"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.
The prince of darkness was moving north, further north than where he had conversed with Ophelia. The air here gave no sign of the Birdsong below him in the rest of Helovia, the cold wrapping his limbs without fear and inhibition. Snow blew around him, the dark clouds twisting and moving in the behemoth of a storm that they told whispers of. He pressed on, however, ears perking only when a noise alerted the boy to something foreign. The wind howled in his ears for the most part, and his eyes narrowed against the gusts of wind that buffeted his sides. His dragon pressed into his crest, digging herself into the thick locks of his mane, drawing the heat to her scaly body. In the depths of her belly lava bubbled, her flames rising like bile in her throat to ignite the air around them every so often, to keep the pair from freezing in this storm, a storm matching in likeness to true hell.
The pair reached a cave in the depths of the mountains, however, and took shelter in it.
Days later, rested and full of the delicious moss that grew in the depths of the cave, the pair emerged.
"This is better for our journey." Abraham nodded to his bonded and she climbed the length of his topline and crest to rest on his poll, grasping dual horns. She trilled her agreement, her feminine song ringing beautifully in the crisp air. Despite the sun that rested high in the sky, shining brilliantly against the stark whiteness of the mountains, the air was chilled and there was a desperation for warmth all around. The pair was on the search for the murderer that rampaged Helovia, littering the vast lands with bodies. Abraham wished to devour its power, absorb it into his own self, for the sake of his and Reginald's future kingdoms to come, to future kingdoms to burn. The amulets from the Moon Goddess tapped against his neck as he cantered, his body pulled elegantly with his mother flashing in his movements, reminding him of the second quest that took residency in his mind and heart. A bitterness tightened his lips, ready to rid himself of the Goddess' quest and fill his soul, his limbs, his power with her magic.
[Labeled as private -- If you want to come, please PM me because this is a thread that is plot crucial. ^^ @[Arwen] ]
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
12-21-2014, 09:01 AM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2014, 04:51 PM by Arwen.)
I'll let you listen to my sweet, sweet lies.
A tiny princess prowled the snowy lands that rested above her home, for she had always been a curious being, it was apart of her nature; along with being selfish and having a rather high opinion of herself. The sun sat high above her, yet it shed little warmth onto her golden flecked body, instead the cold bit away at her flesh chilling her to her very core. Yet even she could tell that when the sun caught the golden beauty spots on her pearly coat that she was beautiful to see, her mother had at least gifted her with the similar looks and the golden colour that only Queens could carry. Turning away from the sun high above her, Arwen studied the vast landscape before her. It was where she belonged, beautiful, quiet and alone. It was here that she could hear those voices that always called to her, reaching for her soul. Ever since she opened the connection between her realm and theirs, the little princess had a hard time finding some space so she could talk to them. Yet at this very moment it did not suit her to listen to their whinging, instead she wanted to find her twin, Asch would no doubt enjoy the snowy world up here. It had been a while since she had spoken with her darker sister and Arwen missed her greatly. Whenever they were apart a certain sadness filled the little girl...a longing to be with her sister, a fear that they had grown apart.
"Asch." Her golden eyes take in the world and a small sad smile dances upon her lips. "Oh Ashie...where in the world are you? " Turning towards a cave she knew was close around here, the young filly made the long journey in a rather decent amount of time. In fact the only thing that slowed her was the appearance of a figure that lurked in the distance. She knew immediately that it was not Asch or her other sister Nonnie...the golden filly did not trust anyone else. Yet she could not shake the feeling that whoever it was did not belong up here.
Well. She would have to send them packing!
Straightening her posture, the girl changed her direction and began to prance over to the intruder. The closer she got the surer she became that this male did not belong so close to her home. She'd never seen him before and it did not sit well with the golden child that he had the audacity yo come here and assume it was his right to be up here!
Stopping a few feet away she studied the sturdy male, he was no doubt impressive with his black coat mixing into white before turing black again. Perhaps this colour reflected his soul, perhaps she should have listened to the voices whispering warnings to her. But the golden filly pressed on, eager to be rid of this beast. Sucking in a deep breath she raised her voice, her hymn was carried through the wind over to the male. "Who are you?"
