or rejection of entrance.
And proud as he was, he knew when he’d done wrong and needed to make amends. For Ophelia, opening the steel cage around his rather precarious sense of self to allow her to either accept his apology and shut the gate, or aim a well-placed, well-deserved kick inside before slamming it closed by offering him a rejection of his apology, was something he was willing to do. Why was a matter he didn’t probe at the moment.
These two things, his words and his presence, were tied to her permission now.
Permission she granted silently. Though the rain was cool, her single, beckoning gesture warmed him, his legs galvanized into movement to carry him inside and out of the deluge. It was noisier in here Torleik mused with a frown, glancing up at the gorgeous ceiling and wishing it might be more silent in the rain. He enjoyed the sound of rain hitting wood, the little ptats and ptips that he had grown up hearing at home. The Bloodskald watched the way the white and crimson mare moved, the allure that her lithe, though not petite, form held to him unmistakable. There was power in her body, in the curves and cuts of her musculature, power and grace, all accentuated by her wet form.
It was distracting him and he grunted quietly, determined not to be ensorcelled so easily again by the beauty of another mare – though he greatly doubted Ophelia would let him do to her as he’d done to Brisa. Just as well. Look how that turned out, he thought bitterly, angry with himself more than with the mare he was now tied to. Pushing such thoughts from his mind, the dual-horned demon greeted Ophelia’s bonded, finding himself more wounded at Tinek’s obvious displeasure than Ophelia’s wariness. Perhaps that was because he knew a companion’s emotions to be fueled by their bonded’s, and to be a simplified, more pure essence; a truer barometer of feeling.
Ophelia was unhappy with him and Tinek was showing him that clearly. Torleik smiled, the expression a little tight, when the mare relayed what Tinek thought of Irelyn; he had hoped for a compliment to return to his bonded to make her pleased, to make her feel as though this shiny thing she was in awe of returned her wonderment. No such compliment emerged from the dragon, but Ophelia certainly picked up the slack by saying that Irelyn had beautiful feather and was very well-preened. The owl-griffin looked adoringly up at Ophelia, sensing her bonded felt pleasantly towards this one that was like him, and back to Torleik when she spoke.
"Sound pretty," Irelyn purred through their bond, indicating her pleasure with Ophelia’s voice.
”She says your feathers are beautiful and well-preened,” he proffered, smiling lovingly at his little one when she rose to her paw and talons and rubbed along the white mare’s legs in a show of affection and thanks.
“Irelyn says your voice is pretty,” the stallion rumbled quietly, relaying one last compliment between the two. His expression was gentle, open, and tired, so she faced no threat by being herself around him now. He liked how she looked at him differently now even though he could not place what had changed about her. Torleik’s soft smile that had lingered over Irelyn’s antics faded and he closed his eyes briefly.
“Much has changed since we last spoke.”I have thought of you often. I doubt the same is true for you of me.“I was…wandering, I suppose. I am apt to do that, from time to time when I wish to be alone with my thoughts. Irelyn sought shelter from the rain when it started and she found this place – and you and Tinek, so I followed,” he answered with honesty that hid nothing but mentioned little in the same breath. His gaze had wandered around the Rotunda as he spoke, and it settled on Ophelia’s regally contoured face again. “And you? What brings you back this way? Did you accomplish what you set out to do?” Whatever it was that had driven her onward that night, he had always wondered if she’d met her goal, completed her task, found peace from the slavery of a perceived burden.
Ophelia lowered her neck when the creature looked up at her in such an adoring way, big, yellow eyes almost sparkling. When Irelyn moved to rub around her legs, the white mare smiled gently nuzzling her with her whiskered muzzle. Torleik spoke as she was paying attention to the griffin around her legs, and she looked up at him from under thick, white lashes and mane that had fallen between her ears and caught around her horn. The smile persisted.
"Well, how kind," she murmured, looking back down at the griffin. "Thank you." After breathing more into her feathers, she finally pulled her neck up, regarding Torleik fully again. She asked her question, and much to her surprise, he answered. His expression was different than before. Instead of the chivalrous knight, eager to help the killer princess through the snow, he seemed simply...honest. Ophelia appreciated this side much more. She had always been able to take care of herself, but so few were truly honest.
