"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.
06-19-2014, 03:37 PM (This post was last modified: 06-20-2014, 09:09 AM by Deimos.)
Change was inevitable; alterations swarmed and loomed with inescapable subterfuge, cloaked and heavily daggered, bleeding crimson lines of rich ichor, forcing hands and grasps to other objects to clench, to distort, to unravel. Worlds collided and divided, thrown and tossed asunder, once looming large, then begging for the final release, sizzling, searing quietus. Threats pervaded, then died off, vanished, with singular threads cut and shorn, slashed and annihilated, brewing silence in the thickened shears of damnation. The Basin’s tales were much of the same, reaped and sown in the blood of enemies, in the choking aperture of sliding scales, promise, benedictions, and contorted finales. They’d gone from affectations of ruin, conquered and consigned, to rising paradigms, then faltered whims, and driving back into the torrent of melee and circumstance: strong, capable, mighty all the same. Power, domination, supremacy through the collected efforts of their worthy gall, pride in the wicked veneer, in the barbaric ambrosia, in the precise slate of their puncturing brows. Though the beast would like to maintain an invariable, lasting, persistent feature, he too had morphed and transformed in the coming tides: breathed requiems of protection and security over an icy kingdom, where from the first ides of his march into the empire had been sprinkled with disdain, malice, and mayhem – the unearthly catacombs of his demonic possession had not fled, but the warped condemnation had: he drove ruthlessly, heartlessly, mercilessly for his people. Over and over again, he divided, mauled, mutilated, massacred and murdered, securing, protecting, persecuting. From plaguing pestilence, they hid, from beleaguered fools, they mauled, from the rush, the heat, of bedlam, of war, they pursued, relentless forces aimed to satanic prowess, carving their names into stone, into snow, into the ages of crusades, valor, and possession. And now, the thrones called, harked, heralded to see how many merchants of darkness, of calamity, of virtue and disaster knelt within their embankments, their valleys, their precipices and their stark reveries: to honor the active, the supreme, the distinctive earning their marks in the glacier. The thrones clamored for their subjects, crooned and crumbled to burden with information, to stock and furnish the open, unaware minds, to gaze and scrutinize the beings who’d come to align with the sinister edges, covert secrets, and clandestine caverns. With an unwinding chain, he scorched the air with the malicious curl of his vocals, a pressing ministration of malevolent machinations: courting the vicious, the feral, the untamed, and the ignorant, blessed and forged in the weight of their cold armor.
And while they came, down into the brim of the valley, the bestial contortions of his voice carried over the void, the pristine dale, calling, searching, grasping, ripping and tearing, bearing the incantations of their arrival. Behind the masque of death, behind the Reaper’s reticence, vehement, ominous stance, their empire blossomed and bloomed, a sentinel’s wrath baring his fangs, mountains, peaks, summits, glowing from timeless perfection, an aura of manifestation and supremacy building beyond their aspirations and ambitions. Deep, resonating, echoing over the vale of their icy venue, he proclaimed, then waited. “Loyal Basin citizens – converge. We must deliberate.” Necessity drove his tones, though he would have preferred to anoint and cast away into shadows, into silence, he bid obligations into the juncture of the burden. As they reigned from the shadows, from the gales, from the timberlines, he continued. “A union of peace has been formed between the Basin and the Edge. They are not to be targeted, and their ranks are welcome in cooperation with our own. The Falls has not accepted our offer.” He paused, ground and clenched the ivories intertwined amongst his maw; carried on through the haze, through the essentials; suffering for speech sacrifices. “Promotions are in order. To assist Lena in healing, we have named d'Artagnan as fellow Time Mender. Roland is our new Thief, and Zikar-Sin our anointed Haruspex.” Surveying the throng, gazing along those named, those deserved, granted and consecrated for their efforts, he provided tones meant to assuage those who hadn’t been bestowed the namesakes, ways to administer their power. “Lessons will be provided by the leader of each tier. Advancements will be proffered to individuals driven by these motivations, instruction, and actions.” Reaching the finale, for which the Lord could only hope came as swiftly as possible through his blunt, keen chords, he passed a notice along the din, especially for those who itched and needled for commitments, work, ethic scorched and honed. “Crafters are looking for assistance in gathering materials within caverns. Please meet with Farenjer or Ulrik for further instructions.” Then he waited, taut, rigid, reticent, for the GildedBlade to pass through her announcements – to immerse their herd in the roots, follies, and prowess so carefully conducted.
[Mandatory herd meeting; you’re excused if you’re absent. IC bonuses include: information about recent alliances, rank shifts, and being educated later on in separate threads according to your chosen rank. Please wait for Illynx to post first; afterwards, you will have one week (from her post) to get yours in. Thank you!]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
I L L Y N X
take a look in the mirror - see the truth in your face
She arrives at the appropriate hour, the verdant valley spreading its wide green belly through the picturesque and watching mountains, spying the Reaper atop the highest hillock in the center of the herd. It was not her usual place to hold such things, preferring the lake or, since the Sentinel’s completion, beneath his tall, leaning shadow to hold her words with those she shared her home with, but Deimos had selected the area of the land more commonly known to host such gatherings beneath the rule of her Empress and the fallen Lord of Snow, Mauja, and she had come to fill the vale with words alongside him.
It wasn’t that she particularly cared for the Lord, still; she still saw too many flaws in his persona to suitably fill the voids she felt were left in his silence and rancorous aura, but he had done well by her and the Basin since the throne of her sister was stolen by both the shadow on the knoll and the man who had sired the boy who trails after her, excitement rippling in every inch of his body as he arrives to hear the words of the rulers of the mountain. He is used to his mother’s commanding atmosphere, the way she pulls the strings around her and bends her words, but he has never met the Lord of Death, and so he stands a fair distance before the dark one as his mother directs him, watching the golden Lady rise to her place alongside Deimos.
And then, it begins; first with a summons and then to the throbbing rhythm of their arrival, the myriad faces of the mountain realm of the unicorns, and the Lady all the while smiles sweetly and arches her neck and figure to appear as flawless as she might, golden eyes sparkling benignly and platinum armor gleaming and illuminated in the summer sun bleeding through the chilly atmosphere of the north.
When Deimos’ voice no longer sweeps forward, his eyes glance towards her, their blue depth met for the briefest of moments before she returns them outwards towards her kin.
