ARCHIBALD the DAUNTLESS
come on like a bloodstained hurricane

The Dauntless and his bitch have seen more death in this land than most. Some of these deaths were even products of their own hooves and claws, ruled by the command of Mandrake. She was an evil soul, now recognized by the pair, and she was no longer here. Archibald had no one to command him but himself, and he would keep it that way forever more. Only the duty of serving his herd and the love he felt towards his mate kept him from being a completely free agent--but the Dauntless would never completely, truly be tied to anyone else's moral compass ever again.

Standing before all the gods of Helovia, the Dauntless looked down at the grey figure. Her body was swelled beyond recognition, and Archibald only knew two grey pegasi, and neither resembled the one before him now. One was Sohalia, a mare he had met so many years ago in the Foothills, and the other was Svetlana the Stormchaser, with her purple wings, and she was as equally as dead as this pegasus now. This one, with her swollen figure and broken bodice seemed to put more of a fight than the Stormchaser had, her body laced with the remnants of her murderer. Black hairs, barely noticeable or distinguishable from the darkness of her legs littered her body, and some around her darkened muzzle. There was no scent to help these gathered around, for the only scent that hung here was death and decay.

Looking up, the Captain's golden eyes found those of the Earth God. The benevolent being had gifted the Dauntless with so much--a reward and testament to Archibald's apparent and incomparable power, he knew--and it was time to repay him in some manner. Archibald would find this murderer and bring justice to Helovia, justice he could only bring with the experience of others to mingle with his own. He knew his team already--at least two of the members. Ktulu would stand alongside him, and he would use her well. Thor, with his cunning mind so obvious from his recent promotion. Finally, he would let Thor chose their last member. Archibald approved, seeing wisdom beyond years in the eyes of Astraea. "We will not fail you." Archibald looked to his left and to his right, nodding to the three that had gathered with him to find the murderer the gods called for.

[TEAM ATAK:
Archibald the Dauntless
Thor the Gentleheart
Astraea
Ktulu the Constrictor]

The first time not traveling alone had been a beautiful experience, and she made her way to the Veins of the Gods, stepping and waiting for a cloud to carry her up. She was unafraid, unhesitating as white swept her upwards, and once on the emerald grass, she walked toward the center, following her heart. Her strange, dual colored eyes swept over the scene, seeing first the four glorious figures standing together. The last time she had seen them all at the same time, they had jumped into a swirling, black portal, so she slowly crept forward. The scent of death hit her nostrils. Putrefaction was not something she was ready to smell again, and she closed her eyes tightly, holding her breath. Memories of her mother came flooding back, her dead body holding no dignity of what she had been. Carefully, she opened her eyes again, seeing a silver and black pegasus laying on the ground, bloody, beaten. Her eyes took in the scene in flawless clarity, able to remember even the most minute of clues. Ophelia's gaze lifted to see the God of Time and Roskuld, her heart going out to both, but the God of the Sun called her gaze this time. He looked so broken, lonely, but she saw him standing there with whom she assumed was his daughter. She would not interfere. Instead, she listened to the God of the Earth, wondering what murderer in Helovia could go so unnoticed by their powers. Certainly whoever it was had to have some help. The pale princess bowed her head. "We will do our best to uncover the perpetrator of this heinous crime." This must have been what the vision in the Deep Forest had meant. The bloated pegasus was this mare, and the dead fish had only been telling her what had already happened. She was too late, far too late. Ophelia's troubled gaze looked over the body once more, seeing black hairs on the body that were not from the mare herself. Was this something left behind by the killer? THE VALHALLA SEEKERS Torleik the Bloodskald Ophelia the Forsaken Heartstrings Come Undone You know I'm trying to believe that you're never gonna leave...