1am posts! *fist pump* @[Abraham], would you like to be tagged in each reply?
You don't have to tag me :)
The white dragon flashed an image to her bondmate, a screech splitting the air. coming towards them, with what seemed like purpose, was a white filly tapered in golden filigree. Abraham smirked, changing his direction just slightly to match the path of the oncoming girl. Together he and the stranger closed the distance, and Abraham was able to come to a stop. Mismatched eyes narrowed darkly and his proud head rose on his thick neck, mane flapping in the wind, his amulets weighing it down some as they slapped against hard muscle. He inspected her, up and down, side to side, letting the curves of her delicate body give him internal direction. His initial thoughts were smashed, however, when she lashed towards him with her silver tongue. A rough snort left Abraham's throat, creating a white cloud from his flared nostrils. How dare she speak to him in such a manner. A guttural growl lifted from Abraham's throat and the darkling prince took a step forward, chin tucking some. His twin horns glistened in the bright sunlight, the rays dancing eagerly on his dangerous weapons. "You have some nerve for a delicate girl." The words are laced with venom, his voice dangerously slick and vile.
Abraham took another step forward, but turned his strong, growing body to the left of the golden girl. He half-circled her, eyes still wandering over her frame. She was young, too young to claim in the most primal of ways, surely, even if his desires swung towards that form of debauchery. Her weakness from age, however, Abraham would capitalize on. Smirking, the demon boy spoke again. "Where I come from, weaklings who speak out of turn have their tongue removed." The words were still harsh, though their truthfulness was not something to be desired. He had never removed the tongue of an opponent, but the last one to cross him was bathed in the hellfire from his dragon's belly, and the fool before him was six feet under, nothing but a forgotten memory to this realm. Another snort left Abraham before he lowered his horn and suddenly surged towards the filly, aiming to slice his dual weapons across her left flank.
As Abraham surged to her left in an attempt to cut her flank, Gwyneverre came rocketing out of the sky on the right side of the girl, but more towards her front. White fire erupted from draconian jaws, the white companion's chest burning a deep, fiery color from the inside out. The color matched her pyre eyes, which danced with wild bloodlust and malice in this moment. The fire was a short burst, an attempt at creating a wall to trap the filly. She did not want the lithe, young girl to flee from her master's attack. Gwyneverre wanted to see blood today, wanted to see this small filly sprawled in the snow, soaking in shame and regret. She will rue day. Gwyneverre hissed to Abraham, just as the older colt swung a sharp front hoof towards Arwen's left hock.
[Naw, I don't need to be tagged for this thread ^^]
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
As they met on the open ground his mismatched eyes narrowed darkly, Arwen mimicked the movement. Puffing out her chest as he raised his head she did not back down from her anger stance. Both their manes flapped in the wind, she simply started as him as he inspected her entire body, those creepy eyes looked her up and down then side to side.
At her feisty words a rough snort left the other's throat, his warm breath created a white cloud from his flared nostrils. Her own breathed heaved in and out, the pain of loosing her si....no. She would not think about that now. The dark intruder took a step forward, Arwen held her ground, anger flashing in her pale gold eyes. Words. That's all they are. He can lace them with venom, all he wants, he can sound dangerous but until he actually attacked her nothing was wrong. "There is nothing delicate about me." Her snapped response is filled with boredom and a bitter anger.
Another step forward, turning his strong body to the left of her she did not watch him. Instead she waited, waited to feel the pain that attached her to this world. Now he had half-circled her acting life a shark about to eat a tiny little fish. She smiled as his eyes continued to wander over her frame. The harsh words just made her chuckle, before sighing at him. "Hurry up. You wanna pounce...do it." Finally he did. No fear pulsed through her body, she was going to join Asch. Her sister was waiting for her on the other side. Another snort left and then he was flying at her. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to come. Maybe psychical pain would stop the emotional. Her left flank ripped open, the blood gushing down her legs. No noise was made though, she could see her sister's smile waiting for her on the other side.