"These changes, our growth and our strength, inspire my heart and fill it with more pride for our people than I had ever dreamed would come to me," she begins, looking from one face to the other, knowing each by name and service, a strand of memories and bonds that, while she is callous and does not truly appreciate the spiritual value of her comrades, insights true pride in her for that they have withstood each challenge presented them and rode victorious over those jagged peaks, "we are strong, a true family, and I seek to honor our prowess though a celebration of that which holds our kin together; the horn. An Aurora Festival, held beneath the colored lights of the Lord of Storms, in which all the unicorns in Helovia may dance and find merriment among one another, a communion of our species to honor that which binds our herd as one." Her smile is dreamy, golden eyes hazy in light of the visions which sweep her, the thoughts of colored taffeta caught in the chilly tendrils of the mountain winds as Frostfall sipped lightly on the umber and crimson world of the fall, a celebration of their home and their people, that which they could achieve together and the splendid perfection that was their whole. "As the meeting is concluded, those interested in participating in the celebration’s preparations may follow me. I would ask Torleik and the Weavers to accompany me, as well," she glances to the General, her eyes questioning in the slightest way, wondering if he will adhere to his prior statements that the story of their herd could be translated into song; it would be quite fine to spend the evening dancing and laughing to the sounds of their victories and origins, "in pertinence to decorations and song."
The silence slips into her words, sweet and short lived as a flower’s life in ice, golden eyes closing for a brief moment before they return to those gathered before her, focusing on the white haired stallion who had called himself the Disciple. "Zikar-Sin, at the availability of yourself and either of the Weavers, there is a project to be discussed which requires your bond to the mirror and the God within. Seek each other out as you find appropriate," she broadens her gaze, sweeping it across each face in turn, "as to the rest of you, my brothers, my sisters… continue to grow, and flourish. Bring honor to the mountain and the God of Shock, push yourself towards your limits and teach others what you have learned on your life’s path."
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
He comes when called—it’s an old practice indeed for the Disciple, for his feet to fall in much the same path he has taken to the audience of his Lord and Lady since the mountain itself opened its maw to the lost unicorns of Helovia, allowing shelter and sanctuary in its stony bosom. Of course, Sin himself didn’t know so much about the lost unicorns of Helovia before the Basin’s discovery; his time and experience prohibited him from being so intimately familiar with the details of such a harrowing time. His ignorance on the subject had been remedied by the old Master, Myrddin. And yet—had he not witnessed the God of their skies and thunder crown the very first Empress of this beautiful, mournful, delightful place? From Empress to Emperor to Lord and Lady; they marched in and out, and he, Zikar-Sin, had spent his days in blissful discoveries and the faint, half-hearted hope that his Master would return.
It was a hope that was dashed in an instant, when he took his place before his lieges, and they announced one of the most curiously astounding things; it took the Disciple quite by surprise. No…not Disciple, not anymore. It seemed as though, quite by accident, Sin found himself climbing the rank of his station; and now, as it happened, he sat upon the very same rocking-chair he had been hoping would be populated very, very soon by an old, blind, grizzled, brusque unicorn that he had possessed undying affection and devotion for.
He breast swelled—but whether it was from joy or panic, he couldn’t tell. Actually—yes, he could tell exactly what it was, and it was silly to assume it was some base emotion that some other horseflesh might feel. What rose in the Haruspex’s chest was duty, and a growing sleuth of ideas and notions that ran to and fro, back and forth, up and down, side to side within the confines of his skull. And—for the first time in a very long while—none of it was based on the properties of natural philosophy. I haven’t been inside the caves in some time, he thought to himself, eyes wide and unblinking, the eerie light of his blue irises glowing with the delight of his new responsibilities, I will have to go through his records some time, and reacquaint myself with lore and ancient texts—yes, yes, and the Lady commands a celebration in our honor? Yes indeed, I may be needed to participate…
It wasn't until his Gilded Lady addressed him directly that he returned to the here and now, and he gave a slight simper of embarrassment. How atrocious his manners have become! “Of course, my Lady,” he said, giving his deepest, most respectful, and slightly clumsy bow. He righted himself, and lamp like eyes stared jubilantly at his mistress, glancing at her precious princeling once or twice. “I am most honored to take up the mantle of my Master. Thank you.”
As the sun sluggishly glazed above them Farenjer began sparing time for filling up his new 'hidey hole' for the fabrics and extra materials. Many could claim that they could spot the strange loner treading in the distance, taking his now accustomed route along the lake's small shore towards the den he called home. It was known that it was a rare sight to see the silent stallion working with anyone other than himself, but Farenjer could not help that. He had some difficulties trying to speak up for assistance. It always bothered him trying to invite a conversation with others. As the weaver again worked along the sorting and moving, he noted that he wasn't the only recent being to be within the Crafter's cave. Noticing that others perhaps had come and gone helping out when they had the time. The weaver appreciated it, but there was still many things to sort, stack, and move. He hoped at this herd summoning that perhaps Illynx or Deimos could mention it to the others as the crafter treaded towards the central hilltop where the reaper already stood above, and Illynx approached with her and Ulrik's son.
"He looks of a mix between them both." He mutters under his breath warmly as he eyes the child with icy orbs. So cute. He thought before taking his sight towards Deimos as the Lord spoke once more. Farenjer listened intently as he waded his way to a spot at the foot of the hill. He raised his head in a politer posture and heard the alliance details. The Edge was in alliance with the Basin. Perhaps I might meet Kahlua again... He thought smiling to himself. Remembering their confrontation within the stone walls of the heart caves. He really did wish to meet her again, she was kind to forgive him for putting a scar on her in such dark times. Her will to forgive gave him confidence as he looked towards the others who approached.
Farenjer motioned his head towards Deimos as he spoke of lessons for lower rankers and the crafter sighed silently. A shame for us Weavers. He confessed to himself as Ulrik and him were the only crafters among the unicorns here. Brushing away the how sad thoughts he had, he heard what he had been listening for. Score. Farenjer could possibly get help now that everyone would be aware of the Weaver's situation. He nodded to Deimos after he had inquired that to his people, thanking him in signal for adding apart of that in. Soon after, Illynx, who stood above as well began to add in her own words for the meeting.
She spoke of her pride for the basin, or perhaps unicorns in general, and in celebration to create a festival. A party. To find merriment and replenish one's happiness. Oh boy. Farenjer thought as he eyed the gilded lady. Her prideful words still echoing through his ears. I'll have to learn how to dance... If anyone would even care to with me. He looked away for a moment with a little sadness trickling into his eyes, before hiding it and putting his attention forward once more. He nodded his head a little in understanding as the golden marked mare called for the weavers and general after the meeting for directions for the 'party'.
Illynx looks over them all and then calls to the newly promoted stallion called Zikar-Sin. Farenjer's ears twitch as he hears that either one of the weavers need to come as well. To bond with the mysterious mirror. He tries to find Ulrik and wonders if perhaps the black stallion is up for it. Farenjer secretly wanted to seek out Illynx afterwards himself and go to the mirror. But would submit if the ebony stallion would tell him that he would prefer to do the task. The weaver turned his head at the sound of newly founded Haruspex "Of course, my lady" He says before bowing and speaking of honor. Farenjer tips his head to the side to glance towards the stallions and mares who had come. Wondering deeply on how in the hell was he going to be able to go to the festival without being the awkward horse standing in the corner of the room.
