"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.
07-24-2014, 06:10 PM (This post was last modified: 07-24-2014, 08:30 PM by Erebos.)
Time held a ticking hand on the bundles of curiosity. Youth endeavored to exploit, leap, and bound into its intervals, lace and weave adventures into the palm of its unruly alms, press and cajole until it gave up and allowed the lacquer of foolish freedom. Intrigue, mysteries, unraveling the nature, the wonder, the labyrinths, the enigmas surrounding their world was an eternal blip of childhood, and for all their inquiries, few were ever truly answered without guidance, without perils, without escapades. The wilderness provided a wide berth into their exhalation, into their merriment, into their delight, to soar into the skies, leap into crystalline waters, to venture deep into mazes and warrens, to beseech and possess the fiery incantations their parents spoke of, dreamed of. Speculations washed and varnished the days of ignorance, like sparks, like burns, like cinders, rupturing, scalding, igniting passionate, fervent tirades, and they sank into their lilting hides and pervading tomes of the earth, reaching for solutions not entirely in their grasp. Wait until you’re older the world whispered, wait until you’re stronger, the lands murmured, wait until you’re wiser, the winds crooned – but if they were to forever linger in the doldrums of biding, all they’d become were anticipating, anxious fiends, basking and pulling at their chains, or listless dogs, parched and scorned. Erebos held no inclination or aspiration of suspending, pausing, his crusades, too emboldened, too audacious, springing from the coils of daring, intrepid beasts, confident, assured, and brazen, christened in ashes and coals. He yearned to see the sovereigns, the terrains, the kingdoms beyond their mountainous walls, to witness power in sanctions of dust or cliffs, to possess and seize knowledge of palaces and palisades out of reach. He longed to stand amongst the unknown, trace and sketch the unruly boundaries, press his wild, untamed fixtures into the loams and declare sagacity upon its prowess; he wanted to know, to understand, to picture the provinces postured in stories and tales. The Hidden Falls, Adelric’s home, with its cascading water, or the World’s Edge, with its misty moors, or the Dragon’s Throat – because what was it like to see a dragon, a flying lizard, a firebreathing beast? Who was crowned in the smoking depths of the desert? How had it failed to fall beneath wars and pestilence?
Luckily, he had companions with similar machinations – Aithniel, flying, ivory beacon of the Basin (who claimed she’d been born within the depths of the all-mighty dunes), and Rikyn, for fellow princes always stuck together. They snuck and calculated, slithered and sidled, marched and presided as icy convoys and envoys, hummed in silence and thought in humble decrees. The lithe scion dipped and rambled over the lands of the lost; through thickets and fields, past bleeding, ferocious caves, choking, smothering, hazardous dust, refusing to falter, to turn back. Stubborn and resolute, determined and chaotic, the ruthless entropy drove his shell, his vessel, amongst the treacherous masses, potent puissance on each dreg of their journey. The lightest snippet of snake coils curled along his mind: what would his father say if he knew they were wandering through the depths of desecration, if they were escaping glaciers for sand, if they were marking explorations with brutal finesse? Pushing the sentiments away, for he held no desire for his features to become distorted and molten, he proceeded along as the terrain changed, calling over his shoulder to his comrades. “It’s so hot here!” The climate shift was a cumbersome thing, clinging to his hide like a strangling, smothering cloak; so different from their cool, chilling wind and frigid rime, but he presumed they were getting closer if the scathing, savage heat was pressing into their lungs, across their spines, out their veins as sweat and tested fortitude.
Eventually they seemed to have made it: a wide island etched by massive walls, solid stone, by carnivorous craters, by callous canyons and brilliant red hues, carved dunes and shoal carved and sculpted by an tide’s ebb and flow (perhaps he could dance and skate along its edge too – meet the sea again). Not daring to cross the strip of narrow bridge, Huyana had always commented on borders, and honestly, he didn’t know if they had machines like their grand, stalwart sentinels looming in the distance, striking down non-inhabitants and curious, prying eyes, the lad simply stared, jaw slightly slack, eyes widened, itching to take everything in. Exclamations slipped from his mouth without reluctance, impressed with the stone structures and reeling columns, the seemingly endless flat expanse, the ocean rolling into its confines. “Wow!” Most intriguing and surprising was the piece of timber in the distance, scarlet, ruddy, like spilled blood, like splashed ichor, and the little beast wondered what it meant, what it represented, or if its existence was a normal part of the wastes, thriving amongst the cactus and grass. Inclining his cranium towards his brethren, with a ruffian smirk, a hint of pride at their arrival and investigations, he voiced aloud the first question of many, twisting his head ever so slightly to indicate the cardinal tree. “What do you think that is?”
[Basin foal exploration/adventures at the Dragon’s Throat borders. Please wait for the other foals to respond first! Thank you!
@[Rikyn] @[Aithniel] ]
EREBOS
Clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
Eye on what I'm after
I don't need another friend
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid
I was going to drown in sweat.
As if the insanely long walk hadn’t been enough, the summer sun in this region was piercing and relentless as a rain of burning arrows. Erebos and I had the short end of the stick, our dark coats soaking in the light and reaching a point of heat that I was sure would ignite dry grass if I was to drop down and roll in it if it wasn’t for all the perspiration running down my body. My fellow prince speaks my sentiments aloud and I look at him with the exasperated face of a tired and rotten little boy who is beginning to regret tagging along on this adventure, though my heart is still set on finding whatever we might find in the desert land I’d only ever heard of in tales. I try and blink the expression off my face and manage to subdue it into a frown that collects the grit of the red sand in its folds. "It’s stupidly hot," I reply, dark ears falling back on my head as I look over at my sister, "how the hell did you not turn into a puddle before you made it to the meadow?"
The place where we had found her, the Thistle Meadow, was well behind us and the last stretches of not-on-fire air along with it, and the further away we came the harder it was to believe that she had drug her weak, tiny little body all that way. The evidence of the sand in her coat had been enough to subdue my worries that she’d been lying and good enough reason for me to tag along on this adventure even without having been shown the path by momma; Aithniel would know, and if nothing else, we would find the sea and follow the shore to wherever the Dragon’s Throat was. All in all, it had seemed pretty foolproof and entirely delightful while nice and cool back home in the mountain valley.
Now, it was just stupid.
