"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.
Wandering past the Veins of the Gods.. for no good reason really.. I've just always wanted to see them. The blue lava is fascinating to me, and though I know I shouldn't, I feel enticed to touch it. I resist, but just barely. I don't need any help with my body's current disintegration. But as I stop and enjoy the day's breeze that passes over me, I look up to see a strange... mass. What the fuck? I peer down at my drinking pouch, wondering if somehow my enchanted vodka has gone bad. That looks... Well, like a fucking island. In the sky. Islands don't exist in the sky. At least, that is my general understanding. Damaris whines next to my side, nervous with my incredulity filling her mind. But then when she gets a good look at where my gaze points, she gets excited, and her excitement fills me too. I wonder how on earth we're supposed to get up there. IF we're supposed to get up there. I don't usually think of myself as an adventurous soul but I'd like to know exactly what is up there and if it is good, bad, or.. none of the above?
Somehow it would seem the gods have heard me, and as I stand there gazing up, clouds form around my legs, and Damaris's paws. And though I've never felt clouds before, it seems to me that clouds should feel much softer and lighter. Instead they are hardening around my legs, under my hooves, and before you know it we are being lifted into the sky. I nearly vomit on the spot, getting instantly motion sick. This is why I do not have wings. Damaris barks and wags her tail, clearly enjoying this journey much more than I am. The clouds are fast, and soon we are reaching the edge of the floating island, moving over what appear to be waterfalls spilling over the edge. This is..... fascinating, is the least that I can say. The cloud takes us to the middle of a vast field, with identifying markers in four quadrants. It's beautiful to say the least, and as the clouds dissipate around us, I can't help but stare in silent amazement. Damaris runs around me, barking and frolicking in the field. This.. this.... wow.
It took some time, but finally you pulled yourself away from the caves. There was magic in there (not to mention crystals galore!); you were sure of it, but after a few days spent cautiously wandering in the semi-darkness with no success at finding either, you decided to take a break. You could always go back, but you’d prefer not to live like some bat, holed up in the darkness when you should be out in the summer sun, bleaching your coat a pristine white and ruining a few lives while you’re at it.
So you saunter out in the sunshine, your first order of business being a bath. Soon enough, you come across a stream, and you wade in gratefully, letting the water swirl around your body and kiss away the grime of the caves. There you linger for a good half an hour, splashing around lazily and drinking your fill. Then, when you’ve had enough, you clamber out the opposite bank and continue on your way, letting the warm summer air dry your dripping coat.
After about half a day’s walk, it seems that you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. Instead of nice, shady woods, you’re in some sort of barren and rocky wasteland. You’ve come too far to bother turning back now though, so you keep going in the hope that the trees will soon come into view again. An hour more, however, and you’re having no such luck. You’re beginning to think that you’re walking right out of Helovia and into the neighboring land when you see it.
Your mouth falls open. For one usually so good at controlling her facial expressions, you make quite a comical sight…but then again, who wouldn’t if they saw what you’re seeing. It’s an island. Floating. In the sky. Gaping, you walk closer, craning your neck in attempt to see better. Waterfalls flow off of the sides, vanishing into thin air. Well…not exactly. Thick clouds cluster around the—wait, are they moving? Faster than you can skitter out of the way, they gather around your hooves, and rapidly, inexplicably, you begin to rise.
Thankfully no one’s around, because if they could hear you screaming, they’d think the world was about to end. Shaking, you stand stock still as the cloud carries you skyward. Legs stiff, your eyes dart back and forth, as you wonder what will become of you? You knew you should have turned around. That’s what you get for wandering in this godsforsaken wasteland, Sheba, you idiot. Coming all this way only to get yourself dropped off a cloud and killed!
As if the cloud senses your thoughts, it drifts closer to the island, coming to rest in the middle of a grove of cherry trees. In a rather undignified manner, you leap off of the cursed thing, nearly tumbling to the ground in all of your stuff-legged glory. Your usual grace has been rather compromised by your unplanned adventure, and you manage a few wobbly steps before flopping onto the grass. What. Was. That.