Commands seized the air, the wind, the light summer breeze, and she hastened to them as an eternal figure to their credence, a sweeping maiden of the mist, enlightened towards the horizon. Today’s meeting doesn’t appear to be laced and lacquered with trials and tribulations though, no slinking, slithering demons crawling along their corridors, no overturned empires reeling towards the ground, no collapse of judgment brooding and brewing within their walls. Like so many others, its business and justified, headcounts and configurations, calculations needing to be measured, weighted, lavished and polished over. The Mender and her companion, subdued by the mass (though not her curiosity, nose poised to the sky and sniffing over every scent) slid between members of her home, the pride, the bastion, the might of their foundation, and listened. Their union of armistice, of serenity, of tranquility between the Edge and their home remained poised and aloft, and a layer of confidence and assurance built within her soul, glad to have partaken in the service for her kingdom – though it seemed, not enough to warrant the Falls misgivings. She wondered, briefly, the reasons beyond the refusal (at the very least – their sovereign had never been one to assault that particular region; she remembered their nimble falls, their lush grass, pondered over how much was hidden away in that vast, wide land), but ceased the ruminations as their Lord and Lady continued. D’art was named her ally in medicine, and she smiled towards the beast in the crowd, pleased to see the good Doctor resuming his post. Roland’s name crossed through the list, and though she’d already prospered him congratulations, she did it again all the same with a foolish wink and a warm grin – even Zikar-Sin, eccentric and quirky, had found a piece of promotion within their depths. Notions about lessons remedied the Mender’s mind towards herb searching, mending, and tending; her fellow nurses and scourges were bound to grasp hold of instruction and virtue. However, the largest piece of news solidifying her interest was the GildedBlade’s announcement: a festival! Imagination, whimsy, and fancies immediately grew wild and drew blooming aspirations; conjured songs and dances, merriment and delight, kindled spirits united in the forefront of celebration and good tidings. The whirlwind of her features said it all; bright, glowing, radiant and composed, eager and ready to embark into ebullience, teaching, or any other motions stirring them towards grandeur; nymph approval.
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
The scion heard his father’s voice, but it wasn’t reserved solely for him. Instead, it boomed and ricocheted, commanded and called for everyone in the vast, open world. Curiosity, and because he followed his sire’s orders (he knew better than to disobey and wander off into the ravines, the caverns, hide and shiver in the cold, become lost in the dark), compelled him onward from the reaches of pine he’d nestled and stretched beneath. Intrigue stained his mottled brow into furrowed contemplation, queries leaping and bounding as one dipped and drenched in youth often adheres: how many were going to be at this meeting? What made up the converging, the throng, the din, or the information spilled forth? Was it exciting, to watch and bear witness to the crowd gather, wander into the depths of the valley, of the Basin, wild, powerful, dominant and strong? Part of him yearned to go merely to see so many others; he’d met a few along the peaks and icy trails, ventured into empires and loams beyond, but had yet to encounter everyone. Everything was new, enticing, and inviting, so his steps sprang into action, raucous and frenzied, chaotic and juvenile; Peter Pan, Cheshire expanse, delving into swift, nurtured flames (for a moment or two, he thought to skip over the lake entirely; basilisk and divine all at once, but the notion quickly disappeared once he was distracted by the sight of so many horned brethren). A babe of infidel prowess and scholarly conjectures, his eyes widened at the unveiling of his fellow patriots; some gilded, some brooding, some contemplative, some bedazzled in smiles, and he remained stock still on the edge, wondering which mask he was supposed to wear. Should he trail beside his father, bright and proud, aloft and curious, like the other one nearest his dam (golden – that’s what he’d remember about the Bladed Lady and her offspring, the slight notion to go towards the other colt and ponder if he wanted to play)? Or should he sift between the crowd, forget and forgo his princeling crown? An instant passed before the impulsive slate of his youthful glow gave flight, lanky columns prancing through the nipping entrails of frost, grinning at all the other assembled creatures, before dipping his head towards the Reaper, anointed scythes and swords, and the fellow leader, piecing himself in a nearby section of Deimos, not missing his father’s subtle smirk in his direction. Not shy, not bashful or diffident, believing himself mighty, in some way or form, Erebos’s cranium remained high thereafter, surveying the rest of the wicked world and not truly understanding most of the words assembled (something about alliances, ranks, lessons, festivals sounded fun…). But youthful ignorance couldn’t last forever, and so his mind drifted through the words and phrases, pledged to ask his parents later on over all of the circumstances, revel in their answers.
I came because it was my obligation now. A duty. Since I had returned home to the Basin where I could finally be surrounded by my own kind once more, I had since taken up the bloody mantle of a soldier. A soldier, like the sad excuse of my biological mother... Except better. Yes, I was better, because I was strong.
A snort of scorn worked its way from the depths of my throat. Don't go getting it confused. It wasn't in her memory that I became a soldier, fueled by some petty form of honor or yearning to uphold her 'reputation' or 'dignity'. That was bogus at best. No, I became a soldier because power appealed to me. The idea of strength, of cunning, of the ability to dominate and control others sang to me from the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind and I was victim to do anything except obey.
My teeth gnashed in dark annoyance within the confines of my maw and gums as I made my way to the designated meeting place decided by my Lord, the King of Death and Darkness as he was. I was a mess of disarray; dirty, sweaty, and the furls and crimps of my mane and tail were far from preened and groomed, but I cared not a lick about it. Others arrived as well by the masses, but I remained on my own, away from the compilation of strangers that I did not know. It was a bit of a sad thought, I realized halfheartedly, that I had been born in this land of mountainous wonder over two years ago and knew not a soul save Illynx, Arah, Crowley, and my estranged half-siblings. If, of course, you wanted to count that I 'knew' them, for I most certainly didn't.
The dual-colored irises of my eyes, both rich gold and cold, detached silver, focused only on the form of my Lady Illynx, not missing the dark shadow of Rikyn as he followed in the steps of his mother. I kept my lips shut and simply stood at attention with my head held high, watching, listening... Waiting? Maybe. I saw no sign of Crowley, Arah, nor my half-sisters, but they could show. They still had time... Maybe. Maybe not. Still, my attention was directed only on the golden-accented form of Illynx, and I listened with rapt attention as she spoke of the changes and plans for the Basin.
I would nod, on occasion when something fancied my pleasure, like the sound of this supposed festival to celebrate the thriving of our kind and the unity of our family. This caused my dark lips to quirk upwards in a smirk. Good. Something like this was appealing, and as much as I preferred being by myself nowadays, it may give me a chance to better acquaint myself with the souls who I may die for one day.