Blessedly, the land transforms not long after I began wondering if we would ever make it there, an obvious border present in the form of a land bridge reaching out through the sea towards a greater mass. There wasn’t much on the island like mass but for a really, really big tree or maybe just a bizarre rock formation (momma had said something about a shrine in the World’s Edge made of stone) and what looked like some barriers out across the distance, but just like Erebos, I am not too eager to leap into someone else’s territory, and so I stop alongside him and excitedly take in the view between glances at my companions.
"I don’t know," I say, narrowing my eyes to look further in after Erebos asks what the tall thing is out in the distance, "maybe it’s where the Sun God lives, like the Mirror back home." I frown momentarily before breaking into a deep bout of laughter. "What an ugly house!"
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.
I didn't give up the light; I closed my eyes and closed myself
Aithniel did not so much claim that she was born in the desert as much as she assumed. Looking back on the beginning of her hungry and horrid life, full of sand and pathetically thin, she knew that she had traveled north. What else was south of the Thistle Meadow besides the desert? What she did not know is if she was born inside the herd or not. All she remembered was something about a kind, golden girl and breaking out from darkness to lightness. In fact, Aithniel wasn't sure that she had even been born.
But, let them think what they will. She was just happy to have been invited along, since she rarely got to join in on these sort of outings. Illynx had taken her to the Veins of the Gods, but that hardly counted since she had gone with that woman. Honestly, she should be nicer to the mare who saved her, but the she just made it so difficult sometimes!
The sun did not bother Aithniel much, and now, out of sight of the adults, she pushed her wings from her body, encouraging wind to slide past her skin and cool her down. What she did not realize what that this journey was unsanctioned, and that she might be blamed for dragging them all out here. Aithniel's hooves padded over the sand as they approached, feeling the heat rise in waves and nodding when Erebos spoke. She turned to Rikyn as he complained, a sour expression on her warrior's face.
"I was starving," she said snappishly. "I wasn't worried about how hot it was, but I don't remember it being this hot..." she trailed, taking in a deep breath that felt like swallowing boiling water. The expanse spread out before her, and she remembered the sand like a very, very, bad memory or some sort of hellish nightmare. A sensation of abandonment hit her hard in the chest, and she took a single step closer to her two best friends. This is where her mother, whoever had birthed her, had left her alone to die. This was where the golden one had tried to rescue her.
Aithniel's visage, normally expressive, became rather cold and distant as she looked at the remnants of metal and a massive tree in the distance. She shut off her feelings, worried that if she showed how scared and hurt she was by this place that Rikyn or Erebos might laugh at her. Or, worse yet, might say that she was just as Zikar said and not in control, needing her wings stripped to save her from herself. The thought made her shudder despite the heat.
Erebos and Rikyn spoke, but the words sounded like they were underwater as she watched the sand move back and forth in the heated breeze. She looked up after, seeing the tree and hearing the tail end of Rikyn's words. Aithniel snorted in amusement at his words, shaking her head. "I think he lives in fire," she said, not knowing how she knew that at all. "Maybe it's just the only thing that grows out here in all this stupid dust." The words out of her mouth were more malicious and harsh than she had been before.
Whoever lived here could not be good. They left her to die, and if not for Rikyn and Illynx, they would have succeeded.
Children, unnaturally harsh in a lot of ways, always remain immune to the poison they spit until a certain age of understanding and maturity either comes to bitch slap them in the face at perfect timing, such as Sikeax had received, or can be a sweet, gentle rhythm that is simple to dance to that comes with age. The ones at the border, small, frail, little things mimic deer with their old legs, and oddly shaped body. All but one are dark shaded, and as she carried herself closer to them, a kinder member of the Dragon's Throat's meet and greet squad, their words lost any pity she would of kindly offered them. Their hues reflected their heart.
Upon further inspection, she finds one is winged. They each reek a pungent odor of Aurora Basin, but she will not steep to the level they had been at when she came to their borders at their age. Doing so would give her family, clan, whatever you wished to call the ones she resided in the desert with, a bad look as they had done her. Good was in each bad place, it was merely the task of finding it that made others lose interest, and deem the whole thing hopeless as a broken winged bird flying.
Pushing away her annoyance, the feeling of being insulted because she would never act such a way when it came to another's home, brought forth by a slow trot to show that, yes, she has noticed them, and is interested, but it is not her highest priority when the heat was so high in the day. They should of had brains, and waited, having lounged around in the ocean, patiently waiting for the cooler part of the day when the Sun was not at the highest point.
Clearing her throat once she stands at her side of the border, desperate but clearly confused in the act of trying to hide that she is a shy thing so that her home is not further more laughed upon, a distance of a few yards is kept between her and them. A hurt child was her last death wish on an ever-growing list. "It is rude to speak of someone's home in such a way, in that, may I politely remind all of you, that you are the strangers standing on my doorstep."
An another member had the ability, and self control, to be harsher to the youth. Her tone was light, only meaning to prove a point without being entitled as rude. "Yet, as my guests, I find that it's better to kind. I am Sikeax, a healer for the Dragon's Throat. What can I do for the three of you?"
Blue eyes soften lightly, melting a harsh look out of them by the heat of the Sun. She had once been one of them, and knew full well as of they could be. Their state was easily bendable, one that, if she would find the will to step into the light of kindness, could be shown a better light.
OOC: Hope you don't mind her. She may not be the best, but she's a bit nicer than some.
Also, Bunnie, it's up to you if it's before or after that Rikyn met Sikeax at the island.
"If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?"
In winter, some voices are like coats - Mosteghanemi
New foals at Blood Tree, Ilaria cooed into his mind. Cera lifted a dripping muzzle from the waters of the Oasis, swallowing down the mouthful he'd collected before turning. Ilaria was out hunting the various desert life, and while he had anticipated the faithful ebb and flow of information between the two of them, such a revelation was not expected. Foals were one thing for sure, they often traveled in groups anyways, but foals not of the desert sands? Frowning softly, worried for what had driven them past their borders, Ilaria let a wave of comfort and reassurance flow over him. Sia with them. They are well, unharmed. Even though she had assured them they were not in any danger, in her voice that echoed in his head there was a very clear summons. Go ahead of me, Ria. She'll remember you. There was a note of affirmation on Ilaria's end before she ran off on limber paws to find Sikeax.
Far smaller than the average horse, even those gathered who were far younger than those such as her bonded, she was not nearly as noticeable when approaching. Even still she barked loudly up at Sikeax to announce herself before turning warm cocoa eyes to the gathered trio of foals. Cooing happily to greet them in her own fashion she waved her tail pleasantly against the sand before sitting a few lengths from Sikeax, a clear message that they were unbonded but knew one another, a marking for where Cera would stand momentarily.