The fire burned around her, still she did not scream, move or even fight back. Her true motives where to die, he was giving her exactly what she wanted. She collapsed as his sharp front hoof hit it's mark. The snow caught her and cradled her battered body. The voices of the fallen where calling her, they crooned her name and whispered their stories, but none of them where as loud as her sister's voice. The voice that spoke so lovingly over the rest. Her body was there, cradling her as Arwen waited for the final blow. 'Hush, it'll all be over soon.' The pale girl smiled and whispered "i'm coming Ashie."
Glee, malicious, dark and dangerous filled the boy's chest as he watched the white filly fall. The crack of bones and the iron smell of blood were his symphony, ringing around him in perfect rhythm and harmony. Gwyneverre moved quickly, needing no command to do what she was required. The white beast clapped her wings against her body and landed in the snow next to the golden and white girl. She rested a hand on the filly's cheek and another on her neck, tail lashing slowly behind her. dark trills left her mouth as she looked into the girl's golden eyes, her own fiery optics dancing with murderous delight. Finally, Gwyneverre opened her mouth, revealing her trap of rowed teeth before rocketing her maw down towards the child's throat.
Abraham circled the filly fully, the dark crimson of her lifeblood dripping off his horn and into the snow, as well as sliding down its length and painting his dark forehead in slick lines. His eyes are cold and show no pity for this girl. This was not the first life he had taken, and it would not be the last. As he continued to circle the girl--and Gwyneverre continued to ravish her throat--Abraham wished his brother was here with him, standing at his side and unleashing his own fury on the serpent-tongued girl. He made a note mentally to find his brother, speak with him alone, tell him of his journey. Snorting, Abraham spoke. "Gwyn, take one of my amulets and place it under the girl's head."
The dragon lifted her head, tipping it slightly to the side. She did not argue, however, for Abraham's face staring down at her challenged otherwise. Clambering up to his mane, the draconian queen skillfully unlaced an amulet. Dropping into the snow once more, amulet in hand, Gwyneverre moved forward. Abraham lowered his muzzle and put it under the filly's neck, lifting her head off the snow. Gwyn, as she was told, placed the amulet under Arwen's head. Dropping the girl's body, Abraham tipped his center of gravity back, balancing on the snow, before rearing up fully.
When he came back down, Abraham aimed to stomp and crack his hooves over the filly's face, in turn, knowing the amulet would break beneath her.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
@[Random Event] - #1 for his quest
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
As the amulet breaks, a force takes hold of Abraham. His bones shrink and twist - although luckily it isn't painful. His size is altering, shrinking. He loses all resemblance to the great strength that his parents have passed down to him, and is instead reduced to the size and build of a small and rather wormy shetland pony. His voice no longer holds any authority, but instead is squeaky and almost comical. Still, his markings and coat are the same - and the accompanying dragon at his side will let all know who he is.
Since this occurred at the end of this thread (and since Arwen is now dead and can't respond), please complete another thread with the current affects of this amulet. Once that thread is complete he will return to his regular form.
02-07-2015, 08:37 AM (This post was last modified: 02-07-2015, 08:40 AM by Erebos.)
EREBOS
His experience with death had been strange and enigmatic, patchwork images and broken whims, causing him to question, to wonder, to unravel bits and pieces of the scarce, unwinding information. The young prince had seen the devastation and ruin demise held upon the body: in the series of murders, the victims had been marked, wounded, butchered, and even as he stood there amongst the gathered, they never drew another breath. Everything was final, abrupt, shattering. They didn’t move. They didn’t dream. They didn’t do anything but become ash and soil, bleached bones and shades of legends. But none of them had affected him personally. He hadn’t known their statures, the wayward colt or the proud mare, the damaged warrior or the fallen angel - he hadn’t heard their stories, their mythos, seen their strength or regality. All he’d witnessed were their battered frames and the saddening scope of passing, and the gentle, noble, gallant interludes of childish longing had begun to flourish, an ambitious slide, a relentless upheaval. Could he prevent death? Could he tear it away from those he cherished, vowed to protect? Could he, one day, many eons from now, abolish a sword swinging for Rikyn’s nape? A rapier plunging towards Aithniel’s chest? A powerful, potent spell aimed for any Basin member? Or would he always be a bystander, a ruffian in the shadows, staring over the threshold and funneling bouts of curiosity and regret?