While she had a hard time believing that a stallion of a herd was wandering with no purpose, the rest of his story was believable, and she did not allow her suspicions to betray her in expression. Still, she nodded, looking up at the glass ceiling that protected them from the rain. The droplets made a tinny "plunk" as they hit, and the marble reflected the sound. "I had just found this place as well," she murmured, looking around her at the large pillars. "I had never seen it before."
That was rare. For her. She remembered everything, but this was a particular path she had not followed before. New things were always a pleasant surprise, but they were also a burden. Her mind was full to brimming in flawless memories.
She looked back at Torleik when he asked his question and frowned. Her heart ached at the loss of Roskuld, and try as she might to find her daughter, she could not. "Half," she said, avoiding his gaze as hers turned glassy. She had reconciled with her dear sister, her most beloved confidant, but Roskuld was still a bleeding thread, throbbing to remind her of her failure.
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
Ophelia looked up at him through her lashes and her mane that had fallen in front of her face and Torleik felt his breath catch for the smallest of moments.
Gods, but she was beautiful.
The mental agreement from Irelyn didn't help him remain objective as he'd like to, nor did that soft smile on Ophelia's lips. Torleik wondered if that was what it looked like to be gazed upon by someone who loved you. That softness and beauty. He wished he might know someday. Irelyn purred contentedly as the white mare nuzzled her and spoke more, the griffin very much fond of how this large white one sounded.
She asked Torleik why he was here, of all places and he replied with no attempt to deceive. He had come here because he'd wanted to be alone. To avoid anyone else after his run-in with Brisa, especially. But here Ophelia stood, white and pristine as ever, and he was not alone.
Not that he ever would be alone again, with Irelyn in his head as she was. When he returned the question, the way the crimson-and-white mare answered held some sort of secret meaning that he knew was lost on his ignorant mind. The gaze she gave to the roof, the pillars of the rotunda...she was sharing a special moment with this place that he could not understand. Torleik inquired his last interrogative only because he assumed she must have done what she intended if she was coming back near the Basin.
It seemed she had not. The general saw the way she avoided his gaze and took a gentle step towards her, touching his bearded muzzle to her shoulder. "If I can be of help, you know you need only ask," he told her quietly. "But until then, I wish you success, for the sake of you both." The bitter side of him figured it was probably family drama. Lovely as she was, Torleik was sure Ophelia had a mate out there somewhere, a lover or beloved. No one like her could be alone.
Ophelia did not expect touch, not from a stallion who had rebuffed her physical kindness earlier. So when the whiskers on his muzzle brushed her shoulder, she looked at him with furrowed, confused brows, turning her head back down to look at him and completely forsaking her admiration of the colorful ceiling. Her darkened heart was suspicious of his kindness. Too often she had been taken advantage of, her friendship squandered and abused. Too often she had been abandoned by those she loved, betrayed by those she trusted. Forsaken.
The white hairs still tingled where he had touched her, and she gazed into his deep, blues eyes with her guarded expression, not sure if she could emotionally make this leap of faith. Yet again, she was standing in the center of the scales her life was built around. A step one way, and she would be risking her heart again, and a step the other way would be to forge a deeper path down the lonely road of solitude. Reminders of pain kept her from stepping toward love, but the fear of being alone forever was paralyzing.
So she stood on the precipice as always, dancing along the fine line in the middle of equine and unicorn, wrong and right, love and loneliness. This instant was much more meaningful than just a touch and an offer of help, for Ophelia.
His words relieved her from making a decision right away, and she nodded slowly, feeling the rate of her heart and roar of pressure subside. Ophelia took a deep breath and smiled, appreciating his kindness. Perhaps he could help, if he was a wanderer too? "I am searching for a small, stout filly, pale with blue markings along her back and a jagged horn," she said finally, recalling Roskuld's appearance from memory flawless. She could picture the filly next to her now, breathing and grinning happily.