Or, I could potentially meet someone else, someone alluring and desirable... The thought caused my small smirk to blossom into a full-blown grin, and I chuckled sensually to myself.
Beneath the bright expanse of open skies, the doe rises her head at the call. Orbs as golden as the sun turn to the direction of the summons, a nearby cave shelters the fawns. Time to wake them from their precious slumber, she enters the darkness of the rock it's entrance was slightly damp. Her hooves clatter and the sound echoes up and down the home of her little gems. They are curled up, sweet in looks and innocent in their youth, yet scared. Their past will undoubtedly darken their futures; for that someone would one day pay the ultimate price. The progeny of a royal family, yet they would never know. To protect them from her past she must keep this secret. The odor of decay reaches her nostrils, Wynter enters the cave dragging a corpse behind her. The howl of the wind blasts through the cave; Arah watches the griffin only. Ripping at the mouse it is a while before Arwen stirs and look up at her mother with wide eyes. Arah ignores her youngest daughter for a moment, waiting for Wynter to finish the meal. Once nothing remained of the mouse other than bones and blood, the doe turns her gaze towards her two daughters. It was almost as if she did not recognise them, they had grown so and with each day that passed they become more independent. One day soon they would no longer need her. It was time for Arah to stop babying them, with a gentle smile she bent her neck and nuzzled both of her daughters. "Come my fawns."
Exiting the cave with Wynter and her daughters trailing behind her, the doe takes a few deep breaths. The last meeting had been a disaster, Asch had let her anger show and spoken out of turn, perhaps it had been Arah's fault. That did not make this situation any easier however. "This time you won't speak unless you are spoken too." She paused and turned to Asch and then to Arwen. "I adore you both but you will learn to listen." It would not do for them to cause trouble, this time the doe would be sure that both of her daughters were kept in line. "I understand you may know others, you may greet them." Beginning to continue on her way, Arah began to speak to her children once again. "However when it comes to the actual meeting you will respect your leaders and elders by holding your tongues." Arwen enjoyed sharing her thoughts, Asch even more so...especially if it was at some expense to her mother (or so it seemed). The doe's thoughts turned to who would actually be attending the meeting. Would Crowley be attending? Would she finally see Rhiannon? Worry tossed in her stomach at the thought of her eldest daughter, they may not share any genes but Arah would sacrifice herself before she let anything happen to the dark princess.
Finally the sound of others called Arah closer to the place where to meeting was being held. Wynter had no interest in attending and spread her wings to take flight, before she left her gaze traveled too both daughters as if checking one last time that they were okay.
Shepherding her daughters towards the meeting, her eyes did a quick scan of the area before coming to rest on the from of Rhiannon. "I..." Her whole body had fallen into shock unpin spotting the little lady...only she wasn't so little anymore. No before her stood a stronger, braver and older soul; just as beautiful and spectacular as the day she had disappeared. Making haste Arah approached her daughter, coming to a stop by her side and she studied Rhiannon's bedraggled appearance. A chuckle fell past her lips as relief spread through her, yes she was mattered, sweaty and putrid but there was nothing psychically wrong with her. "Oh Rhiannon!" She extended her mussel, so if the younger girl allowed it Arah could touch her and greet her. "I was so worried!" A small smile worked it's way on Arah's chops. It would not do to hassle and fuss over Nonnie, for she had always been independent. Instead the doe asked "Is everything okay?" In a calm and trusting tone.
Her attention turned as the Lord began to speak, his voice reached over to where to she stood with her daughters with ease. Alliances are the first topic up for discussion, the Edge had accepted while the falls had not. The doe wondered how long it would take for The Basin to forget that slight. Next came the promotions of a few herd members, Roland himself had surpassed her and been anointed Thief. A slight twinge of pride wound through her, as one of her oldest friends she knew why Roland had achieved and deserved the position. Not able to spot him in the crowd, Arah figured she would offer congratulations once he summoned her for training. Next the Lord spoke of 'individual advancements' the doe doubted her chances, a bite of disappointment in her own actions slithered through her veins; allowing herself to be captured would not look good on her record and it had also resulted in her missing out on crucial meetings. Shaking off the feelings she continued to listen, even grinning at Lady Illynx as she spoke to the herd. A celebration? Now that would be quite fun...glancing towards her three daughters she realised it would be an ideal time to make introductions. Arwen turned and looked up at her with huge begging eyes, a quiet chuckle and an even quitter response. "Yes, we shall attend the celebration."
Love is why we fall down
And get back up again
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. ✽
A voice rang out like thunder, though the clear sky curved above him pale and unblemished. Rather than answering at once, Caneo wondered for a time if he was – what? – a loyal Basin citizen. The thought provoked soft peals of laughter, even if he stood alone. Regardless, he turned to answer the summons, even if only to sate curiosity. Perhaps because it felt like a joke, and too long since he’d laughed.
He tells himself he barely understands the meaning of that concept – loyalty. But his cloven hooves fall over the tracks of others, and his pale eyes fall over the dark lord at the valley’s heart. They fall on that stallion first, wavering for a moment at the regal carriage of power in his merely standing. His voice had called. Caneo pauses for an instant, watching, glimmering like a vision on the edges of the meeting. He should flee. He eyes the press of bodies, a shudder gathering on his skin.
But he steps forward.
Reluctant footfalls bring the fragile silver body to the edges of the crowd, where he pauses and briefly surveys his new fellows –are they? Part of him expects to be shooed off; the tension underneath his thin skin betrays it. Where is Roland? Lost behind greater creatures, perhaps. Caneo’s toes reach out to dig a shallow furrow in the ground, then still. Control yourself, he chides. Be still. Adapt, adapt, adapt. Meanwhile, the dark lord speaks, and Caneo’s ears tilt up.
Most of the information escapes his grasp, though he struggles to impress it all upon his memory regardless. Something about an Edge, and many names of creatures unknown... Caneo blinks at the gathering, searching for some sign of recognition in the other faces, some method of placing names to physical reality. Roland is mentioned; the grey acknowledges this with a little nod. He hears Lena’s name as well and decides they must have told him mostly truth. A strange, pale-eyed creature seems to be called Zikar-sin... the lord goes on and Caneo’s tail twitches impatiently behind him. Why in the world should he ever care, at all?
At length, the lord falls silent and the golden lady at his side begins to speak. Her voice burgeons with pride and warmth, matching the brilliant glimmer of her hide and the silver plate wrapped over it. She speaks of nothing, really, for some time and mentions a celebration. Caneo struggles against the urge to snort or recoil, poised instead in perfect silence, head up and attentive. He wants nothing to do with weavers – whatever they are – or the creepy, sycophantic creature with the pallid eyes.