As predicted, the shadow of her princeling crossed the sands on massive wings, drifting over the warm drafts of the afternoon currents. Batting them against the currents as he drops, he hovers for a moment before swooping to let snow kissed hooves touch the clay and sand below, not wanting to disturb the sand around those collected. He tutted softly to himself as Sikeax commented a little sharply on one of the foal's words, Ilaria's ears his own prior to his arrival. Jogging forward with a pleasant smile, drawing himself up to the position he held and deserved to display, he hoped he could inspire some sort of calm atmosphere if they knew he was both ranked and kindly.
"All is well, Sia. We all have our opinions, yes?" Though he did chuckle softly at the colt's rather vivid mockery of the tree. Turning to view the small trio of young Basiners, he let his feathered appendages settle against his sides. "My name is Cera, I am the Diviner of the Dragon's Throat. So I can tell you, young sir, that no that is not the equivalent to your...mirror?" He hoped he had recalled that correctly, and Ilaria hummed her reassurance as she wrapped round his ankle lovingly.
"Though it is not meant to be beautiful, young prince. It is the only tree to survive the fires of the dragons that swept through this land long ago. The red sap it oozes stands as testament to the wars raged on these sands, and is meant to symbolize the blood spilled. Those of the sands call it the Dragon's Blood tree." Children enjoyed tales, didn't they? Cera hoped he did not seem overbearing, even with his calm features and warm curl of lips. Maybe that would impress the young colt more than his mockery of the potential Shrine it could have been.
"What brings you to our sands? May we know your names?" It felt odd to call them by anything aside their given titles, though Cera often called Ryuu and other nameless colts by 'young prince' as he had the darkly painted one with the golden trim. Hopefully it was not offensive, for though they were but foals, they were still foals of another herd and had the trust of their kin to back them on whatever they decided to share.
And now it's your chance to move on, change the way you've lived for so long,
find the strength you've had inside all along
I want to struggle and fall and be afraid
I want to persevere, stand back up, do it again
And never give up, let me run
I will run to where my imagination leads me
His coat, these days, seemed have taken on an odd orange hue. The dirt stuck to his fur, got in his ears, up his nose and clung to uncomfortable areas. It's bright orange colouration a stark contrast to his jet black coat, but it was something Sacre had now gotten used to. Before it had been the bright white of snow that melted and drenched him, now it was vibrant dirt that clung on hard in clumps and would remain for days if he didn't remove it himself or take a dip in the sea. The growing colt had decided that out of all the places to visit within the Dragons Throat, that the sea was his absolute favourite on days when the sun's heat was unrelenting. Even now he hummed to the images of cool water slapping against his sides, removing all signs of the stubborn dirt and returned his coat to its pristine shape. The thoughts were warm ones compared to what he had been thinking about earlier and his face contorted into a mixture of embarrassment and fear. A fact that, not too long ago, he had made a fool of himself in front of Tandavi.
First fawning over the sparkling Phaedra, whose power over him had been absolute until it quickly shifted to Tandavi. The feelings that had stirred that day still troubled him now. He wanted to find the fire coloured filly and apologise for his actions, yet he didn't even know how he could put it into words. Would 'sorry' even suffice?! Perhaps he would be forever doomed to her service for the rest of his life and there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't even sure he could say "I didn't mean it", because... Did he? If magic was at work then was it all magics doing? The question of if he liked Tandavi troubled him greatly as there was no clear cut decision in his heart. Instead, just like today, he pushed it aside with whimsical thoughts of diving in the sea. Refusing to come to terms with an increasingly complicated life.
Cloven hooves eagerly followed after his bubbly fox, his companion, his best friend that was his rock to keep his mind at ease. Their travels speeding along at a jaunty fun pace filled with the odd chase and game of tag until Sacre's blue eyes caught a well known familiar form of Sikeax. The filly who had originally brought him to the Dragons Throat where by now he spent his days.
He followed her silhouette intently until he came to a rather odd gathering. The subjects of question were three curious looking foals, two dark of colour colts and another winged lighter filly. Their youthful gazes tailored to the holy tree of the Throat whilst they tried to understand what exactly it was. Arriving to greet the foals was the golden paint stallion whom Sacre had only seen briefly once, introducing himself as Cera the Diviner. The red stained colt blinked in surprise before smiling in welcome, he'd never learnt this ones name never mind his title, it made him feel rather ignorant. Sikeax had stopped too and he offered her a fond smile before returning his attention to the three adventurers with an amused gaze.
Once, not all that long ago, he had been that small. That curious. He could almost feel the itch of that longing to know everything, which was still very much present in his life now. "Welcome young masters, my lady" he greeted them with lavish titles, trying to appeal to their young minds with fun words. Inari bounced forwards too, not knowing whether to investigate the foals or the intriguing looking panda who was coloured much like him. Instead the vulpine hovered between decisions, his body portraying immense excitement. "I'm Sacre. King of spies" he winked, clearly having too much fun.
07-28-2014, 09:20 AM (This post was last modified: 07-28-2014, 11:43 AM by Erebos.)
As the sweltering heat clawed around them, choking, strangling, and smothering, his lithe frame beaded with sweat, but he was drawn away from the cumbersome weight by his friend’s teasing and complaining. He laughed alongside them, the fawns of the north, plunging hellbound into southern venues and piercing sun; the little scion presumed if any Throat members came towards their peaks and valleys, they’d probably hold protests and objections as well. But his eyes glazed and glanced back over to the tree, nurtured by sand and soot, by sultry waves, enticed by Rikyn’s ruminations, kindling his own (could it truly be a house of the divine?). He’d met the Sun God before, had felt his stare ripple over his gangly frame before turning to someone else, yet, he couldn’t imagine the flaming deity staking claim over a piece of timber. Aithniel’s proclamation seemed a bit more realistic: a celestial being cloaked and breathing in fire, drenched in embers, soaked in infernos. Contemplations ran rampant, scouring and scraping over his childish whims and impish indulgences, only to be scarcely abandoned the moment another showed up. The filly approaching, like a watery beam on the horizon, older than their gathered group, was light-hued, and reminded him of the dunes piled and stored amongst sea beds and shores, horned (for a sword was an important thing to have), and was perhaps just as stalwart as the tide’s ebb and flow – her scolding voice pierced through their dusty glen – and he muffled the thought that he contained power over the ocean, that he could walk, run, and leap over her watery boundaries. The sneer threatening to corrode his features was also quickly stifled, extinguished, accepting the reprimand as he often did, schooling his fixture into reticence, as if it left him with no feeling at all. But her tone changed, and Erebos’ ears flicked over the alteration, carefully noting their proclamations as guests (it was a nice word, like they’d been invited instead of barging upon borders), her name, her status. Her softening caused the lad to diminish his defensive mode, plastering on a roguish smile, and his eagerness bayed over the stifling air, refusing to be suppressed. “We’re exploring! We wanted to see the Dragon’s Throat.”