With a blink, she was gone, fading back into the detailed tomes of her mind. "My daughter," she explained, frowning. How strange those words coming from her lips to the ears of a stranger. Too long had she been away, unwilling to face the reality of her situation. She was a poor excuse for a mother, indeed. "If you see her... tell her that I am looking for her?"
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
05-29-2014, 09:49 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2014, 09:50 PM by Torleik.)
Torleik The beard of glory...
Rebuffing her physical kindness prior was exactly the reason Torleik chose to touch her now, wanting to make up for his rudeness before. He could still feel her kiss to his cheek, still remember how surprised he was, how good it felt. Torleik did not assume he could make her feel the same, but he hoped to give her a positive sensation, nonetheless. Would that he could read the thoughts behind that guarded dual-colored gaze.
The stallion hadn't the slightest inkling of the internal struggle she felt and its magnitude for Ophelia, but he was patient with any silence, no longer wishing to be elsewhere. He liked this mare, he decided, and whether or not his decision returned him pain, he had made it. Unless she wounded him terribly or betrayed him, Torleik would consider her, at the very least, a friend worth helping, protecting, or standing by. Whichever she had need of from him at the time.
The rabicano offered to help if she wanted it and listened as Ophelia claimed she was searching for a short, stout filly, and he considered those he'd run across in his time. None matched the description, especially not with a jagged horn. He was about to ask why she sought this young girl, but the question was rendered unnecessary when Ophelia spoke words the stallion was not currently equipped to properly handle.
"My daughter."
His throat went dry and he immediately averted his gaze, hard, nearly glaring at a stone pillar nearby. "Who is her father? Could she not be with him? Perhaps I have met him," the Bloodskald inquired, voice quieter, more hollow than before.
Once again, he found himself fooled by his optimistic, hopeful nature. His gut told him she had to have a family, beautiful and kind as she was, and here was his evidence. His jaw clenched, feeling a pressure behind his eyeballs and in his temples. Just couldn't catch a break, could he? Was it too much to ask that he find someone whom he could...hope for, hope towards without immediately having his hope spat upon and trampled? "I have never come across a filly looking of that description, but if I do, I will be certain to let her know. Where should I send her?" was his forced inquiry, gaze still firmly locked anywhere but Ophelia's face.
Torleik did not wish to offend her by letting his own emotions come across as judgement against her. He was not angry with her. Far from it. He was simply angry, angry at the hand he'd been dealt as of late, angry and lonely and tired.
There wasn't more much the dual-horned demon felt he could take.
05-29-2014, 10:42 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2014, 10:43 PM by Ophelia.)
Ophelia the Forsaken
Ophelia watched him turn his gaze, and she tried to reserve judgement. She struggled with this same thought before - did he only want her because he found her pretty? Did having a daughter somehow make her less attractive? Those questions were born of self-doubt, however, as his stare deepened into space. No, that was not the expression of displeasure; that was the expression of... something more personal. At least, that was what she hoped. Ophelia had given him a second chance, and she would, yet again, be played the fool if he was toying around.
The words he spoke sounded flat, but the mention of Roskuld's father brought a wry, painful quirk to her face that was neither smile nor grimace. She ground her teeth for a moment, thinking about her plethora of conflicting feelings. He had taken advantage of her when she was not herself, not in possession of her memories. But, she had made a choice, whether or not she liked it now was of little consequence. However, the returning of her memories had been incomplete, so her pregnancy had been a complete surprise...
She loved Roskuld deeply, but the entire situation had been... wrong. Ophelia had been played, by him and herself.
"If she is with her father, then neither of us have hope of finding her," she grunted bitterly, looking briefly up at the sky. She struggled letting him know that Roskuld's father was the God of Time. Ophelia seemed like that would be bragging, but it was anything but, especially since the God of the Sun was now at the point of throwing fireballs her way. "Her father is the God of Time," she finally sighed, frowning slightly. What a story that would make.
He said that he had not seen her, but that he would look. Ophelia nodded once before noticing that he was still not looking her direction. The Forsaken frowned. "To the meadow next to the river," she answered, thinking about her child.