You don’t know how long you lie there, regaining your bearings, but finally you roll to your feet and shake yourself off. You are just beginning to appreciate the beauty of the place. Eyes wide, you decide to take a little walk. You’re here anyway, right, and there’s no telling how you’ll get down. And it’s so peaceful. Not a soul in sight! So, you stroll out of the grove, appreciating the serenity…until you see him. Sighing to yourself, you roll your eyes. So much for tranquility. But, it might be worth investigating whatever this place is, so you approach him.
His back is to you, and because you really don’t feel like getting skewered on his horns (one near-death experience is quite enough for today, thank you), you call out. “Bonjour, monsieur. Can you tell me what this place is?”
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
07-06-2014, 10:22 PM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2014, 10:24 PM by Rostislav.)
Rostislav
My peace is interrupted by the approach of another. I hear the hoofbeats behind me, smell her scent. She calls out to me, not wanting to surprise me. Wise, padowan learner. Damaris continues to romp in the field, not sensing any unease from me. I look over my shoulder, then finally turn my body around to face the newcomer. I stay quiet for a moment, and look her up and down. A unicorn, pale, with a golden horn. She seems a little unnerved. I'm surprised I'm not more unnerved myself. I credit the vodka for that, and as the thought comes to mind, I reach down and grab my drinking pouch, pulling it up to my lips for a few swigs. I let it drop to my chest again and look at the mare again. Did she get prettier?
"Zdravstvuyte tovarishch." She speaks French. I do not speak French. Stupid French. So I give her a little Russian in return. I have no fuckin' clue where we are. Do you? I cock an ear to the side, listening for Damaris, but staying keenly focused on the lady in front of me. Never trust the French, even the pretty, semi-blurry ones. I take a few steps toward her again and look around us. Trees, a field, these weird camp-like things. I'm not sure what to make of it all. Waterfalls falling over the edge of this island in the sky. As I look back into the middle, I think I see another figure, and in my mind I express concern for Damaris, wanting her to return to me. She does, and stops near me, eyeing the French one up and down as well. We Russians don't trust the French, can you tell? I take another swig from my pouch. Vodka always makes it better, if you ask me. You didn't ask me? Oh. Well fuck you.
07-08-2014, 01:11 PM (This post was last modified: 07-08-2014, 01:11 PM by Sheba.)
All she ever wanted was the world.
He turns his head before he turns his body, and you can’t help thinking that the head was quite enough. The stranger is...well, ugly, to put it nicely, with his milky eyes, horned face, and his drab pelt covered with grizzled gray hairs and littered with scars. You notice that he’s got some sort of pouch around his neck, and while you don’t know what’s in it, when he takes a few sloppy swigs from it as you walk up, he’s not helping detract from his image as a rather unsavory character. And the way he looks you up and down…well, you’re used to that, but he should know that he’s got no chance with someone like you. The thought of it! Still, it appeals to your vanity, and you are reminded of how heavenly you must look with your slim white body swaying towards him in this idyllic little field and the cherry blossoms blowing all over the place. It’s probably some sort of dream come true for him. Assuming that he can’t see you very well with those cave-creature eyes, you let your nose wrinkle with the slightest hint of disgust: really though, what is a thing like him doing in a place like this?
Apparently, he has no idea either, as he so very politely informs you after a bit of deranged babbling (lovely, he’s quite the charmer too, isn’t he? you muse, ears flicking irritably at his easy profanity). “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too,” you reply sarcastically, not bothering to waste the pleasant tone of your greeting upon him again. “I have no idea what this place is. Why else would I be asking you?” Remind you why you walked up to this stranger again?