They’re joined almost immediately thereafter by another: Cera, winged, sienna, tall, and pleasant. He wasn’t alone either, flanked by some ball of fur, and the colt’s eyes widened at the sight of this tiny animal, lowering his head to peer at it a little closer, to figure out what it could be before the inevitable query was launched from his throat. He snorted and watched clouds of dust puff from the ground, intrigued by its antics, by it’s cooing, and his gaze tore back to the stallion’s figure, voice bounding again with its wild, untamed exuberance. “What’s that? Is it yours?” A strong desire, wanton and unyielding, possessed him to inch forward, but he refrained, attempting to coax a modicum of respect on someone else’s lands; curiosity was tethered tautly, biding its time before it was unleashed. His mind floated back to the tree, listening with one eye still trained on the creature, hearing the tree was, in fact, not a house. He hoped Rikyn wasn’t terribly disappointed, and turned back to smile at him despite the incorrect nuance. Cera’s tale distracted him again, however, as he spun a story of dragons, a copse’s survival, sap running like blood, and swept away, enamored, the queries, the responses seared along his lips one by one. “I like it! It survived wars, which means its tough and brave!” Then sentiments swirled into another pitch altogether. “Do you have dragons here?” The mere thought of draconic lizards, flying, gliding, breathing molten fire and setting the world ablaze was a stirring, poignant image, and a slender hope built inside him at the chance of seeing one before their eyes. He almost uttered his herald, since Cera had asked for it so nicely, but then one more joined their throng, and he was distracted all over again.
This brujo was entirely different (and also had a fox! Did they collect animals here?), and the small prince’s eyes gestured wildly over his frame, ebony (goodness, surely an ineffectual color out in this heat), and then marked by blood splatter – and Erebos wanted to know so many things about him. How did he become stained in ichor? Did he fight in a war? Had he earned it as a symbol of his strength and fortitude? Even more fixating was his introduction, Sacre, King of Spies, and the title sounded amazing, to be crowned a lord over informants and sleuths, gathering secrets and clandestine affairs, scouring labyrinths, clenching cloaks and daggers. His appreciated ghosted and coasted in a wild exclamation and a wry smile - “Wow!” - before proceeding down more nefarious avenues. Perhaps he could practice being a scout, gathering information and revealing none about himself; furtive, specious, sly and sneaky, and without looking at either of his friends, he concocted and composed his first march into the surreptitious. The lie curled and coiled across his tongue, small, simple, straightforward, almost effortless, floating from his teeth on an easygoing grin, stolen from the pages of his mother’s tales, a grandfather touched by fire. “I’m Ignatius!” A sense of apprehension filled the back of his mind, because maybe his friends wouldn’t go along, would stare and give him away, and a keen wish stoked immediately behind it – maybe they’d join him in innocent deceit.
@[Rikyn]
EREBOS
Clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
Eye on what I'm after
I don't need another friend
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid
My ears fall back at Aithniel’s retort and I feel the sensation of anger burning in my heart that she responded with such harshness; it eases as she continues, however, and so I figure she’s only upset about being back here and irritable as every woman in the universe is. Having a scuffle this far into our adventure would be stupid, anyway, and so I settle into my steps with a scowl on my face, the taste of my pride as it went down bitter and agitating as this blasphemous heat.
She stays distant as we look out into the herd land, concern finding its way where the anger had just been as I glance over at her before Erebos and I delve into our thoughts as to what the odd, jutting figure is in the distance. I’m glad to hear her chortle in response to my jest that the tree is the hideous house of the Sun God, and what she says next is actually interesting and doesn’t dishearten me at all – I’m actually kind of glad its not a place a God lives. That wouldn’t say much for him at all.
The rest of it makes sense, too. How could anything grow out here? I look around me at the obliqueness of all the sand and nod in agreement with my sister.
I don’t get a chance to reply to her, though I want to, because there is someone approaching – multiple someone’s, really. The first is a unicorn who looks us all over with a nervous air that makes me wonder why it is she’s come to the border in defense of the land beyond. In the Basin, all of our soldiers and greeters are brave and bold, not meek or hesitant as this woman who takes a moment to gather her thoughts and softly disdain the conversation she overheard and the children who had said it all.
I look over the woman and wonder why it is she seems so familiar to me as she speaks.
The floating island, and a party! My brows rise as I look her over again and verify that, yes, this is the same woman who had sung the pretty song and drawn my attention at the gathering of the Edge folk. I look at her now with a new light of wonder, not having expected someone to have been at that gathering to be a member of a different herd aside from momma and I, and feeling a lot less hostile towards her for the realization that we had probably just caused a start in her heart (and my logic overcomes my need to extinguish the burning air around me), I turn to look at the next one that arrives to greet our entourage.
She shares with us her name and position and verifying that we had indeed found the treasure we were searching for.
Cursed treasure, gold with a black soul – but I keep quiet, Erebos’ bubbling in with his usual exuberance.
It’s a young, winged stag, painted a natural gold and white, and he chuckles at the mare called Sikeax and manages a smile from my surly face. The man also has a furry creature with him that I don’t recognize and that steals Erebos’ focus and sends his words rushing into the air again, my eyes looking over at him with amusement at his ever present vivacity and thirst for life as the stranger introduces himself.
He’s job the same sort of job as Zikar, it sounds like, and he seconds Aithniel’s words that the tree is not a summoning tool. He continues to explain its purpose, however, delving into a story that is actually quite exciting.
My eyes are wide by the end of his words and I glance back over to the hideous thing in the distance, suddenly enamored with it where I had just been projecting my agitation with the heat. In all honesty, the sweat dripping from me is forgotten in the grand, mental images that flash through me at the mention of dragons and flames, the memory of so much blood that it was forever given testament in the form of a funny looking tree that oozed red sap.
I wonder if the sap does anything special other than just ooze, but don’t ask.
"It’s a memory then is all?" I ask, still staring at it with scrunched up eyes and little tail flickering behind me in curious wonder. I’m not sure how a tree gives testament to anything, but that it survived a fire that left only a desert behind is pretty cool, like Erebos says.