Finally, she shoved past her memories. "What brought you wandering so far south?"
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
It took Ophelia some time to answer his question of who the father was, and it seemed like nothing Torleik was fit to hear today was positive. The God of Time. The God. Of Time.
A fucking god was the child's father.
He couldn't stop the snort that pushed its way through his nose, nor the galling, bitter expression on his face. Well. That was that, wasn't it? She had a god as a lover - how could he ever hope to compare to that? How could he hope to survive if the god took offense to his genuine interest in the divine's woman? "You know, I told myself you had to have someone. I figured you would have someone special - but I did not anticipate that someone to be a god," he said honestly, finally bringing his gaze to hers. "Do you love him?" Why Torleik wanted to know this more than if the god loved her was not something he had logically worked through. But he wanted to know. His gaze averted again, not willing to watch her as she answered. Not since he anticipated words he did not want to hear.
He discovered where he might send her daughter if he found her, then Ophelia asked why he was down here so far south. So, his prior answer had not been satisfactory to her after all. He'd suspected as much. The reply he'd given had been vague. "I am General of the Basin now, and I was captured by a group called the Regime for a time. My captor, Morir, was bringing me towards this place. I came here to see if I could discover why," Torleik told her. It was truthful. He needn't mention Brisa. She wasn't the reason he was here.
05-29-2014, 11:10 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2014, 11:12 PM by Ophelia.)
Ophelia the Forsaken
Ophelia heard his snort, and she raised a brow looking at the twisted expression on his face. She wondered what that was all about, but then he spoke. Someone special? Did she love him?
The pale princess laughed, the sound hollow, bitter and ugly. Her features darkened as she remembered the betrayal and subsequent issues all of it had caused. Maybe at one point she had loved him, when she was literally out of her mind. The God of Time might be disappointed, but she did not even fear his wrath, not with his fiery brother already was hellbent on her destruction. Forsaken was a title she had earned.
"No," she answered shortly, her voice dark and cold. Perhaps she still had feelings for the God of the Sun, but those now lingered on longing and guilt. Even so, did the God of Time want her love? Everything he did was out of necessity. Maybe he had been jealous of the Sun God. If he had liked her at one point, he had done one hell of a job showing it, and Ophelia figured that blunt god might even appreciate her brutal honesty. Maybe it would be like looking in a mirror...
When he answered her question, she raised a brow, eyes now glittering with a dark interest, always keen on information. The fact that he was now general of the Basin was interesting. Last she knew, Deimos still had that title and Psyche was the lead. Also, "The Regime" was a new name entirely. "Congratulations on your promotion," she said quietly, mulling over the apparent shifts in all the herds. At one point, she had known all of these things... Maybe... some small part of her was still a leader.
"I have never heard of this band you speak of," she said. In fact, Morir was a new name as well. "They must be strong to take you down." That was definitely a compliment. Torleik was strong. The lines of his body told many stories of his prowess in battle and his power.
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
Her hollow laugh, the way her face became shadowed, the cold, icy way she replied negatively to his question... Torleik took a moment to step aside from his pain and hurt for her. Perhaps he felt the need for some kind physical touch that didn't hold some special, lustful meaning, and perhaps he merely wanted to comfort Ophelia; either way, the rabicano stepped to her and and curved his neck around hers, dipping his shaggy-bearded chin down to pull her to him.
They were both still soggy from the rain, but he didn't care. It was an interesting feeling, the cool surface wetness of their pelts melting into the warmth of their skin touching. Torleik wondered if the god had forced himself on her and the thought incited such anger in his soul so suddenly and without warning that Irelyn gave a shocked screech and jerked her feathered head around to look at him. After lingering longer than he probably should have, the glacial-eyed beast stepped back, letting her ask why he was really here and answering her honestly.
The glimmer in her eyes was dusky and alluring and Torleik looked away, unwilling to feel tempted right then. "Thank you. Came with a title and all that," he murmured, shrugging. Ophelia complimented him then, saying that this Regime must be strong to take down someone such as he. In spite of himself, his chest puffed out a little and he held his neck a fraction higher, proud to hear her words. "They are not so strong - they attacked me with four, and threatened harm on Irelyn if I did not consent to go with the blind one with three horns, Morir," the Basin General replied honestly. Embellishing stories was for telling tales around a warm hearth, not for honest conversations. "Around my arrival it seemed much in the Basin shifted, and things are just now beginning to settle down."