Art by: veradaine @ DA

Tandavi</style> i'll light a fire in your new shoes</style> There is so much darkness, and so much death. The form of the fallen pegasus is untouched yet broken, bloated and putrid and macabre and dead. Black eyes look over the scene, and the girl swallows bile and repulsion and hate. Copper child has never seen death before, not up close, not like this. Though life has fallen to Natraj's paws, it is small and simple and for a cause; even the vulpine is appalled by this murder, lingering near her golden hinds, ears pressed down and body still. What purpose could there be in the grey mare's death? What reasoning behind such senseless hate? Black eyes ache to look away, to hide from this first taste of mortality and its flaws; but the girl holds true, endless gaze trained upon the rotting corpse. She wonders who the stranger was, what was her name and who were her friends? She wonders if she was loved, or loathed; if her memory will be cherished or forgotten on the wind. Perhaps this mare was a mother, or perhaps she was a fiend- or perhaps, indeed, she was both. Now nothing was left of her to judge, nothing but a name spoken by the Earth. At last she lets herself look away, attention shifting to the celestial audience. Moon-slashed face turns to the assembled Gods and their progeny, recognition bright for all pairs but one. She shies away from Mesec and the Moon, offers a quiet nod to Hototo and the Earth, longs for the warmth of Aithniel and the Sun, and regards with caution the Time Lord and his child. She had not known the desert babe to be the daughter of her God and Light; the knowledge makes her uneasy and aware of how she failed. Will she lose the favor of the one bright thing she regards, a cost for her sins and a price for her naivete? She thinks she deserves to, but she prays she will not. Attention falters and ears pick up, taking in the voice of the Earth. She thinks the words are for her alone; they strike her, filling her breast with harsh resolve. Yes, of course they must find the cause. Vesta's death brings an end to one life, but there is somebody out there who must be judged, a darkness to vanquish and a battle to fight. Whoever did this deserves not to go free, and perhaps in finding them she can prove herself, can regain the regard of deities lost. This, she decides, is an ample reward. It ignites a purpose within her soul, stubborn determination lining her cheeks. And she does not have to do it alone. Caneo, she knows, is not far away, and something warm swells within her at the realization that she has a friend to help. She wishes Sacre were here, and Amaris and Lace; but at least, at least, she is not on her own. In her mind an irked voice resounds. I'm here, too, her brother declares, finally emerged from his hiding place beneath her belly. And Hotot maybe friend. Maybe help. She softens despite herself, and nods, casting a hopeful glance toward the Earth God's son. Maybe she is less alone than she thought. Maybe she has more to protect than just her herd, more to care about than just the world. Teenage Awkward Ninja Turtles Tandavi Caneo Hototo image by tambako @ flickr.com</style>

Serenity Feel the wind pass through my body, I am one with your soul... Serenity had been on the island for both patrols with Gaucho and after her spar with the grumpy Torleik. Once again everyone seemed to converge upon one point, so once again, she followed them all. Innocent curiosity sparkled in her eyes like the stars on her body sparkled in the light, and she trotted up, bright, happy and care free.That was until she saw why everyone was here, and her heart fell into her hooves, stomach turning. On the ground was a dead body. She had never seen a dead body before. It was all bloated, and oh god... oh god that was blood. Serenity felt her head go light, and the world started spinning. She let her head lower to the grass, take long, deep breaths and avoiding looking at the dead mare any more. Her mouth was salivating, and only after a few, solid minutes of vertigo did was she able to slowly lift her head. Wow, she was so close to fainting, and this sight would haunt her forever. The Earth God spoke, and she chewed on her bottom lip, nervously listening as this wonderful world of Helovia fell apart. Somehow, someway, they were supposed to solve this problem, but how? I mean honestly... What were they supposed to do here? Serenity squinted at the body again, trying not to take in the entire vision. Some black hairs seemed to be stuck in her mouth.... her dead, cold mouth. Oh god... not again. She let her head fall to the ground once more as her head became light, and she took deep breaths again. Okay, so she had fought back, right? And bitten some of the mane from her attacker? That meant that her attacker was a real, tangible creature. That.... wasn't as comforting as she had anticipated, actually. Torleik and some white mare were to her left, and she knew that she could go back and get Ampere to help her. Ampere would help her... for sure. ------------- THE JUSTICE LEAGUE Ampere Eribor Onni Serenity

I-mi @ Da

speak The foolishness ends; its allotted moment in time has been rescinded and blown to ash. The dance ends in a flurry of darkness, the sweet, metallic tang of blood and sharpened claw of fear in the breast. The chill lingers; it twists into something evil and alive. Shadows walk; something creeps. Reginald takes his spider from that place; he snarls something ugly, teeth bared and flashing in the gold of the indomitable isle. Foolishness has its place, and he detests this interruption by something great, powerful, ominous and fleeting from his control. Such is the greatest insult: this wickedness is not born from the flesh of his brain and balls. He snorts; he stalks faster, movements jerky and errant; the spider should do well to keep up. It is a body they stumble across. No—it is merely a corpse now; he must do well to remember that particular distinction. A blood-soaked corpse and the gaggle of idiots who surround her, mourning something senseless while something stalks in the halls of the gods. He watches for a time, grey eyes glassy, expressionless and pensive. Something excruciating is happening behind those eyes, something momentous and bitter on the tongue; pride unbends within that budding grey chest, as a tiny, fluttering ember attempts to unbend a frozen iron bar. His molars grind; he bites his cheek; his ears lay flat upon his skull, and father’s words—those awful, mediocre, ridiculous words—sound in his mind, an unbidden memory: ”"Dragons are powerful, but they do not replace blood." “You will stay with me for now,” he says in a low voice, a husky, guttural warble that begins to darken, deepen, broaden with age. He turns away from the spectacle of idiocy; he goes to descend from this cloud of gods and death, and wills his spider to follow in his shadow. He knows who he must find, somewhere scattered in the shadows of the mortal world. There is no time to waste, for something wicked stalks the land free from the Grey-Eye’d prince’s will, and dragons do not replace blood. ----- SONS OF ANARCHY Abraham Jorogumo Öde Reginald You can't escape the wrath of my heart Beating to your funeral song All faith is lost for hell regained