Slowly, his head tilts to one side and he sighs, speaking aside only to himself. “A festival, hm?” These creatures revel in splendor, if nothing else. They have more at their whims than he has ever dreamed, and seem to Caneo’s eye to fail at feeling the appropriate awe. He nods and decides to linger, anyway, and see what might be seen. There is no joy in wandering alone while voices gather elsewhere. Even if they are all strangers, unknown and untrustworthy, he can’t reject the desire to learn more about them.
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid
I follow Momma to the meeting, enthusiasm lining me and nearly boiling out of my eyeballs; the last one we’d been to, she promised, was much smaller than this one, a meeting in which all the unicorns would come and I could see for myself why it was she loved them all so.
Momma says stupid things a lot.
Mostly what I heard when she said all of this was that Aithniel would be invited as would all the other children I’d seen playing the meadow of the mountain, and that it would be a possible place that I might make some friends. Its not to say that Momma and Aithniel aren’t helpful and good to me, but a boy needs more than just a girl and a mother in his life, doesn’t he?
When we come to the place, the Lord is already there. I take my place not far from my mother and watch him through the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious in my study and stare. He is really strong, with a deep chest and an incredibly long horn in comparison to momma’s, and his eyes watch the land before him as if they can see more than just swaying grass; when Deimos has been mentioned to me in my lessons, mother describes him as carrying an air of coldness, of ruthlessness. I can almost feel it from here, the radiant ice of his aura, and while I am not a cowardly child (rather quite brave), I retract my eyes from him swiftly and hope he did not notice I watched him.
The others are coming with in moments of the call that blasts from him, my golden eyes filling with awe and excitement as I shift my weight from one hoof to the other, anxiously watching each new face trickle in and trying my best to name them from the lessons me and momma have had. There is Zikar-Sin, the good friend to have, and I smile at him quite regaly (at least I think that’s the face I made) and attempt to mirror the air with which mother carries herself, and many others I know by name and conversation such as Rhiannon and dad; then there are those, like Farenjer, the Weaver, and Lena, the Time Mender, that I know only because momma told me who they were.
But, what draws my attention most fully, is the arrival of a little boy.
He comes in at first and lingers in the back, and I stare longingly at him from my station and wonder if I should risk getting yelled at later to go and meet him. I think he’s Deimos’ son, the same black colt I’ve seen with the Lord or his dam from a distance, but it doesn’t really matter if he’s the other prince or not.
He’s a boy and he’s my age. It’s nearly too much to watch him meander his way slowly over to the fore and stand in front of the Reaper, confirming, for the most part, my suspicions that this is the other prince of the snow. My ears rise and my eyes feel like they’re going to escape my face before I finally snort and trot over to him, slipping between the gathering frames and hoping I can make it before the big shots start talking.
With a sigh of relief, I come to a pause just as the demanding voice of the Lord booms out over us all.
"Hey," I whisper, muzzle slipping closer to the other boy and word finding purchase between the slips of silence in his father’s speech, something about World’s Edge and alliances and shit I really cannot be bothered with.
Its not until momma’s voice rings out into the air describing a party that they have won my attentions.
Golden eyes snap onto her with an enthusiastic ferocity that might shock my mom if she’s quick enough to catch my expression. A festival?
Does that mean other kids will be there?
I glance over to Erebos with excitement on my face, smiling happily at the thought of music and fun.
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.
She had seen them gather from a distance. They were all different sizes and colours, all grouping together in an almost ceremonious sort of way, waiting for the higher ranked individuals to appear before speaking. There was tradition and respect in the way they gathered, but the large numbers were intimidating and enough to make the small, speckled mare uncomfortable.
For a long while she had been uneasy with large numbers, choosing to stay outside of large groups and disassociating herself from herds. It seemed that she had decided to turn a new leaf, and with that decision came the appropriate need to socialize with others. Standing there at her polite, shy distance from the others, she heard the soft murmur of voices here and there, of horses greeting one another and welcoming children and newcomers alike to the herd. It did not escape Liit’s observation that every horse sported a horn of some sort atop their brow, and the words of the young painted mare flooded through her mind, reminding her to be careful.
Of course, before she decided to withstand the punishment of skipping out on mandatory gathering, she spotted the familiar brown and black body of Lena and watched for a moment longer. It is only the presence of the healer that goads Liit out of her hiding spot and finds her wandering closer and closer to the others, careful to stay on the side of the group that Lena stood so as to find herself next to a creature that she was most familiar with.
As she got closer, there were names mentioned- names that she did not know, and that perplexed her. She had always been aware that there was a large number of souls living in the Basin, but she had never imagined that she would start to worry herself if she did not know them by the time her stay here had become longer than a month. She knew the gilded queen and the kindly healer, both of whom had been early to arrive to the meeting, but the others were strangers. Finding her spot next to Lena, the pale speckled mare gives a little nicker in greeting before turning her dark eyes to the faces of the rest of the herd, trying to pick up names here and there as they were spoken and trying to remember the faces of those that did, in fact, partake in the meeting.
never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
The call rode upon the streams of the north wind, coiling through the thick grasses, the narrow passageways of rock, and into the hollows of every shadowed cavern. It echoed across the mountains to the very edge of the valley and back, stirring the silence and with it, a flock of birds. Roland was quick to respond to the summons, joining the congregation as they assembled beneath the crest of a hill. The Lord and Lady stood above the mass, looking down upon their flock.
The Thief milled along the outside of the group, pausing to listen as Deimos made mention of the alliances they had set out to form. Roland and his partners had departed both lands without a final verdict, and since then he had eagerly awaited their responses. The Edge had accepted, for which Roland felt gratitude and satisfaction; there had been a time, not so long ago, when their families had not been on the best of terms. The Hidden Falls, however, had denied their kinship. Roland refused to let his spirits be too dampened by their refusal. There was hope for the future, as the Basin repaired their broken bonds with neighbouring herds and rebuilt their reputation. Once Deimos moved onto the topic of promotions, he caught any congratulations with a humbled smile and a courteous bow of his head, but made himself scarce to avoid attention.
He spotted his comrades amongst the throng; Lena and Imogen, Arah and her children- whom he mustn’t forget to say hello to one of these days- but he sidled through the gathered mass and placed himself at Caneo’s side, for the boy had not been long from his thoughts since the Thief had brought him to the Basin. He remembered to keep a respectable distance, knowing the stallion was edgy; nonetheless, he cast a warm smile in Caneo's direction, turning to the hillock before them as Deimos concluded his announcements. Illynx drew forwards then, and any questions and curiousities lingering in Roland's mind were abandoned in favour of entertaining intrigue. A festival? They had never held any celebration before, not in the two years he had lived amongst them. Yet it seemed fitting, after all they had endured together as of late. He chuckled at the enthusiasm echoing through the crowd, finding his own curiousity piqued at the mention of festivities. It promised to be interesting, knowing the varying personalities that could be found dwelling within the Basin.