@[Rostislav]
I foresee some snippy banter Cx
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
I see her nose wrinkle as she takes in my appearance. But I take in HER appearance, too (again), and I realize that.. Hey. She's.. pretty fine. And you know, maybe, I could tap that.. Will she let me? I'm not a rapist, boys and girls, I only want it if she wants it. But right now it is clear, she does not want the D. Not even Rosti D. My handsome shape (short and fat), my soulful eyes (super bad vision from drinking), my handsome mane and tail (what in God's name did you drag that in?!)... And she still finds me unattractive?! Perhaps I can change her mind. I turn around slowly, and as un-awkwardly as possible. I mostly succeed, just as she is giving me a few choice words. Her sarcasm isn't lost on me, but I act as if I am only taking her words at face value. Maybe a little French thing is a nice change to the usual..nothing. I approach her slowly, stopping far enough away to continue to give her space. Damaris stays away, unaware of anything happening with me. Good for her - she needs a break from me anyway.
Of course, this ivory unicorn's sarcasm begs a sassy reply in return. Hopefully it won't put her off of me anymore than she is now, but it's a risk I have to take. I can't roll over and play dead with such a fun introduction, now can I? "I dunno, maybe you just wanted to stop and ask a handsome devil like me for directions." I manage to pull off what I think is a sexy wink. Rostislav, at your service. I perform a surprisingly good bow, not something I do too often. I myself am surprised that I am able to maintain my balance, but maybe there's a few tricks that this old dog (I'm not THAT old) has still up his sleeve. Hide. Leg? Forget it.
Walk. Talk.
@[Sheba]
He's torn between wanting to seduce and wanting to sass.
07-14-2014, 05:17 PM (This post was last modified: 07-14-2014, 05:17 PM by Sheba.)
All she ever wanted was the world.
Old milky-eyes here takes a few steps closer to you as you snip at him, and something finally seems to click in that little brain of his. At this range, even someone as half-blind as he cannot help but notice that you are positively stunning. Radiant. Not the average mare, are you? You smirk as you register the change in his demeanor—the less-than-subtle once-over he gave you a minute ago, you expect that he gives that to anything that moves. But up close? He transforms before your eyes from a gruff old thing to a performer, no doubt having finally come to his senses about what a gem he’s discovered.
“I dunno,” he quips back, seemingly ignoring your snide remark, “maybe you just wanted to stop and ask a handsome devil like me for directions.” Is he…is he winking at you? You stifle your amusement for the moment though, because evidently, he hasn’t finished. “Rostislav, at your service,” he proclaims, slipping into a bow. Now that gets your attention. You suspect the stranger is only after oh, exactly one thing from you, but at least someone around here has finally bothered to show you a little respect. Perhaps you’ll humor him for a bit.
“Hmm,” you murmur drily, not appearing overly impressed with his antics. “I suppose introductions would be the polite thing to do. You may call me Sheba,” you inform him, tossing your forelock out of your eyes. Your honey-brown gaze seeks his cloudy one before you let the next words fall. “And quite frankly, I don’t know if it’s my lucky day, to come across someone as…as, ah, as handsome as you Rostislav,” you return, tongue rolling on the “R” of his name in a manner that perhaps will placate any offense taken at the remaining touch of sarcasm. “On the contrary,” you purr, taking a step closer, “if it’s anyone’s lucky day, I’d say it’s yours.”
@[Rostislav]
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
It is painfully obvious that the words that have left my mouth are just the ones this vixen wants to hear. I hate debasing myself to get into a girl's pants, but you know, when you're desperate.... I'm not saying I'll do anything to get some sugar, but.. I'll do a lot. It just depends on my mood and how pliant I'm feeling that day. Today I'm feeling quite pliant, and I succumb to the notion of playing her game. She finds me repugnant - it's written all over her face, and her sweet-as-nectar voice certainly tries to hide it. But perhaps if I can flatter her just enough, she'll let me .. in. I don't care if she regrets it the next day, or the rest of her life. I don't care much at all - I'm here to enjoy myself, and hopefully she can enjoy herself, too.