The latter thought was chased away almost immediately. Of all things, he wouldn’t fade into the dim lights or the murky shadows. The little demon was too determined, too resolute, too adamant to allow his soul to sink into webs or disappear into the horizon. He’d claw and rip and tear his way through the folds of the world, through the primrose paths, through the murky throes, to snag, clench, and grasp what he so ferociously sought.
His midnight wanderings brought him to the Steppe’s Tallsun escapades, where winter didn’t reign so far, slinking into melted puddles for a summer respite, and he chiseled across slush and droplets, allured and beguiled by a series of scents. One was instantly recognized, for it’d been Arwen, golden and pale, twin to Asch (who’d let him practice flames and burdens), but the smells intermingling amidst the air were bizarre and spellbinding. Like a sneaky demon, he followed after them, ignited and curious by the subtle trace of the unknown, by the notion of reuniting with the filly and perhaps exploiting play and adventure again. He traced and sketched, stealthy and furtive, pondering over how to surprise her: maybe how he’d shocked Essetia, with one loud, exuberant boom of his voice, or perhaps he’d simply slink up behind her and tap her shoulder, laugh and invite, coax, her into youthful diversions. The notions and thoughts added up to a wild cling of excitement, and as he bounded over the stretch of glacier walls, his narrowed gaze took in a baffling sight-
Because, there, fallen across the rock and rubble and ruin, was Arwen: bloodied, defeated, unmistakably dead.
All at once, his body revolted. Ebullience faltered and faded. He felt his heart sink and barely beat, drumming half-heartedly in his chest, devastated and confused. The echoes of memories captured and persuaded him into naught more than a blank slate, features fallen, dismayed, perplexed. The scrutinizing, curious side of him yearned to know how, why, what had she done to deserve such a cruel end, and the other portion of him, wild and untamed, sprinted towards her slain form.
He didn’t cry, he didn’t scream, he didn’t do anything else but get closer to her, peer at her departed frame (and therein, saw how badly she’d been mangled, no ounce of beauty left to savor, no essence left to appreciate), lower his maw to trace over the air of her mutilated cheek, give her a quiet reverie in hushed pinnacles and immolations. “Arwen…” Instead of tears or sadness, as he stared upon her shattered remnants, all that stirred within him thereafter was a tremendous, consuming anger, an unwinding, relentless fury, bound and scraping down his bones, through his veins, gnashing and grinding amidst his mind. Perhaps, only then, did his narrowed eyes glance at the surroundings, stare over the raw bits of ichor and sinew, sliding to pick upon a dragon and its boy (a pony, small and unrepentant), and he may not have even questioned the appearance had the other’s horn not been caked in blood. His jaw clenched, his wrath fumed and plumed and infernally stoked a wave of ire and contempt amidst his essence (and something even darker, nearly tangible danced and seethed over the tip of his tongue); the loathsome edge of his abhorrent passions kindled only one phrase, one growl, aimed at the only other inhabitant. “Did you do this?”
[Posted with permission from Frostie and Time! ^__^]
Abraham had done his deed. The mouthy girl who had challenged him, defied him was no longer able to stand, to breathe, to live. He had sliced her down where she stood. Let her life and this moment be a testament to what he could do to those that crossed him.
The Leviathan brought down another victim.
The crack of the amulet drew Abraham's motions to a stop and he took a step back, anticipating what was to happen. Gwyneverre flapped her wings and landed on Abraham's back, watching with curious and fiery eyes as the magic seeped out of the broken and used amulet. He felt a weight crash down on him and it forced a grunt to pop from his jaw. Backing up, wildly, Abraham's body felt as if it was twisting and turning. His stomach twisted and bile rose in his throat. The prince of darkness felt lightheaded and weary, something he had not felt since the beginning of his foalhood, and he sputtered into a coughing fit for a moment. Gwyneverre strung from his back, hovering around her transforming titan, eyes full of worry as she clicked and groaned to the world.
What is happening?