Ophelia wasn't feeling much of anything, her hollow laugh echoing around the emptiness of her quickly blackened heart. She felt dead inside at vocalization of her lack of love for the father of her child, and what surprised her was how that hate did not at all taint her feelings about Roskuld. Everything she felt for that child was pure, even her regret. So, when he arched his larger neck to hook over hers and pull her close, she stiffened.
Affection was not the correct response to the wicked bitterness she had just displayed. She did not deserve the love and tenderness he was given when she had admitted hatred to another - not even a single kind word spoken in the god's defense. Ophelia blinked, surprised, and finally relaxed for a moment in her confusion. He felt strong against her, the weight of his neck and the wetness of his hair comfortable against her more slender crest.
When he finally let her go, she cleared her throat and shuffled a little. If she had been able to blush, she would have. As she reflected, she realized that the touch had been comforting, but as always, Ophelia was simply awkward. She raised a brow at him curiously. "Title?" she asked.
The speak of his capture made her frown and shake her head. "Cowards," she grunted, referring to them threatening to hurt the tiny, feathered griffin. The Basin shifted? IN what way? Ophelia was curious as she looked up at him, thinking that, perhaps, her aunt deserved a visit. Little did she know she would not find Psyche there anymore. "What shifting?"
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
How empty it must have felt to have a child by a man that didn't love you, and whom you held no feelings for. Family was deeply important to Torleik and his people - when they had been a people still - and he could not fathom the idea of lacking it. Not with a child in the picture, at least. Ulrik was the only family he had left and it was family enough.
Maybe Ophelia was family enough for her daughter? Something told the dual-horned demon that things were not peaceful between mother and offspring, however. Perhaps it was the way Ophelia stayed stiff against him - though that could be because his contact was unwelcome. Maybe it was the hollowness in her laugh, or the way she described her daughter without naming her. The description felt objective, like an outsider might have listed - not the filly's mother.
Torleik's thoughts stuttered when the white mare finally relaxed into him and the sensation felt better than his frayed, tired nerves expected. How long had it been since he'd felt gentleness? A year, at least. He finally pulled away and stepped back, watching Ophelia clear her throat and shuffle awkwardly. Disappointment nestled into his chest, realizing that it was likely his touch hadn't been all that welcomed.
A deep breath smothered the feeling for the time being. She asked his title and he shrugged, not feeling much self-importance right now. Maybe if things had been different, if his kind gesture had been more accepted, he might look as proud as he should feel. His prior flirtation with ego at her compliment towards his strength was all but forgotten. "The Bloodskald," he answered. "Among my people it means warrior-bard; that is the most simple translation, I believe."
He snorted when Ophelia asked how the Basin had shifted. "Psyche abdicated. Diemos and Illynx lead now. I filled the vacant spot for General. My cousin, Ulrik, is a crafter." Loose lips around this woman, he realized a little too late - though he had told her nothing of extreme and vital important secrecy to the Basin. In truth, he knew no Basin secrets. Well, perhaps the sentinel. But that wasn't meant to be a secret, per se. He knew nothing of the Plague and its workings, nothing of the dark and racist agenda of his new home's leaders.
06-27-2014, 12:48 PM (This post was last modified: 07-13-2014, 11:47 PM by Tamme.)
Ophelia the Forsaken
If Ophelia felt ill will toward Roskuld, it was buried so deep that her subconscious only reared its displeasure in subtle ways - like not mentioning her name. Perhaps, if he had pointed this out, she would have acted defensively, but in reality, she did not say Roskuld's name aloud because speaking it would be too painful. Keeping every hurtful thing inside turned her soul black, but at least it kept others from being buried with her in this sad, pathetic tragedy that was her life.