I've won her over enough for her to return her name. Sheba. Hmmm.. The name doesn't ring a bell. Perhaps she's a nobody. A very delicious nobody. If I had pupils perhaps you could see them dilating with desire, but on this one occasion, that deformity works in my favor. She's prepared to sass me again as soon as she delights me with her name. I chuckle and take a few steps closer, closing the distance between us, provided she doesn't back up suddenly. You are right. It IS my lucky day. Can I tip the odds in my favor? I nod down at the pouch resting on my muscular chest. Can I offer you a drink, Miss Sheba? My leonine tail swishes back and forth silently, slowly, as I try to develop a strategy in my head. Where is my in? Flattery is a good start, but will it close the deal?
To your satisfaction, Rostislav takes the bait, closing the distance between you as fast as those short little legs will carry him. If he wasn’t trying to take you home—or at least, into the nearest copse of cherry trees—you’d find his eagerness amusing. As it is, however, you are sure that is exactly what he wants to, and since that is the case…well, it’s better not to feel much at all about this short little suitor, no matter how much his advances appeal to your vanity.
“You are right,” he chortles with all the subtlety of a rampaging grizzly bear, “it IS my lucky day.” Glad he knows it. You almost feel a pang of remorse for what you intend to do with him, since from the looks of it, he hasn’t had many lucky days…ever. But, the show must go on, and any regrets that may have taken root are promptly weeded out of your emotional garden when he offers you a drink. You’re all for playing games, of course, but taking a sip of this stranger’s mystery juice isn’t exactly what you had in mind. You gather that it’s not poisonous—after all, you saw him take a swig of his own—but still, isn’t this one of those chief rules of life? Article five, Don’t take drinks from strangers, subsection b, especially if you don’t know what in the world the drink actually is?
You tell him as much, laughing at his suggestion as if he has just told a particularly amusing joke. “Ah, monsieur Rostislav, your generosity does entertain me,” you return, shaking your head gently. “But I’m afraid that I don’t take drinks from strangers. Perhaps if we were to get better acquainted…” You leave the sentence unfinished, your suggestion lingering lightly on your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you prompt him. It is more of a command than a suggestion, but you assume that he’ll play along. After all, he wanted to have fun, didn’t he?
@[Rostislav]
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
She's got me right where she wants me, in the palm of her hand. And honestly I'm not too pleased about it. I contemplate a scenario of walking up to her delicate figure and just shoving her off the ledge. Her screams and the panicked look in her eyes as she flails, trying to hold on, but my strength is too much and she falls. Her cries diminishing as she nears the earth, and then so far away that I can't even see her body crumple on the ground. Am I a murderer? Well, I can be. But as annoyed as I am about my disadvantage, I'm not that annoyed. Well, I don't think I am. I swallow a sigh. This is already getting a little tiresome.
She laughs softly, like twinkling bells. But does she know that I'm letting her leave the pretty veil of beauty on? Does she know that I could pull it away and see the ugly whore that she is? She doesn't have to sleep with me to prove it. It's her persona, her vain character - not just her actions. She compliments my generosity, those words so smooth like a snake's whispers of promised knowledge. Get better acquainted? I know what she is suggesting, and I'm pretty sure she will never give it to me. You're showing your cards my dear, and I won't fold. She prompts me demands that I tell her more about myself. No, no, that's not how it's going to go sweetie, look at what you're about to be dealt. No, please, ladies first. Tell me all about yourself, Miss Sheba. My voice is deep, and I try to bring out the nicer tone.. more rich than gruff, but still with a little sexy gravel to it. Dem ladies love dat gravel.
His response isn’t quite what you expected, and your ears loll to the side in dissatisfaction. If he thinks that talking about yourself is a turn on (and his tone implies that much), he’s sorely mistaken. Yes, there are some mares out there who will go on for days about themselves, chattering and twittering like vain little sparrows, it is true. But again, you aren’t like other mares, are you?
On the other hand, something else is slowly beginning to dawn on you. Though you are displeased that he has evaded you, you find it interesting how naturally he has effectively managed to turn the tables on you. Perhaps there is more to this pudgy stallion than meets the eye, you are beginning to think. Could it be that a glimmer of intelligence lurks beneath that thick skull of his? At any rate, the possibility of his little trick puts you on alert, and you proceed with more caution than you would have with the Rostislav of five minutes ago.