He wants to know why we’re here, and I move to answer him but find my lips sealed as the best arrives for last. He’s a dark unicorn with red splashes along his pelt, drawing my eyes with reverence at the proud way he carries every muscle as he comes in behind his fox friend and capturing me with his elaborate greeting. When he gives us his name and the most wonderful of job titles I’ve ever heard, he has me staring at him with my heart quivering, set to burst for the sheer thrill it experiences at the thought.
His playful wink alludes to the fact that he is only jesting, but my young mind runs with the notion, pulls me into more dreams of adventure and conquest.
Erebos pauses alongside me for a moment, his next words pulling my eyes to him with as much tact as I can to not give away the game he has started; Ignatius? Wasn’t that one of the big names from our historical annals, some really important unicorn guy?
I look back at the members of the Throat with a friendly smile glued on my face, leaning a shoulder into Aithniel to hopefully imply that I want to play along, too.
"I’m his cousin, Dristan," I lie, using the first name that comes to my mind (a ploy on my grandmother’s name, in fact), feeling the giggles rise in my throat though I try to refrain from revealing the game, a glorious light burning in my eyes at the great amusement of this game, "and this is my sister, Amaryllis." I’d heard the name of the flower from momma earlier that week and thought it was pretty, and it was close enough to Aithniel that maybe she wouldn’t take offense to me picking her fake name for her. It was only a temporary guise, after all – surely she couldn’t get too mad, right?
"We wanted to see the desert, so we came," I explain, blinking drips of salty, painful sweat from my eyes, "it’s really hot this far south. How do you keep from sweating yourself to death? How do you find water out here? I haven’t seen any for ages. Do you just catch the rain in your mouths?"
A horrified look crosses my face as a thought and subsequent question finds its way into my mind.
"Does it rain here?"
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.
I didn't give up the light; I closed my eyes and closed myself
Aithniel made a face at the older girl with the blue horn when she was talking about being rude. Well it was rude to eavesdrop, so there. She didn't say anything though, but the sour expression on her cute, little face spoke volumes about her current attitude. Better to be kind? Oh really? What position is that, captain judgment? The hybrid averted her gaze to the newcomer, choosing not to say anything snappish again. Was it the heat or just this place that was making her so irritable? She could almost feel the hunger gnawing at her stomach again.
Then, a spotted one with giant wings approached, her jaw widened before she realized what a stupid face she was making, and she snapped it shut. Would her wings ever get that big? Was that what wings looked like? And oh no... would he be a violent animal like Zikar had warned? She stared with big, silver eyes, listening to what he was saying about the tree. So the tree was burned by dragons. That was scary.
Was that why they were so violent? Because the dragons ate their home?
Another unicorn approached then, which thoroughly confused Aithniel, and she stared at his black and red pelt, blinking. He was a spy, apparently, but he looked familiar somehow, as if she had at least seen someone who looked like him before. How was that possible? Erebos explained why they were there, which now seemed like a silly reason, and he questioned the tiny, fluffy, useless thing at the pegasus' side.
Aithniel had no interest in divining or the tree or anything here really, but she stood regardless next to her two friends, irritation bristling across her feathers and tainting her eyes. Then, Erebos introduced him as some name she didn't know, and she raised a brow. Rikyn, however, quickly stepped in and gave her a name too. What was with him and always naming her things, especially flowers?
The sun princess sighed, looking at the spy curiously. "And why are you here?" she asked the black and red unicorn. "Shouldn't you be off spying?" For some reason his presence made her uncomfortable, like he would somehow know all of her secrets. Was it safe for him to know that she lived with the unicorns in the Basin? Or would he tell all the other violent, hot-headed winged beasts and then cause them to hate her too?
His path was aimless; as wretched and lonely as the rogue wind howling up from the scorched south. The sun fell like a thick roasting blanket across his bony back, protruding hips casting deep shadows as skin fell sharply from their peaks. He was smaller than other colt’s his age, more even then some younger; wasted, undernourished, stunted perhaps. His legs were long and thin, and the large heron-like wings which sagged lethargically beside the slow chop of cloven hooves, had not felt the rush of high thermal wind for many months. Kari was fairly convinced by now, that Shadow was gone- that whatever monster she’d become that day above the caves, had probably eaten her away completely.
A shallow sigh slipped by his lips.
In silence and alone he meandered down the sandy bridge away from the Throat; his birthplace, the land that he was sure would attract Shadow if ever she’d thought to return. He was yet to feel the pull of belonging though, his heart ached for nowhere in particular; it didn’t ache at all... Kari was confused and lost, but for the time being the desert offered safety and a place which wicked, creeping shadows could not easily find him. There was spiny scrub veiled in tangles of vine there, and that was his sanctuary- where nobody tall would ever think to look for him.
Voices ahead drew his ears up from their bed of downy, silverly mane, and he paused to listen. He wasn’t really in the right headspace for company, he rarely was, but as the hum ahead sharpened into the high pitch of childish boldness, intrigue tempted him forward. Only minutes more, and boulders on the horizon became bodies, and Kari stopped for a moment to consider the situation. He could see the painted skin of Cera, the black shadowy silhouette of Sacre. The champagne girl was there too, he remembered her glowing blue horn mostly- not that he could see it yet. They were grouped together, obscuring his view any further.
He tried to seem disinterested as he approached, like he was just passing through and that their presence was not overly exciting. The nearer he moved though, the wider blue pools grew, the more his curiosity ruined his act. There were two colts (brave-looking, not like Kari’s meek appearance), and one filly; lovely who, apart from colouring, looked almost like he did. He had never seen any of them in the Throat before. Kari inched closer, eavesdropping. “Does it rain here?” one of the colts seemed to be asking. The little grey colt scoffed quickly, but then realised that he’d never actually noticed. He couldn't remember ever being saturated...
When the filly spoke, he paused to listen, little ears flicking forward. Spying? He turned his pale face to view his herd mates, to look at Sacre, who he would never have guessed would hold such a role- he was barely any older after all.
Image by Ina
HP:42.5 Helovia Hard Mode
Permission granted at all times to use magic and violence on Kari
Uneasiness turns to annoyance, any sort of caring feelings that had risen off the way of the colts slapped off her face rather harshly at the face the winged female was making towards her. Intentions had been to show that being polite in another's home was the right thing to do when you stand at the border, only acting upon it temporarily to show kinds to their young minds. Some kids are born to be rude, selfish creatures, as it seems.