MIDAS</style> Break apart the letters and read between the lines</style> I’d heard of the murder from Drom and she’d heard it from Earth himself. It puzzled me that the gods would be taking note of a mortal death. How many of our kind had suffered and lost life and limb due to the hooves, gashing teeth of murderers. Approaching the site I noted the scents and sights of many individuals whom had taken to visiting as well. The fowl taste of death lingered in the air and caked my tongue. Shoveling my muzzle into the dirt would have been preferable. Maggots had already begun their art of disposing death. Helovians gathered around the gods. I stiffened and hung back, watching what events would unfold. Words were spoken and one by one those that were present vowed to find answers. Perhaps out of a sense of justice, but more keen on receiving a reward. My eyes scanned the crowd, finding those I knew mingled with those that were unfamiliar. When a majority had cleared out I stepped forward, nose crinkled and brow tightened as if staring into those ghastly eyes somehow pained me. There was a horrible feeling about this place, the spot where Vesta had died. The gods were sending us on a goose chase, yar, how would we find the killer – if they didn’t even know who the killer was? Earth, among his brothers and sisters were watchers and listeners of this land. How could this have gone unseen by them? Perhaps that was why they were keenly interested in the venture, because it had gone unseen. And they were clueless as to why. OOC: Midas @[Desperado] @[Sialia]

Resplendence it's what you feel but can't articulate outloud Uncertain limbs had pulled her forward. The masses seemed to have gathered here to take notice of something that had called forth not just those who shared godly blood, but the Gods themselves. She did not have the courage to encircle in closer, though. She stood, far enough away to make out the equines who had appeared but not the ground around them, beneath them. Her eyes strained yet saw nothing that resembled what it was the Earth God spoke of. So, Valiance took to the skies, wings spread out in elegance as he circled around above the group. A vulture, maybe, but more majestic - like an eagle. He was Resplendence's freedom, this much she knew. Closing her eyes she allowed for him to send her images from above. A pegasus, an unruly death, and what were those? Valiace swung in closer for a moment, not daring to touch the body, before settling back upon Res's withers. "Black... hair?" he said through the bond, struggling to see if that was the right word. And, so, with his talons he pulled up a tuft of hair from her pelt and Res nodded her cranium. Black hair. If the death was unnatural then someone was out there killing again. Was it the stag who had called a hatred for equines - who had killed Rowan? Even if it wasn't, someone who shouldn't be given the rights of Gods was deciding when to end lives. She wouldn't stand for it. The Edge couldn't possibly stand for it! With that, she bowed out of the group, knowing she had to find Kahlua and Nayati, they would know what to do. Maybe even the newly promoted Spector, Jahzara. They would want to stand up against these injustices. Wouldn't they? No one deserved to have their life ended early... The World's Edge Sweethearts Jahzara Kahlua Nayati Resplendence

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA

They skirted the village carefully, wisely, avoiding the hustle and the bustle of the tightly gathered Helovians who were still all to alien to find any true comfort beside. As the soft warmth of the sun touched the gentle flutter of hungry, wind-brushed leaves, Fig found herself wondering about them all again, intrigued by the volume of the culture they now witnessed and she was more than overwhelmed by the flurry of activity to behold. So quietly unhurried was the flow of life in Prim'sylvia, that the celebration below (soon she would learn this to be just that), seemed still more violent than a tropical evening storm. With glazed eyes and wary curiosity she watched, and the young Lignea wandered ever so gradually down a track already worn between lush pastures.

Her tread, heavy and slow, avoided the grass - the swishing tufts and the smiling faces of bright yellow dandelions - quite deliberately. It was the principle of her kind to respect always any life surrounding, and she was always careful to uphold a duty of care. That which may have seemed insignificant, or those perhaps overlooked altogether by the creatures of this new world (like the moss softening a stony cliff face or tender ‘shrooms breaking down the fallen elder trees of thousand year old forests), drew her doting attention and she could do naught but cringe when ignorant, uneducated beings ravished the land they were let to dwell upon.