You don’t bother to mask your disappointment—that much is real—and at his request, you deflate noticeably. Pouting now that the pleasant electric hum of arousal is gone from the air between you, you decide that you might as well oblige him. “Oh monsieur,” you begin with a terse laugh, “Do you want the short story, or the long?” Gone from your voice is the sultry edge; instead it has been replaced by weariness. “I’ll spare you the details, cherie, because it’s like every other sob story out there. Never knew my father, grew up with an idiot of a mother, left home young…I’m sure you follow, yes?” you ask him with a rather cynical shake of the head. “I must confess, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. I’m afraid that a troubled past doesn’t add much to my intrigue, does it?” you admit drily. Velvet muzzle wrinkles in a half-smirk, and you lower your head to yank up a few fresh dandelions. If Rostislav wants to be a buzz kill, might as well get a meal in. You’re certainly no longer in the mood for much else at this point.
@[Rostislav]
OOC: I realize that this is bad timing, and I apologize for her being a butt >_> Just felt bad because it's been like two weeks!
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
I'm surprised that her act fades so quickly. When I ask her about herself, she visibly deflates. Whatever game we were playing, I ended it, popped the bubble of illusion and left us with shreds on the floor. The look of disappointment and dissatisfaction on my face makes me even more curious, wondering what exactly she was hoping my response would be. I have a moment where I feel bad for asking... but it disappears, and my face remains unchanged - except that it seems a little bit... Colder. Sheba tells me the short story of her life. I'm not sure that I really meant that I wanted to know her history, but she's provided it anyway, and I sense that she might be telling me the truth. Unless she's trying to win pity from my heart? She won't find any here, that's for sure. My own past has left me jaded. You might expect me to empathize, to tell her I know how she feels and it'll get better. No.. no I like having the upper hand here and right now it's all mine. I took back the advantage and I will keep it thankyouverymuch. My face like stone, and my words come out cold as well, though their content is quite different. "Oh, dorogaya, you poor thing. How.... unfortunate. Troubled pasts make you SO much more intriguing." A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips, but fails to make a full blown appearance. Of course, she might expect that I will confess my own tale, but I think I'll keep those cards a little closer to the chest, if you please. "A pretty thing like you has certainly come out on top, don't you think? Where are you from? Certainly not this island as we've both just discovered it." Stating the obvious to get to a different answer.. well that's one method. Is this a conversation or interrogation? It started as the first, and I may have been trying to get my you know what inside her you know what. But now, I think I may be more successful with the latter.
He is indifferent to your history; that much is clear. His words are properly sympathetic, but his tone is unfeeling, lending him a rather derisive air. Needless to say, you don’t appreciate it.
But it seems as if Rostislav is not done with you. Like crocodiles sensing blood in the water, his next questions slither through the mud to snap at you where you stand. “A pretty thing like you has certainly come out on top, don’t you think? Where are you from? Certainly not this island, as we’ve both just discovered it,” he adds slyly. Well, that’s interesting, you think, forgetting your moodiness in your sudden caution. For someone supposedly so disinterested in your past, you hadn’t expected any follow-up questions from the brute. Is he trying to get information out of you? While you’re not sure why he wants to know, the fact that he’s asking makes you suspicious.
“Oh, neither here nor there,” you reply politely, yet dismissively, in between bites of dandelion. “I’m sure that if I were to list the places I’ve seen, it would be quite boring,” you continue. “Nowhere you’re from, I trust—your accent is one that I would remember,” you remark, commenting on his rather…unique style of address. “You’re right though, I’ve never seen a floating island before. Vanishing seas, yes; subterranean mountain ranges, certainly! But a rock in the sky?” You laugh drily, as if the whole thing is ridiculously impossible.
“Ah,” you sigh as your chuckling subsides, “You must forgive me though, monsieur, for I feel as if I am dominating the conversation. I never gave you a chance to answer my earlier question—do tell me about yourself. We can even make it a game, if you like that sort of thing. Question for a question, what do you say?”