For those same reasons, she pulled away from his contact. Even though she doubted him, was suspicious of his intentions, and even a little miffed, she could tell that he was good/ He had no reason to be pulled from his position into what she was going through, and she was strong enough to keep others at length for their sake. Ophelia would always face her trials alone, with the exception of her twin sister, but even then, their relationship was rocky at the moment. She did not deserve the honesty of his affections or the empathy in his blue eyes.
What she deserved was what she had received - a broken herd, a missing daughter, fireballs from gods, and judgement.
Even so, Ophelia was never very physically affectionate. She preferred the fringes of the group, watching from afar and not partaking. Even hugs from her sister were brief and awkward - because of her. Small, kind kisses of muzzles to skin were all she was used to, and anymore more was confusing and she had no idea how to accept such touch. Instead of feeling comforted or loved, she felt uncomfortable and insecure.
So, she asked him about his title once they were parted and she had regained her words. The echo of her hollow laugh still rattled around in her head and bruised the insides of her heart as it chuckled, but she tried to ignore her own bitterness. How curious that she had never heard of a warrior-bard before, and her ears tilted forward in legitimate interest. "Oh? You tell stories then, but you fight too?" she asked, having only had storytellers who were older and wise. (Or not very good at fighting, as she remembered Irrydae from the Foothills).
Then, he spoke of the Basin, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Psyche abdicated - why? She needed to find her aunt. Even though her father did not trust Psyche, she had found the shrewd mare agreeable and admirable. Perhaps, if she was as strong and cunning as the Jackal-mare, she too could change her own fate, but if she had abdicated? And Deimos was now lead? The name "Illynx" did not mean anything to Ophelia, but the name "Deimos" certainly did. She could still feel the way his death magic had pulled the soul from her bones as she sank willingly into the ground.
The name Ulrik also did not mean anything to her, but the fact that he was this one's cousin was interesting. Her expression was guarded. "Beware of Deimos," she said quietly. "I do not think he is the type to reflect well on your herd's diplomatic relations. Psyche was clever and cunning in how she dealt with the other herds, but what I know of Deimos is that he acts before he speaks." Ophelia frowned, wondering what the hell she was saying. What if this stallion was loyal to Deimos? She regarded him warily, eyes narrowed.
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
Torleik was astute enough to know that those who reacted poorly or awkwardly to touch were either unaccustomed to it, or had experienced it in a bad form before. Ophelia's lack of overt reaction to his embrace made him wonder which she was, though he guessed the former. She seemed...unsure of herself when it came to touch, unable to respond because she had never been taught how. Perhaps he should scale it back...but to him, an embrace was scaled back. It could be both innocent or passionate, affectionate or amorous.
What less touch would be acceptable? A brief touch of his muzzle to her shoulder? A small flick of his tail to her haunches? The Bloodskald found the latter to be rather flirtatious when used on him, so he eliminated that option. Whatever he did, he opted to keep it shorter from now on in the hopes that she would respond more favorably then.
Her inquiry about his title offered a distraction and he explained what it meant, wondrous that she'd never seemed to hear of such a man before. They were common where he came from, almost a requirement for a man to be both. If you were a warrior, people wanted to be regaled with tales of your prowess, of battles in which you'd fought.
"Yes; that is what men from my home did. We were both warriors and skalds - tale-weavers. Bloodskalds," he explained. "These do not exist here?" The topic became the Basin, and the warrior was amused at Ophelia's observation about Deimos. "I have no love for him and I believe he is an abysmal face for my herd. He is death personified, and while that is something to be feared, it is not something to be reasoned with. I find him...heavy-handed in his 'politics,'" the stallion answered, then gave the white mare a bit of a smirk. "You can stop eyeing me, now."
Gazing out of the rotunda, he took in the rain and wished that he had some shelter from the internal storm he was currently braving. What he would give to have a rotunda of his own, to have his heart sheltered in such an ancient, beautiful place such as this. A slight sigh escaped his lips, Torleik unaware he was drifting into his own thoughts and writing the stress of the past day all over the canvass of his face.