There was so much they needed to learn, and that was one of two reasons that Fig had been sent on this seemingly impossible journey from the safe, tranquil Prim’sylvia.

The plant towering above rocked rhythmically backwards and forwards as her awkward looking body swayed along. She began to hum a soft tune, the spirituality story of whom uplifted her mood immediately, and caused a smile to bloom across slack black lips. The rising cheer though soon faded when she at last came across a group gathered, and her step slowed (if it were possible). They were a strange, surreal bunch – some grand-looking, large and embellished, but Fig was taken aback by one thing they all shared in particular, the overbearing concern and sadness seemingly suspended like a cloud around them. It was written along the lines of their bodies, etched through expressions and pungent, clinging to the air between them.

Naturally her focus was drawn to the greater four amongst them and with a gently discerning eye she discovered the source of the apprehension. Her white blazed face creased with grief instantly and downy ears flattened overhead either of her dark olive tinged eyes. To the centre of their meeting lay the corpse of another similar to them – a person of Helovia, and perhaps one that had been cherished dearly in life. This was morbid to say the least.

Quickly she blinked, turning her face both respectfully and glumly from the scene. It was almost more than she could bear to see death, so crude and violent, when all she knew (all that she had ever been subject to) was the peace and harmony of the Lignea.

There was a terrible sound then, like the fury of a cyclone unleashed, and the leaves sprawled throughout the canopy above her shook with fear. It was the voice of a towering stallion, his appearance, and stance – the very essence of him, exaggerated beyond many of the others. Fig’s eyes flung towards him involuntarily, and she listened carefully to all which he boomed. The revelation of the death before her, the murder, she could hardly believe, but there was no jest in the expressions nearby. Suddenly she found herself praying, desperate and confused – entirely unsure if she wanted to continue this perilous, infinite task set before her. ‘Corocottas, Nepenthes... can you hear me, please hear my prayer! I am so afraid now... These folk are strange, and cruel; they kill each other, our brothers and sisters of the earth, the grass, the flowers, and the trees! However can they be helped by humble me?

Help them, please!

Help us...’

The young Lignea turned, the grief wrought through her expressive, helpless facade. She knew that they could not forsake this request (no matter who else had pledged the same); Fig thought that they could not explore this crime alone though. “We need help...” she mumbled anxiously, unsure where even they should begin to search, and (although against the will of her trembling heart), she glanced back one last time. Again the tortured limp corpse smothered her senses and she was filled with a terrible feeling, foreboding; and she drew a long breath as she took a final moment to examine it a little closer. There were a few fine hairs mixed into the blood staining bone and hide, and should she not have taken that brief pause, breath held tight, heart pounding, they might have missed the clue altogether.

As swiftly as her tree laden body could manage then, she slipped from her position by the back of the group to reflect and recover.

---

Four Strangers
Fig
Parelia
Ira
Kirah

The world billowed in its colossal form, drenched souls in misery, in agony, in terror, in horror, and they wandered through the carnivorous wake, another set of cogs maneuvering amidst the decadence. She followed the crowd of spectators, the pull of mysteries, the restless contortions of enigmas and torn labyrinths, shaded warrens with only ghastly pinnacles to climb: the gods unveiled more trepidations and fears when a body was unveiled, bloated, no longer shielded by an innocent state, rigor-mortum, decrepit, sullied and dragged from a chasm of living into the unrelenting slash of slaughter. The Songbird shivered, trembled, quivered, released a tremulous breath in the presence of a fallen soul, taken without a chance, without a moment, without an instant, to survive, and she bit back an oath, a promise, a conviction, felt it hasten into her blood. What if there were others, reaching past the folds and hastening execution, maiming, bloodshed? What if they preyed upon more of the innocent, youths, children, the virtuous and divine? What if they were all destined for the gallows, brushing by the killers, the murderers, on a daily basis? Where was morality, and how could they tip the scales in their favor, in their fervor? Lena, valorous and steadfast like so many of the others, would sway and sweep across the lands and attempt to identify the assailant, would attempt to bridge the gaps, would attempt to forge past the indignities, the danger, the treachery, and salvage justice for a beast absconded and removed before their time. Her honeyed gaze, usually luminescent, gilded, brilliant, only dimmed at the notion of a tragic loss, and crossed over to the ebony hairs: the sole evidence of the annihilator. Perhaps, with help, with assistance, they’d be able to track down the seditious exterminator before they claimed another for their darkened halls. Healers and Thieves Lena Roland Sikeax Alysanne Lena