More come along, this time from her side of the border to offer aid in taking control of how children could act. Did she act this way as a child? She hoped not, sighing through her nostrils with a forward heave of her chest, puffing it out with a semi-irritated expression driven upon her by Cera. Playfulness rose out of him.
Surprise does not rise from her as her pair of orbs watch with slight attention on the children admiring Ilaria. The small animal's ways were hard not enjoy, even bringing out the usual smile she seemed to gain when the winged boy and his red companion appeared.
Cera carries on in a story, speaking about fires she is too young to know about. It's about dragons, trees, and sap, from what he speaks of. Though she is aware he is a friend, one she keeps dear in her heart, but his words blur out, coming in in slow waves, lost with some sort of boredom. A question slaps her again, bringing her forth.
Extending her mouth so that it opened, ready to answer, Sacre's voice arrives to the party rather late, calling himself a king. They played games, and she was becoming the rude, overly serious one standing around with the kids. Her sense of childish antics was leaving her, and there was a slim chance of regaining it.
The girl, whose name is running chances of being fiction as she listens to Rikyn bounce off a different name what she knew him as, asks why the 'Lazy King of Spies' was not out doing his tasks. Retrieving an idea of friendly jokes, meaning to tease Sacre about him standing around with the commoners when he had such a lavish title, she dips her head down to their level, coming close enough that her horn reflects a low light off their features.
"He's a lazy one sometimes." Giggling with a tone that isn't what she expects, feeling that she needs to add some sort of effect to his title. "That's in the day, though. Our dragons go out and spy in the heat of the day, but when they return, he lurks in the shadows." It was greatly inflated with fiction, and while she doubted Sacre had an ego, it was possible to add some to it. Having finished, she pulls her head away.
Rain questions come along, making sense seeing as the dry season could make one wonder if it ever did. "As for the rain, it does in Birdsong almost constantly." Well, not constantly, but a lot.
While the children and her boys pulled themselves into excitement, hoofbeats drug her mind away from them, frowning at the condition of a gray yearling that joined them. No words fall from his lips, his image overall weak. Ears fall to the side in worry. One touch would appear to make him crumble, and as she stares with worry, a motion of a horn attempts to invite him over, to stand with her and embrace their fun.
"If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?"
In winter, some voices are like coats - Mosteghanemi
They are curious creatures, vibrant with the youth he often regarded nostalgically. Endearing perhaps were it not for the worry that budded at their lack of an older escort. The wilds were dangerous lands, and they still looked far too young to be exploring on their own as they claimed to be. Nevertheless they had arrived in one piece, no worse for wear, and the young colt with the stained sapphire coat was instantly taken by his curiosity over Ilaria. Cera laughed at his excited query, the red panda scurrying towards the lowered nose and rising onto her back paws to bat at him playfully with fuzzy forepaws. Behind her Cera smiled indulgently and hoped her forthright attempt at engaging the youth wouldn't shock or frighten him. "Who, in fact. Her name is Ilaria, and she is my companion. Her soul is intertwined with my own. She'd like me to tell you that she is certainly not owned, but she also thinks you are very kind," he translated, eyes warm alongside Ilaria's purr of agreement as she dropped back to the sands and sprawled out where she was instead of returning to his side, allowing the younglings to stare as they wished.
They are a collection of personalities, but Cera warmly returned the smile Rikyn flashed his way, heartened to see the fondness in golden eyes as Erebos excitedly proclaimed word after word. The golden colt's own soon came to light, far less optimistic but intelligent, perceptive. "Indeed, it is but a memory. A testament to the hard times before the peace between dragons and equines." Of which lead him smoothly into answering Erebos. Turning towards the excitable colt, noticing Sacre's approach and proceeding to give him a welcoming wordless grin, his explanation began to bud on his lips. "There are no dragons the size of which attacked these lands. The peace was struck and the children of dragons given to those without horns or wings, so that they may bond and not suffer due to their smaller size. Much like myself and Ilaria. Though Lace, our visiting craftsmen, has a beautiful pale dragon named Fajira." Did these foals not know of the bonds between creatures? Then again, Cera had been raised by a profoundly religious man with a companion of his own. He couldn't compare his own experience to that of the foals gathered around.
Girl is odd... Cera idly heard from Ilaria's end as she watched the winged lass. Concern creased his brow as he regarded her silent form, but names were soon introduced and he couldn't ignore such gifts. His smile returned like a streak of sunlight, wings shuffling with pleasure like a bird puffing up. "Fine names! It is a pleasure, my friends, to meet your acquaintance officially," and with it he dropped knee in an exaggerated bow, winking at the trio as he straightened once more. Sikeax was responding in kind, her demeanor seeming to brighten after her initial frustration with the rude nature of the foals, but all had been smoothed over and likely for the better.
"There is water inland, surrounded by lush trees and grass with beautiful desert flowers. It's called the Oasis. There is also the ocean that surrounds these lands, though the water is not pure enough for drinking it is perfect for bathing. Our water comes from the Oasis." Sharing such knowledge made his heart jump with glee, for it was not only his job but his passion. Educating young minds. They certainly seemed curious enough, spewing forth enough questions that Cera didn't have to worry about creating conversation of his own.
Finally the girl speaks, a whiplash of words, but Cera retains his smile if only in hopes of comforting the nervous energy she shows. "These are times of peace. And spies are always in the right place at the right time, so perhaps that means you're special, for Sacre to appear here." Another wink towards the girl and a light laugh, attempting to put her at ease with his own lighthearted demeanor. She was certainly a tough nut to crack.
From the corner of his eye, with some prodding from Ilaria, he spied the foal who had come at the Oasis when he spun his stories. Kari, as he recalled Africa dubbing him. Seeing Sikeax with her eyes on him as well, he smiled encouragingly at the foal in silence before turning back to the newcomers. Stretching his wings languidly, as far as they could rise heavenwards but keeping the feathers on each nearly touching so as not to brush Sikeax. Huffing at the pleasant sensation he let them fall smoothly and shook out his shoulders with an apologetic look. "Patrols are tiring from the air," he offered in explanation, for two thirds of the trio were flightless and he was unsure if the maiden had yet received her first flight lesson. A spark in his kind had him turning joyous emeralds to the lass; could this be a way to get her to open up?
"Amaryllis, have you had your first flight lesson? Flying is wonderful in the desert, nothing to run into and plenty of warm drafts. I crashed into a hill with my brother, the son of the Earth God Hototo, when we first attempted flight," he laughed freely at the memory, recalling how sore they'd been even as they poked their heads up and laughed through their tangled limbs and grass stained knees. Oh how he missed his brother...