The world righted itself and Abraham stopped coughing, but his head fell between his knees as he caught his breath and his strength. Gwyneverre landed in the snow, clicking nervously and loudly. The darkling prince blinked, but he did not have time to react. Another was approaching, and the young stallion lifted his head up to watch the blue roan mourn death. Did you do this? Abraham nearly scoffed at the boy. Of course he had done this! Who else was here, who else held his prowess and might? None other than him, surely!
"Yes." When he spoke, however, he was taken by surprise. His voice, usually deep and rich and authoritative--with tinges and hints of his father seeping through each day--was now but a squeak parting from his lips. He sounded as if he were a bird, a babe, a weak and hungry babe with no strength. Confused, his brows knit together and his mismatched eyes flashed down towards his dragon.
You changed. Abraham you are a small pony. The magic in the amulet did this.
The prince blinked once more, and cleared his throat. "I used an amulet with magic stored inside and it has turned me into an ant." He fumed, though he sounded like a chirping china doll and less like the furious titan he was born as.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
The prince had heard stories of monsters, of behemoths, of towering colossus’ reigning and rampaging through parlors and corridors, corrupting, slaughtering, and devouring the weak and innocent. His mother had told him mythos and tales of brigands and sorcerers, wars and famine, a play of executioners flaying and slaying, and he’d listened, rapt and fascinated. He’d played adventure sonnets and crusade whims with his companions as they strived to discover a murderer on the loose. But he’d never truly met a demon in person (for the Basin was never considered a haven for these beasts; they were family), except for this tiny, miniscule infidel, and though his presence was underwhelming, it still raked over the embers of his fury. He studied and examined the killer, the painted markings up and down his shoulders, the twisting, spiraling horns, the ivory dragon hovering, tightened and tethered his jaw together while ferocity rippled through his young body. This creature had felled Arwen? This creature had deigned to destroy someone young and fragile? This creature had sought another’s flesh and blood? For what reason? To what purpose? To ensure his miniature ministrations conquered something, to inflate his ego, to polish himself in some unholy regard while he squeaked and taunted in a mouse’s frame? If Erebos were slightly older, more experienced, he may have pounced upon the rat like a lion, flexed his claws, honed his teeth, dragged siege and wrath down the arch of his spine and wondered how he enjoyed the torture he’d lanced and punctured on a child. The little beast didn’t care if the other had broken some precious amulet (because Arwen had been worth more, far more than a shining token, a storage of magic), couldn’t process why this information was even worth noting. It left no excuses, no motivations, and only fumbled and toiled deep into his ruminations, sunk and simmered, low and belied in his barrel, an unmistakable fire burning in his veins. A swell of darkness, an almost tangible reel of shadows and devilish contortions burrowed, then scalded, peeling away from his inner layers and lain cloistered behind his gallant heart as it steadily burst from his chest. How dare you he wanted to scream, righteous fury, galvanized contempt, unspeakable loathing towards this unknown demon. But a question rolled and quickened, a rapid firing, a swift, rancorous sentiment, for he had to know the occurrence, why another would hasten a death, so brutal, so bloody, beyond the measures of talismans and idols. Erebos’ mouth parted, briefly, to unleash his bellicose query, ferocious and savage, standing before her fallen corpse, belated champion too many hours behind, too young to have helped. “Why?” What possessed one to murder? What made them destroy another living being? If it was rage, if it was ire, if it was wrath, he almost had an inkling, an understanding, for the emotion swirled over him in a vigilant, malevolent storm. It was easy to hate this foul cretin before him, to conspire his ruin, to investigate his stance with swift, embittered, emboldened abomination: was it just as effortless to kill?
Gwyneverre did not have to flap her wings, no air rushing beneath her beautifully scaled body was necessary as it usually was as she leapt up onto her bonded's back in this moment. He was small, and the anger that coursed through his veins from the magic stored in the amulet--a trick of the goddess that gave it to him, surely--also began to course through her veins. She watched the roaned colt before them carefully, ready to leap and protect her fragile hybrid partner should she need to. It was the first time he had been fragile in his entire life, and the feeling left a sickening taste in his mouth.