@[Rostislav]
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
She's wary of me and I can't blame her. I'm becoming more and more wary of the snakes that surround me as well. Here and there, they seem neverending. I've never thought of myself as that offensive a guy, but it seems there's always some nonsense that starts up when I'm around - especially with the female folk. I mean no offense to the fairer sex at all, of course not. But I really want to know what it is in the water that makes them all so... well, unbearable. This one is certainly up to no good, but I feel much more assured that she's not batshit crazy. She nibbles on dandelions and pretends disinterest while waving off my question. I keep my annoyance at bay. If I'm playing games she has a right to play games as well. She plays with words and ignores my question, keeping me wondering not only where she's from, but if there's a reason she has decided to keep this information from me. Is it shame? Is this secret, covert information? Does she just feel like being coy? I can't really tell from her tone. Instead, I'll just have to find satisfaction in making her have to defend herself.
She turns the tables on me, and asks me to answer much of the same questions. She notices my accent - who could possibly NOT notice it? - and points it out to me. I let a genuine, simple smile cross my face. "Aye, I am from far away. Not someone you would know of, I'm sure." I snort a little and cock my head, thinking about the questions she poses. Should we do one question each back and forth? Well...why not. "A fair enough proposal. I am from the Falls, originally from Mother Russia." I watch her nibble the dandelions and don't move, being very passive in my questions. "Now I must ask again where you're from? I hope you know I mean no harm by it." And truly I don't. I'm actually pretty harmless unless you piss me off, and I am not pissed off. Not even close.
For the time being, it appears as if he’s agreeable enough to your little game. While you remain cautious, you’re gradually relaxing, enjoying the satisfaction that has crept, catlike, into your chest at his compliance. But your curiosity will not be completely appeased—not yet. You trust that that feeling will come when he’s performed to your liking. The only unfortunate part is, there’s no guarantee of that.
As you suspected, he’s from nowhere that you’re familiar with. While the stag does certainly seem to enjoy talking about his homeland, you bite back your annoyance. You don’t really care where he’s from unless it tells you something about him. You’re after his essence, his being, the interesting bits, not his hometown. But it’s your own fault, you suppose. You should have been more specific, and now you are paying for it.
And all too soon, it is Rostislav’s turn to ask a question of his own in your version of civilized prying. Like a dog with a bone, he returns to his last question, but he won’t make the same mistake that you just have. He leaves you no room to be vague this time, for he wants names and places—that much his phrasing makes clear. While he promises that he does not mean harm with his inquisitions, your ears tilt back defensively. They are not flat, merely a hint of your displeasure, but it is a sign to him nonetheless. However, you got yourself into this game, and you’re not ready to stop playing yet. “A question’s a question, I suppose,” you sigh, indicating your reluctance. “As I said before, I have been many places, but I trust you’re after just the one—my birthplace, oui? I come from a part of the world known as Ailleurs. It is far away, and I have never returned.” You frown slightly, your tone making it apparent that you do not hold the same fondness for this place that he does for his precious Mother Russia.
“Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, for I know you do not mean to offend with your curiosity. My question to you though, is of what value to you is my birthplace? A stranger’s origins are a mere trifle to most, yet you have asked me twice.” You tilt your head, awaiting his answer, for truly, you are mystified.
@[Rostislav]
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
I can see by her body posture and the tilt of her ears that Sheba is not particularly pleased with my questioning, or my persistence. The answer she gives me is not quite what I had hoped to gain - it contains no information of where she resides here in Helovia. Honestly, I'm more interested because she has continually dodged the question. My nostrils flare as I sigh, and let the thoughts and moment itself slide easily from my mind. She is from some place named Ailleurs. Strange, and she is right in saying that I don't know the place. She frowns and it seems she does not have good memories of the place. Perhaps she would rather forget it. Her question and point about trifles is good and true, and I concede that I may have pressed more than I need to. "Aye, I've pressed a fair bit, only because you evaded the question. I do not care where you are from." I shrug and turn my head, acting as though I have much better things to do with my time, as if there are things I'd rather do and may be more interested in. In truth, I have no where in particular to be, but that doesn't mean that I can't push her a little to be more open. "Do you have another question for me?" I flick my own ears and swish my leonine tail around my legs as I watch her pale form. There's something strange about Sheba, but I find her intriguing and I'd rather enjoy having our question game continue much, much further.