---
This was done on my iPod so I'm terribly sorry if something was autocorrected or if it's just terrible in general in comparison!
And now it's your chance to move on, change the way you've lived for so long,
find the strength you've had inside all along
Ignatius. A powerful name for such a wee lad, who would surely grow up to be a strong brute, the Basin must cherish him. At least, Sacre hoped they did. He hoped they drenched him in the same love that he too had received when he was just a child, bad rumours often circulated about his birth herd, but some of Sacre's closest friends belonged to the cold snow of the north. The young spy liked to believe that they weren't the murderous hellions that so many spoke of, though sometimes he thought of his father and found his heart constricted. He had always disagreed with most things his father said, but like any son, he loved the mad mans very bones. The stained boy gave the young dark lad a dashing smile, settling into his playful game with the vigour of how an old storyteller retold his favourite story. "Hail, Ignatius. You have a mighty name, little Lord" he dipped his head deeply and slipped easily into the exuberant role of the court jester. The wild imagination of a foal was the greatest thing about being young.
He moves on to the other two, another colt and a filly, one also dark and splattered in gold markings, the other was white like the frozen rain and she too was gold tainted. They were an impressive bunch of foals to look at and Sacre wondered briefly who their parents might be, trying to engage his brain to remember into his foal hood days in the Basin. His memories gave him nothing in an instant, so he turned to two who had been introduced as Dristan and Amaryllis... Odd names. Though he accepted them all the same with another creative dip of his head "hail to you too, Dristan and Amaryllis" and the elaborate game continued.
A look of wounded pride caught on his youthful face as Sikeax amended his introduction with the added word of lazy. He looked at his friend with big round eyes and trembling lips, feigning deep upset as he cocked his head to one side "there's not a lazy bone in my body" he countered, ending with a playful smile. He turned back to the young filly then, the hybrid child who had sighed and questioned his ability to uphold his duties. The stained boy's response was light as he turned his inquisitive blue eyes onto her molten silver ones and Inari padded over to sit in front of the brightly coated Amaryllis. For a moment, the colt listens brightly and with a large smile as Cera adds another piece to his wild little story, indeed it was a special appearance. "My friend Cera speaks truth, who doesn't want to meet a special Lady, I couldn't resist! Though... Remember." He gestured to the land as a whole and his cerulean eyes narrowed. "Just because I'm out in broad daylight doesn't mean my eyes aren't elsewhere" the words rolled off his tongue gently. She was right, Sacre wasn't spying on anything right now, but to reveal it would spoil the little game he having too fun playing.
The topic changed to the weather then and Sacre chuckled along as Sikeax and Cera offered explanations to the foals. The heat was something that had taken Sacre a while to get used to and even now somedays where hard to bear. As Cera turned to the nature of flying, the Sleuth put his attention on the two boys Ignitius and Dristan, his gaze questioning. "You're brave to come so far, young Lords. I too was born in the snowy mountains of the Aurora Basin and used to explore just like you not so long ago. In fact, I still do." He turned to Kari then with a chuckle, hoping to include the colt in their conversation. Sacre didn't get to know much about the grey coloured lad, but he knew they had been on relatively good terms. "Have you visited many places too, Kari?" He asked, genuinely interested.
But I'm cold as the wind blows
so hold me in your arms;
The false flame watched, listened, blended into the melee of gathered troupes and friendly faces with an amicable grin, a menacing snare, and a pounding heart. The latter formed and conspired through the edges of the fabricated moniker, but when no one refuted it, when companions hastened towards the trap, when the unknown flickered into further enigmas, his smile grew, gaze twinkled, and the slightest Machiavellian convictions kindled deep into his chest. The lies spilled across the void, and the taste, the relish, the nourishing tang it provided the lad, with its strange, toxic endeavors and addicting elation, brindled, bristled, and swept through his veins, drenched and wooed, swindled and enticed. If this one worked, how many others could? His friends continued the small, infantile deceits, sprinkled more finesse and intrigue into the mix and fold, so as they continued, Erebos bit into the rapture, the reverie, of their silly game, forgot he wouldn’t be worthy of touching upon his grandfather’s herald, he wouldn’t be deserving, merited, or entitled to the bursts of fiery stories or impassioned wars, settling into Cheshire designs, a stone thrown into a hole – the pit and pendulum, swinging his foolish dial. But while he burned, while he glimmered and flared, his comrades continued to spiral into queries and conundrums, and as a silent opus, the child absorbed everything, from the silver newcomer wavering towards them, companions with their wondrous names, dragons no longer cloaked or soaked in the idle glory of the desert, to the sprinkled wiles of the Oasis, and all of it was an overwhelming avenue of curiosity and intrigue; it spilled over in the widened snap of his gaze, blending through the streamlined contortions of his embellished smile, and his vocals pierced into the void again, cherishing information granted and conformed into his mischievous mind.
The first, granted to Ilaria and her illustrious bonded, flowed through his lowered cranium, stare fixated and riveted upon the little panda, not owned, not possessed, not seized, but willing to stay with the gliding stag. “Hi Ilaria!” He swished his tail once or twice, tilted his head in further examination, thought over souls intertwining, woven, braided and plaited together, then pieced together the inquisition in endless factions, inclining his gaze back towards Cera in hopes of uncovering all the answers in one venue. “Where did you find her? How do you become bonded? If you’re bound to one another, does it hurt when the other is wounded?” Throughout the flurry, he wondered what it’d be like to have one, to always have a friend at your side, to eternally cherish and protect something or someone. Could he do the same, like Adelric and Tobias, growing and nurturing, side-by-side, pursuing adventures in constancy? He mulled over it through the silence, glancing towards Sacre’s red fox as well. What a confusing world they lived within, and the more steps taken, the more mysteries welled, billowed, and frothed before him.
He was only mildly disappointed about the lack of dragons in the surrounding area, but he made a note to seek out the smaller ones (pictured the leathery wings, the flames curling from their mouths), and allowed his next set of queries to spiral towards the King of Spies. You have a mighty name, little Lord - the guilt beat another tempo in his chest, and he tried to smother it through the spun spirit of inquiry, glancing wholeheartedly upon the brujo who claimed to sit upon a throne of furtive observations and deceptive intelligence (and he wondered if the beast could see through their subterfuge), another soul to emulate in the vast realm of artisans, warriors, and bestial contortions. The little scion nearly daydreamed about becoming some grand sovereign of deceptions and falsehoods, sometimes battling his way through chess pieces, moving pawns through force or fiction, when Sacre mentioned his previous homeland – the Basin. He furrowed his brows briefly, confused, because he’d never thought to venture out into the unknown and seek out some other cadre to make his home in; to visit was one thing, to live within an entirely different nation was something else altogether. Without preamble, Erebos spout out his befuddlement. “Why did you leave the Basin?”