Tough was the hide of the vacant eyed rabbit who stared into the cold hungry gaze of hound born of hell. The meat stuck to its bones stubbornly and took a viscous snap of the hellion’s head to rend the flesh free to his ghost white jaw and sapphire tongue. It took the cur seconds to slap the blood covered portion down his neck before going in for another bite out of the knee. This gory act repeated until the doctor’s loyal servant had reduced his snack to nothing but bones to pick his teeth with. Not long after was when Aramis heard the call slice through the air, a command to assemble before the Lord Reaper, summons to another arduous task better known as a herd meeting. Slowly the hellhound rose onto his red smeared paws and quietly padded over to where his master dosed under the shadow of the mountain. In a way, the usually sullen and demented monster that stalked the frozen mountains was, for a moment, lost to the weakness sleep brought and instead his posture was almost a picture of peace. Accept for the way his legs stood rigid and scars riddled his body from memories that live in the hauntings of his mind. In the end the demon dog decided that he looked more tragic that peaceful. Time waited for none, however, and Aramis tugged the invisible chains that bound them together with his gloomy voice awakening the Nightshade. Reaper calls, Sir.
Crimson lids reveal d’Artagnan’s mismatched gaze that immediately glazed over into displeasure of attending more meetings. So much so that the shade was beginning to wonder how much of his life he’d spent standing around and listening to dribble presented in various different ways. It was hardly a little known fact that the Doctor had a dislike for social occasions unless it involved a fight in some way or another. Yet, obligation and duty was, what d’Artagnan thought, a rather unicorn trait and even though each meeting had yet to really mean much to him, the Nightshade went along regardless incase he missed something. He could always piss half the herd off if he got bored anyway, it was rather amusing to watch their looks of outrage and annoyance turn on him, like igniting an easily lit fire.
The walk to the gathering wasn’t all that long and his arrival was fronted by his vigilant canine guard who offered them all a hungry glare before falling in beside d’Artagnan as they came to a halt. The Doctor recognised most of the gathered with a few unknown horned faces passing through his surly gaze, the ever changing face of the Aurora Basin, yet the usual suspects remained. His attention was quickly turned to Deimos who began his report, the Nightshade amusingly noted that leadership had apparently done wonders for dusting off his usually short vocabulary, but he listened intently to each word and his gaze notably darkened at the notice of peace between the Basin and the Edge, something the Nightshade wasn’t very likely to agree with nor follow. He snorted in disappointment and flicked his tail, they had stolen his mare and his children, he couldn’t twist his black heart to be peaceful towards the western heathens. The shade said nothing of the matter, however, it was written on his face after all.
Surprises were full in this meeting! d’Artagnan nodded his thanks for his reinstated position, humble healer never sat right with him, but with the tender hearted Lena to work with he may be able to use his position for other things. Though he had to stifle a laugh at providing regular lessons, he almost wanted to ask Deimos ”lessons in what?” Suffice to say that he did feel rather sorry for any poor soul shacked with him for a tutor. However, the laughing wasn’t over as Illynx had apparently had another clever idea. Did she simply become Lady to piss him off? d’Artagnan looked at her with a stricken gaze that portrayed his disbelief. He couldn’t argue with the purpose, the horn was the ultimate gift, but dancing and merriment?! The world was getting far too whimsical for the Nightshade’s dark mind, however, perhaps he should take part. Festivals were famishing affairs after all, a little spice to the normal fodder might make the event more interesting. Perhaps he should honour Illynx with a double dose for her excellent contributions.
The Mender carried on plotting as the meeting continued.
06-26-2014, 12:17 AM (This post was last modified: 06-26-2014, 01:35 PM by Thranduil.)
Summary at the bottom because of my guilt at this word count. Illynx requested to read the first part.
Damn ice. Cloven hooves slipped for the fourth time on the icey crevices that crisscrossed the floor of the arch. It had been a month or so, since the golden son had slipped from the cold shouldered mountains to seek some spring warmth in the lands below. That day had not been exactly pleasant but at every thought of it a smirk grew upon Thranduil’s lips. He had cleared himself of two negative reports through the good graces of his lady. Yet, having found the cold wind and moods too chilly for even him, the golden had sought to stay low, by going low and discovering more of Helovia. Besides, he wasn’t exactly a home body. Nope, no merry house wife here. Hooves stepped more carefully as at last the opening of the arch. With summer now arriving in the rest of the land some hinting of a thaw blew in to this ice cap. Wind did not bite, and ice did not kill. Even the mountains seemed slightly dormant from their previous death threats. Perhaps they took their cues from their lord. Oh yes, the golden had explored and heard many things. But only rumors, and little at that honestly. Still he had come to realize there were four herds, and four gods. None of which he intended to respect or worship. A low chuckle echoed on the walls.
Returned he had though, the Aurora Basin. True, it was not the sand and heat he had once thrived in, but there was a twisted welcoming to it that was gaining on him. Not to mention the pride that swelled his breast when he thought of how he had stolen it from those which sought to keep him from it. That pride though bended to the golden blade lady who thought so much as he. It was for her that he returned, keeping his earlier promise to do so when the temperature rose. Still as the golden mused, it was not a sense of duty which called him back. More of, a curiosity to know what the gold dusted lady was planning, and why she had seen fit to save one so far lost by that dark demon which ruled by her side. The twin horned sought to know what purposes she had for him if any, and where he might please her. Again, not in duty or loyalty, though he did fell he owed her a kindness, nah, to only gain her trust. To build it, solidify it if possible. It would be a pleasant place to watch a few small fires burn.
-----
At last stepping onto the permafrost and at last out of the shadows of the arch the golden inhaled the crisp clean mountainous air. Resolving himself to find his lady the golden began to make his way into the valley when an eerily familiar call rang out among the rocks. Deimos. A snort released as the tasseled tail began to lash. The call had been for the herd as a whole, but the golden did not feel so inclined. Thranduil did not keep much peace in his breast for that dark lord as he did for his lady. However, his gold bladed lady would also have to answer the call. Mind mused as smile regained his place on his lips. If the whole herd was to answer this call, then he would be able to take stock of what lambs the sheep dogs guarded. What lambs were waiting for a little trouble to come their way. Now true, he would lie low but that wouldn’t keep him from looking. With grin falling away to a face of dutiful ease the golden body moved into a swinging jog to the gathering.