My ears flick back, listening to the sounds of Damaris barking at those who may be on the island now. She is full of glee and oblivious this time to any unease or annoyance from me. Well, at least one of us is carefree. I reach down and grab the flask from around my neck, taking a swig and letting the strong drink flow down my throat. I gulp it down, and let the flask fall to my chest so it may fill up again. Ahhhh... A strong drink always eases my nerves and any tension that may fill my mind.
When he sighs and admits that he only pressed the matter to watch you squirm, your stance relaxes a little more. While you find it distasteful, you cannot fault the stocky stallion for his proclaimed motive—you’d do the same. You know that watching a reaction is the most entertaining part, and though you rather regret that he got a true rise out of you, at least it piqued his interest. Now that you’ve given him a seemingly straightforward answer, he appears bored. Don’t go, not yet, you command him mentally, shifting your position slightly so that he might have a more appealing view of you for the next round. You’d like him to stay and play this game, even if he doesn’t think it has a point—there is always a useful tidbit or two to be gleaned from a rousing round of ask-and-tell.
“Do you have another question for me?” Rostislav inquires offhandedly, with a swipe of his tasseled tail. You don’t bother reminding him that it’s his turn to ask you a question again—if this is what he’s using for his turn, he’s a fool…but you like fools. “Oh, I always will, Rostislav,” you promise, offering him a small smile, “You intrigue me, you know.” The confession is uttered with the slightest of arched brows. “Hmm, whatever shall I ask…” You survey him, eyes meeting his own, then trailing up, past his ears and then down his neck. The pouch. “Ah, here’s my next one. Let’s stray from geography, shall we? What...what would happen to me if I took a drink from that satchel of yours?” You glance sideways at him, mouth twisted into an amused smirk. Is it just you, or has the faintest crackle of electricity sparked in the air between you once more?
@[Rostislav]
OOC: So sorry for the embarrassingly long wait! I’m all over the place with this, as you can probably see O.o
Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
The flask hangs at my chest and my eyes glaze over a bit as I stare at nothingness somewhere just behind Sheba. I'm listening, even though I may or may not appear to be, but I don't... see. It's hard to tell, when there are no pupils, just exactly where my gaze wanders. In my peripheral vision I notice her stance relaxes, and she seems less threatened by my questioning. I didn't really realize I was being threatening - good for me! She says she's intrigued by me, and I chuckle quietly to myself, finding pleasure in her compliment but also struggling to imagine viewing myself from another's perspective. When her words lead to asking about my drinking pouch, my ears twitch forward, then back, and my non-responsive eyes turn their focus to her face, and I watch her warily. Is she thinking about taking my enchanted pouch? Maybe.. but she's not asking for it, she's asking what it would do to her. Do to her. I can't help myself. "Well it's an inanimate object, I doubt it would DO anything to you." I chuckle again, a gargly laugh passing my lips. I swish my tail back and forth, amused with my joke. I can't imagine she enjoys me poking fun at her, but oh well. "Ah, my pardon. The liquid inside does different things to different bodies, but it may make you feel more relaxed, aroused... Maybe dizzy, blur your vision. Depends how much you drink." I'm honest with her, but I don't tell her what the drink actually is. Does the name of it even really matter? I suppose all that matters is what it does. I watch her for a moment, trying to guess her intentions. It is my turn again to ask a question. I think I may squander it, but I'm following my gut. "Would you like to try some? I'm open to sharing, as long as you don't steal it." I wing at her, and my ears perk forward again, at ease.
WC: 337 Tag: @[Sheba] No worries :) I don't mind the wait, it lets me catch up on other posts! xD Sorry it's so short :/
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