@[Rikyn]
EREBOS
Clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
Eye on what I'm after
I don't need another friend
09-12-2014, 07:04 AM (This post was last modified: 09-12-2014, 07:05 AM by Rikyn.)
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid
In the background Cera and Erebos talk about his bonded animal, the weird red fluffy thing with the banded tail, but in time he answers my question with his wisdom and I return the kindness with a smile and an eager expression. Within my lessons, I’ve learned to enjoy being right, mostly because it meant praise rather than shouting or glum expressions, and this is a lesson in its own ways. I hadn’t known about the history of the Throat, why it was called such a thing, why dragons bonded with equines – until now. It was all very fascinating, and I was thankful that Aithniel, for once, was involved in the learning, too.
The conversation is moving fast; Sia makes a jest at the King of Spies after Aithniel takes an essential crotch shot at the man, both calling him lazy, Sia saying something about dragon scouts during the day. My golden eyes look upwards for their figures and find none, and I haven’t seen any our entire walk up here – but maybe dragons are harder to see than I might have thought, and Sacre’s outcry makes me suck back a laugh with an odd choking sound that I’m sure he’ll understand the meaning of, anyway.
The colt native to this land scoffs but then seems to withdraw the sound into himself and my eyes flicker to his lithe frame for a moment; maybe it really doesn’t rain here, I think, until Sia answers again and wipes the idea from my mind. Birdsong? We’d missed the less than horrible times by an entire season. I could groan, loudly, braying complaints into the heavens – instead I merely grimace.
When our names tumble out into the desert air, they are met kindly and with many smiles and winks, and I giggle in good humor at all of them being silly for our sake; I guess they really could think we are as awesome as they are pretending, and I guess we could be for having come so far without our parents – but surely they know that we are being naughty and poking our noses where they shouldn’t be, and that we are only children. No child anywhere ever got the respect of an adult.
Cera talks about the land and what’s beyond the endless sand, and my eyes grow wide at the mention of an oasis. What’s an oasis? But it all clicks together by the time he’s done talking about it, my little brain working away at the pieces until I’ve contrived that an oasis is an awesome place in the middle of a really shitty one. It sounds like it’s a good thing the Throat has one or there wouldn’t be anyone out here but bones and really, really thirsty people delirious from lack of fluids.
As he stretches his big, odd wings upwards, I watch them rise with my eyes pinned on the tips, admiring their sheer size – but I guess they’d have to be pretty big to hold up a body. It’s apparently tiring to fly, which is a good note; I don’t think momma has really told me much more about the nature of a pegasus than that they should be avoided or murdered at all costs. It seems odd to demand two totally different things like that; you couldn’t avoid and kill anyone. It had to be one or the other, didn’t it?
And then he asks if she wants to learn to fly. Horror strikes me deeply; it’s a long way to the Throat, and what if she leaves me to be among those that can fly like she can? Why couldn’t she learn from Kyst? Surely momma could capture a flying person to help teach her too. She didn’t have to come take lessons so far away, did she? I’d get to see her even less.
Dismally looking over at her, I say nothing in objection – it’s not really my place to boss her around even if I want to, even if both my parents say that sometimes she’ll need it because her head is full of feathers and bat poop (I’m not a very good at listening when it involves Aithniel, you see)…
The king of spies takes my attention away from the really depressing thought of Aithniel leaving me and into a swooning wave of empowerment, a grin blooming across my face and lion’s tail twitching in pleasure. We were brave! He also tells us that he was once a member of the Basin too, which makes me feel many things at once; I am proud that he is one of our kin, curious who his family is and why he no longer lives with them, and if this is a common occurrence – the thought of leaving mother is deeply amusing to a devious boy such as myself.
Erebos voices one of my thoughts aloud, and so I don’t continue to shout them out at the red backed man who is both of the Basin and the Throat. Running my eyes across his build, however, I do recognize him in a way, my little mind pulling away at drawers of memories seeking for the person that looks like him, and unable to find it.
Frustrated and giving out on my decision to not hurl questions at the poor man, they tumble forth anyway. "You’re family is still there, yeah? You look sorta like someone I’ve met but can’t remember right now."
@[Aithniel]
[ OOC: HOLYCRAP Rikyn did something. :o I've only started/stopped/exploded this post 54584574 times. ]
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.
The horned one said something about there being many dragons, which was unsettling but not the end of the world. Then the winged one said something else about dragons not inhabiting this land for a while, but then one individual had a white dragon named Fajira. And why did any of this matter at all? Was this what Illynx and Rikyn had talked about? Did the pegasus just talk and talk and talk until they talked themselves into a circle and went mad?
Erebos seemed more concerned with the fluffy thing and being bonded than any of the other conversation, so she let them have their fun, silver eyes squinting and the dustbowl. Sand seemed to cling to the roof of her mouth, and the sensation made her heart constrict until it was so small that no emotion could go in or out. This place made her feel empty inside, like it was a burial ground for her soul. Aithniel wanted out of here, but she had to stay. She had to face whatever this was and stick with Erebos and Rikyn.
Wait....
Was the winged one flirting with her? Ew, cooties! Aithniel stared at him, dumbstruck, and then stared at the spy who was not spying as he seemed to be flirting as well. She didn't trust either one of them. She had no reason other than that they lived here, but she was completely okay with her own irrational judgment. The way the spy's red eyes narrowed was creepy enough without him adding that he saw everything. "I highly doubt that," she returned coolly. Unless he had a second pair of eyes somewhere else...
When the winged one asked if she had flown yet, Aithniel's jaw tightened even more, the temperature of her gaze turning hostile. Why all of the interest? Was this normal? If it was normal to be this nosy, then she was perfectly fine being a freak. That he was friends with the son of the Earth God was interesting, but nothing more about his story was wanted. "I do not like the desert," she said honestly, her voice empty, void of emotion in a very unchild like way.
Apparently the red and black one had come from the Basin too but had left. Maybe that was why he had looked so familiar. She waited for his answer, glad to turn the attention away from herself before she burst into flames with emotion. (Haha).
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[O] God Knows We Like Archaic Kinds of Fun
HP:42.5