This was not a small band. Coming up to the multitude the golden halted at its edge, leaving a good distance between himself and the last unicorn. No need to give the illusion of desiring conversation. Not with so many wonderful interactions and toys to explore. The swan he immediately recognized and watched as she moved through the crowd, with two followers. Two children. Perhaps that was her secret the beast sought in the Threshold. Perhaps they were what she protected. If so she was not doing a very good job of it. Already some scars etched themselves onto their new coats. Some mother. Still mind began to ache with repressed thoughts as he stared at the two young ones too long. So earth eyes glanced to the one she greeted. An antelope horned lass, stripped across her back. That lass had also seen better days, but it looked as if it could be remedied. The swan greeted her like a lost relation. There was much that white swan was hiding away.
There were other small moving bodies about though. His lady’s child, slipped from her side to join the crowds and cross over to another colt. Both though stood high and slightly proud. The black one glancing up with pride to the lord. Could the bringing of death have son? A chuckle moved in his chest but he kept it repressed. Again, looking too long on bodies so small did not suit the golden. There were others about anyway, all of them though, with horns. He took them in each in turn, before the dark lord spoke.
This bringing of death was not like the golden blade beside him. Now that he spoke more than three words the golden could tell why he did not engage in conversation. It was not his strong suit. There was news to be heard though. An alliance with the Edge. Mind paused on Kahula, thinking of their meeting at the Rotunda. But another land, the Falls had declined. Apparently the rulers of the Hidden Falls had some balls. Mind remembered back to the forest he had passed on his first journey to this ice land, and the darkness and unease it carried under its beauty. Perhaps the Falls was just not in its right mind. The golden wondered if this meant they were potential targets, or if he was to still court affections of their kinds. A smirk rose at the thought of the painted glass wearer, Abishia.
Promotions were in order though. This was only of interest to put names to faces. Lena was a healer, making herself known with a nod, a bay mare with lovely dark thick tassels and kind face. D’Artagnan seemed less of a friendly face, with a half broken glass horn and scars of old. Roland was a lean creature with a copper gleaming coat which reminded the golden a little too much of those which had passed on. Zikrar-Sin, the odd name matching the horse, was a curious creature, who seemed to have some third worldness about him. All this was lovely and utterly boring. The mention of lessons made the golden shift with boredom on his hinds. Advancements were slightly more promising. The Gods bless however which ever unfortunate soul got landed with him. Help was solicited, and refused by the golden. Though two new names were added to his growing list. He was a crafty type, but manual labor was well…not his style.
At last the golden lady beside this dark lord spoke. Her tone made the golden son’s twisted grin grow slightly. Yes he much preferred this lady to the one which stood beside her. Though her speech was more flowery than his, it held much more of interest. A festival, a dance, celebration, and communion. Head rose, now this sounded fun. It held little interest to him for a chance to honor the God they worhsipped, or to celebrate the blessing of a horn, rather he saw a chance for meeting those new game pieces on the board, and slipping into his act as a loyal and all together acceptable herd member, when he was anything but. She called for aid, and named a few others of interest. Various voices murmured excitement and willingness at her announcement, and its conclusion.
So this is what a herd meeting was? Seemed all rather common place to the golden son. It would be much more exciting with a war or two going on, but then peace lended itself more to easy pickings for him. Still, the golden was not much of a historian or crafter, so the call for aid was not answered by him. Besides he would seek his lady out after the bustle of the meeting, and then he might offer her his services, and let her qualify them. The golden’s boldness was being curved by his inability to gauge so many at once. He was learning his caution quickly. Still, before moving off to some quieter area to await his lady, curiosity of the meeting’s continued developments held him. He kept well the back, and avoided the look of others, but took in all that he saw. A ball though did sound rather his style. With a grin he thought, perhaps it would be a masquerade.
OOC ::
Summary :: Thranduil returns from wandering Helovia the rest of spring and upon entering hears Deimos. He joins, staying at the back away from most, but notices Arah's daughters, and Erebos and Rikyn. He is not interested in most of the meeting until the possible festival but does not volunteer help, and sees it as a chance to have his own version of fun. Keeping silent he waits until he might meet Illynx alone, as she promised him before he left. (I'll make another thread for this meeting later.)
"speech"
Back to the Cold Mountains he goes,
With all standing around in repose,
He sees so much to possibly dispose,
Like ice does to a rose.
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.
The leaders called, so Déodat would answer. He walked in slowly with Odette at his side. Both of them slowly returning to their old selves, but the Blood Prince still remained distant and reclusive. An unfair action he supposed, especially on Mirabella and Esther’s part. As he entered into the scene of the gathering his eyes drifted over all the figures, both new and old. One thing he did note was the absence of his daughter and her mother. Perhaps they were simply late, he sorely hoped that would be the case. If anything were to befall his sole heir he knew not what he would do. His time with his daughter had been brief, but he couldn’t deny the deep affection that he felt towards the filly.
Thoughts were pulled from his chaotic little family towards the words of the Reaper and the Gildedblade. They spoke of promotions and he glanced around at the faces and names that he knew. At the mention of his cousin he briefly glanced at the Nightshade. He pondered if the return to his previous rank was related to the rebirth of the Plague. Once the Reaper ceased, the Gildedblade began to spoke. Déodat was tempted to flinch at the mention of the general’s name. Did anyone know of his futile attempt of a challenge? Manly pride longed for his dreadful failure to be hidden away within the depths of the past, but he knew that may to no avail.
The idea of a celebration sounded far less than appealing. Though he had always been one for fine company and fine food, he would pass upon the idea of a petty festival. Socializing was the last thing upon his list of desires. Once the meeting was adjourned he had every intention of returning to the icy grips of his cave.
"Speech speech speech"
Is that an angel which flew down from the twilight sky?
Is that a fiend which crawled out from a crevice?.
Jorogumo The hurt the head forgets, The heart will always remember
She lurked within the shadows, silent and dark. The lord and lady had called so she had come. Jorogumo listened to their words with her ears pinned against her head. Rage still pulsating through her veins towards the golden queen that had dared to call her a child, well, she would show her. The Spider listened to the names as they were promoted and she snorted. Imbeciles the lot of them, even if she didn’t know them per se. None could see the brilliance that shone within the Spider. None could see what she would one day become. A heinous queen draped in venom and splendor. Wicked, beautiful, and simultaneously feared and loved, that was what she would become. All would fall at her feet when she simply walked past.
At the closing, she snorted and shook her head. Backing out in silence, the Spider slipped away from the group. Considering the possibility of wandering to cave she so often hid within, but then made a last minute choice towards the entrance. For a moment she glanced at the sentinels, the vigilante guardians of the Basin. She continued on past them, leaving behind the icy grips of her future kingdom. This place would be hers. It was time for her to find the only being she could rely upon, Reginald. It had been far too long since she had seen her serpent, though she could claim no ownership over him, for he owned her. Only one would she ever bow to, and that would be her king. Jorogumo glanced back to the Basin. She would return, oh yes, she would return. It was simply time to see the rest of the world for a bit.