Ophelia listened to him explain what he was, and she shook her head slowly, brows furrowed. Rarely did the warriors focus enough on spinning tales as they mostly trained. Only her father had become a storyteller after fighting had become a secondary profession with age. "Yes and no," she said quietly. "Traditionally our tale weavers are older warriors, those who cannot or do not battle anymore. My father was a fearsome warlord, but he settled to become a storyteller."
When he expressed that he also did not trust Deimos, she nodded. His smirk made her smile nervously until his words explain the burning expression. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. The dark expression of one side of his lips upturned, magnetic blue eyes flickering with flames was rather... well, she took a deep breath, calming the tension she felt squeeze the muscles of her abdomen. Ophelia blinked to bring her mind back. "Sorry, I was not sure if you were loyal to him," she returned.
"I met him only once, but I have seen him since. Their herd used to rule the World's Edge long ago under Mauja and Psyche," she explained, recalling the day she had wandered foolishly into the borders. "I did not realize how far I had pushed into the borders, as I was young, and he used some dark magic that pulled the very life from my body. If not for my sister, I do not think I would still be alive." Ophelia shook her head, knocking the memory away.
The pale princess heard him sigh and looked over at him. On his face was the story of worlds, heavy with thought and eyes dimmed with troubles. She frowned slightly, wondering what he had sitting on his soul and depressing his spirits. Softly, she turned her gaze to watch the rain for a few moments, feeling dryer and warmer now that she was under the glass and stone dome.
"I am trying to find my family," she said quietly. "Do you want to come with me?" Ophelia turned to look at him, her eyes open and honest. She had rejected his help once before, mainly because he had made her angry. But, the thought of leaving his company now made her stomach clench. She did not know if it was him or simply not wanting to be alone, but either way, she asked.
Carefully, the Forsaken stepped down from the stone floor and into the rain, feeling the drops fall on her back, and she closed her eyes. If only the rain could wash out the inside as well as the outside...
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
Torleik's ears perked up when he heard that this pale princess' father had been a fearsome warlord. Really? That meant that Ophelia had impressive heritage and a warrior's blood in her veins. In the rabicano's eyes, this made her even more desirable - not that it would have taken much to make him want her more. She was damaged, hurting, and in need of a friend; he was weak to that. So impossibly, irresistibly weak to that.
"Your father, tell me about him?" the male inquired curiously, hoping to know more about the woman near him by learning of her lineage. They spoke of the Basin, of those who ruled it, of Deimos and their mutual dislike for the creeping death. "Loyal in the sense that I will do what I think best for the Basin, which he happens to lead." The black beast's ears pinned back against his skull when Ophelia spun a yarn of near-murder perpetrated by the very same Reaper, a certain type of violently rankled ire snarling in his gut. Who would want to harm this woman? Why? Merely for trespassing as a child?
"He would have killed a child for an unwitting mistake?" he growled. "A child, who has no concept of borders or herdlands or trespassing?" The disgust and loathing in the Bloodskald's voice was like the scent of something rotten: pungent and forceful. Lightly, he touched his muzzle to her shoulder, as if to reassure himself she was still in front of him, then set his still-blazing eyes to hers again. "You have a sister?" Whoever she is, I am grateful to all the gods for her.
The history of Ophelia's statement, saying that the Basin herd used to rule the World's Edge long ago, vaguely bounced around in his head as information he'd acquired from Illynx during their journey together to find Psyche. It was of lesser consequence to him now than information about Ophelia or the importance of the situations of the moment. A silence drifted between them and Torleik's mind turned in on itself - not a good habit.
Snapped out of his personal spiral by her voice, the dual-horned stallion looked up when the white and crimson mare inquired of him something he'd expected least of all: if he wanted to come with her. Eyes narrow and wary, brows furrowed, he regarded her momentarily but found no apparent ulterior motives in her face or her body language. Perhaps this was making up for rejecting his offer of help last time, or perhaps she simply did not want to be alone.
He would not disappoint her.
"If you would have me, I would follow you," the Bloodskald replied, clicking lightly at Irelyn to indicate she needed to follow as he stepped out into the rain once more. "Lead on," Torleik murmured, remaining close to Ophelia's side.
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