Despite his new stature and the fury that pumped inside of him, the power and glory that he held in this moment still swelled like white hot flames in his breast.
Lifting his head, dignified above the younger colt, despite his newly given shortness, he scoffed. "She deserved it," He began to circle around, once a few yards opposite of Arwen and Erebos he lowered his head. He plunged the tips of his dual swords into a half-melted block of ice, washing the filly's blood from his precise and deadly weaponry. The titan-shrunk-to-pony shook out his coat as well, causing Gwyneverre to stir on his croup as she still watched the lion-tailed colt with fiery, eerie, reptilian eyes.
"Your friend should have learned to keep her mouth shut. This is free land and she was attempting to protect it. I, minding my own business, was merely completing my journey. She stepped in my way, lashed her tongue of bane, and suffered the consequences." His voice was still squeaky and small, but there was still venom and acid laced behind each word. Lifting his head, sun glinting and sparkling off his obsidian horns, Abraham locked his mismatched eyes on the blue boy once more. "Do you object to fair punishment?"
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
The prince wore his anger like armor, stretched it across his heaving chest and molten shoulders, felt it cling in the idle movements, in the building crescendo of rage and abhorrence. He yearned for the taut, unyielding control his father practiced, possessed, and honed, but too young, too fettered, too incited, it slunk and slithered away from him, rankled at the fringes, at the edges, of his blackguard stance. But he listened, he ensnared, he tangled with the throes of this beast’s machinations, of the reasons for devouring and destroying a tiny girl, and couldn’t see past the ineptitude, the foolishness, the arrogance seeping and scouring the infidel’s tones. Arwen, deserve death? A child, deserve demise? For ignorance? For not understanding the ways of the world? For running into the wrong cretin, for attempting to be brave, for trying to procure boldness and let it fly, crisp and clean, for precious, minute moments? The colt clenched his jaw, tethered himself to stay in front of her body, because every portion of his frame yearned to simply throw himself in the devil’s path and give him a taste of true justice, of the nonpartisan, honorable code he seemed to believe in. Had the painted demon before him never made an error, or would this be his first (for every tight, relentless second that ticked by earned him another strike within the colt’s memory, things to burn, things to annihilate, things to destroy when his limbs weren’t so lanky, when his muscles became firm and coiled)? Had he been taught to damn and condemn, no matter the circumstances? And who was he to do so? Why was he suddenly given the power to decide who was to remain, who was to lie across the ground, broken, gone, dead? His jaw clenched, enamel crushed against enamel, short, tempestuous breaths blowing from his nares, narrowed gaze sweeping from dragon to monstrous imp, defiance turning and churning a boiling, infernal drum in his skull. The scion’s maw parted, briefly, and his tones nearly resembled the Reaper’s, deep, warning, covered in contempt and barbarity. “Perhaps if the punishment had truly been fair.” Then, he stared fully upon the painted mini-behemoth, a challenge, a course of sedition, a rampant, insurgent regard, a future infidel waging war too soon. “But, you are no God. You are no King.” Then, in a belligerent, haze, he stoked the fires, churned them against his frame so fury and embers filled his mouth, corruption coated his tongue. “You have no power here. You had no right.”
He had no privilege of killing a youth, of slaying the innocent, of murdering someone too ignorant and too fresh, too new, to understand her errors. He was no entitled servant sent from the deities, no master of condemnation, no oeuvre of scales and morality. He was some small, ignorant, blundering behemoth who killed because he could, who sought excuses to vindicate his wrongs. The little knight wanted to utter some promise, some oath, that one day they’d meet again and he’d destroy every piece of him, inch-by-inch, layer-by-layer, rip off his dragon’s wings, and throw them off a cliff, so no one would ever mourn his bones, so no one would ever care. So Erebos stuck the silent conviction next to his heart, beside a ghostly, golden image of a beautiful, smiling Arwen, and when he grew older, he’d chase after a dream called justice and shove it through the demon’s chest. He just needed one more piece, one more nuance, one more sentiment to corrode and tarnish the abomination, to honor the path towards retribution. “Who are you?”
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