[Just a little note, Jorogumo still is a member of the Basin, she's simply wandering for a bit.]
"blah blah blah."
Kirchoff had taken to avoiding Ulrik as of late, irritated with his distance and lack of interest in making his metal creations. That golden mare had almost seemed to take something out of the Engineer when she slept with him, and that irritated the hellhound. Even though he thought Ulrik was a stupid cow, he knew that the stallion was brilliant in his own way, a truly gifted creature. Only gods had the ability to create so completely - the gods and Ulrik with his metal machines. The sounds of a meeting going on reached his ears, and he sighed, knowing that he had better go get Ulrik from wherever he was. Ulrik wouldn't hear.
The hellhound picked up his slender figure from the snow and trotted through grass to find the Engineer. Ulrik was found working on the second sentinel at the entrance to Helovia, lost in his work, oblivious to all else but the sound of his own head and the crackling of fusing metal. "Ulrik, your leaders call," he grunted, puffing out a frustrated breath.
The stallion, confused, looked over at Kirchoff with furrowed brows. When he was working, the beast's eyes were a frighteningly magnetic shade of bronze. Glancing at the bare beginnings of a frame, he grunted, nodding. "Thank you," the Engineer muttered in his head, putting down a piece of metal he held in his jaws and walking toward the center of the land. He picked up a short jog, but he would be late anyway - he didn't much care.
Once at the meeting, he caught the tail end of Illynx saying that they were going to throw a big party and that he was needed for decorations. He had no words as he stared blankly in her direction, not paying a single bit of attention to anyone else present.
"Wow. From knitter to party decorator. You must be so proud." Kirchoff was snickering his his head, taking a moment to roll on the ground near Ulrik's hooves, a wide grin over his toothy, dark face. Ulrik grunted in his head and lifted a single hoof in warning. Kirchoff now knew that Ulrik would never do anything to hurt him, but the warning was enough for him to knock if off for a little while. The anger and indignation he was feeling through the bond was strong.
Ulrik wanted to say "make your own bloody decorations", but he held his tongue. What had this herd come to? Had he made a mistake pushing Psyche out? Certainly she would not have resorted to party decorations.
06-27-2014, 02:36 PM (This post was last modified: 06-27-2014, 02:36 PM by Torleik.)
Each step brought with it an old and familiar sort of ache; the jarring impact of every hoof against the ground, rattling his angry sinews... this was always the feeling after a battle. Irelyn had perched herself on his head, neglecting to move down his neck to his broader back on the off chance she might catch a sore spot with her claws.
Torleik had insisted his companion be healed first and healed well, and the owl-griffin's wing seemed to be coming along nicely after their trip to Lena. That gave the Bloodskald reason to feel...less tense, he supposed. Relaxed was not the proper term.
A call rang out and the rabicano stallion was awash with irritation. Of course there was a necessary meeting right now. Of course. He did not pick up his pace, refusing to move faster than was absolutely required of him. Upon arrival, he said nothing and stood off to the side, eyes fixed firmly on Illynx and Deimos. Normally he might have cared if Ulrik showed, or if that little traitorous whelp Deodat was here, but not now.
Not when he was still so weary.
The Lady of the Basin wished for him to follow after the meeting? Curious, Torleik wondered, and remained affixed to his spot on the ground, waiting.
I had taken to calling the golden mare who took me in as "The Illynx". She was not "mother". She was not "mom'. Even "Illynx" seemed strange considering how impersonal she was, so I treated her like she acted - as a thing. "The Illynx". At least that was what she had taught me about grammar. (Okay, I probably got that part wrong, but whatever). Since her hawkish eyes were always watching Rikyn, I had taken to doing my own thing, making my own rules. Coming to a group meeting of all these strangers did not seem like a good idea, but it was mandatory.
They would all stare at me, surely. Everyone always stared at me like I was some freak. Obviously, to a degree, I was. I did not belong to anybody here. I belonged to nobody. Nobody was my mother. Nobody was my father.
Among these faces, I recognized only a few. Erebos, who stood up for me, and Rikyn, who saved my life. I'll forever owe him for that, I think. Torleik, the tall, scary looking one who was actually rather nice, was here, but he looked tired and wounded. Instead of walking toward them, I stayed off to the side, half-hidden behind a rock as I peered out at The Illynx speaking after some other scary stallion. What she said was surprising.
A party? Interesting. Apparently one called "Ulrik and Farenjer" were going to make decorations, and Torleik was to join them. Did he make decorations too? He certainly didn't look like he made decorations. He looked like he made pain. I wondered why this meeting was even necessary after it was called, but maybe they said important things that I just didn't care if they were important or not. I didn't care about many things. I think it's because whoever birthed me didn't care about me, but then I just stop thinking about those things. They make me feel all... weak inside.
And I can't cry in front of The Illynx. Maybe Rikyn. But I'd rather not. As soon as the meeting was over, I walked up to my brother and Erebos, quietly, hoping that no judgmental eyes of adults were watching. (They always were, but I thought I was being sneaky).
He called, we would answer. I am so tired. Finding grasses to eat to keep up my strenght has become the most of what I can do these days. Mirabella on the other hand, seems to be thriving. Even if she is slowly draining the life out of me with every drink of milk she takes. Speaking up, it seemed my little girl needs to feed again before we set off for the meeting. Ah well, so much for being on time. My underside has grown tough over the last month or so, I really am not sure how much time has passed since my princess was born. Her glass horn has poked sharply into my tender underbelly more than once, just as it does not. I have come to used to the feeling of blood trailing down my legs from the cuts. For all I know she's drinking my blood too.
Finally she is done, and it's time we arrive. Sure enough we are late and some of the last of the herd to arrive. I hang to the back, a bit embarressed that I am new to the herd and already a mother. Would I become known as easy? Well, that wouldn't be all bad..... Sex life would rock actually now that i've gotten a taste of what it's like.... But if I have to nurse more leeches like my Princess... Not sure I want that... She is enough for me, unles Déodat desires to try for an heir. A son that is. Of coure Mirabella is an heir, but she's female. Don't all stallions want sons? I listen only half heartedly as the Lord speaks. I think his name is Deimos... He speaks of alliances and things like that. Things that to be honest I am to tired to care about. The golden Lady Illnyx also speaks, of some sort or party. Yeah, not sure i'll go... Unless one of the boys wants to have fun after... That I am all for since there is no possibly way I can be in heat. Maybe being the herd slut won't be so bad after all....
Please Tag Esther in All Posts
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Esther at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing her.
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