"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.
He had simply been minding his own business, exploring a curious new land. His sense of adventure grows healthier with each day that passes, taking him further and further away from his mother's warm side. He had craned his neck at the sight of an island in the sky, but the next thing he knew...a cloud had grown beneath his feet, scooping him up like he would lift a blade of grass. A most ungainly yowl had left his muzzle at this, and he'd done his level best to get off the objectionable cloud, to no avail. That was a few minutes ago - now he stands stiffly on top of the cloud, realising resistance is futile but unwilling to yet accept this fact. He bounces up and down, stomps, bellows like the mighty stallion he is, but the snow-like stuff beneath his feet refuses to budge or shudder in fear.
Finally, the cloud halts, and he jumps off it with gusto. The second he lands, his hindlegs unfurl from beneath him and he throws his weight onto his forequarters, kicking out hard to try and smack the cloud into the middle of next week. But it's already disintegrated, and his hooves clatter into nothingness. He returns them to the ground, ears laced into the tufts of his mane and lips peeled in a maddened grimace, but there is no foe to attack, no would-be predator to annihilate.
He shakes himself off and begins to wander, purposeless and idle, worry gnawing at his belly at the notion of how he's meant to get down from here. The colt arrives at the edge of the cloudy paradise, but there seems to be a buffer preventing him jumping - not that he would, because he doesn't want to end up as a splat, thank you very much. He reverses away from the edge, because the height is making him feel queasy, and closes his crimson eyes until the vertigo begins to fade. With typical boyish carelessness, he decides to worry about getting home later. This is a whole new land ripe for exploring, and with a savage battlecry (otherwise known as a foal's squeal) he breaks into a high-legged trot, enthusiastically drinking in his surroundings as he moves.
""
LINEART: DARYA87.DA
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
The darkling colt was too-used to traveling to the Sky Island. He had been here several times, once hailing a Goddess. The remnants of this hung still in his mane--his quest yet to be completed. Now, however, the boy was just existing on the island. His nose was pressed to the ground, devouring the sweet grass and clover that covered the area in which he presided. His faithful white sat on his croup, bathing in the sunlight. This was a much better welcomed environment compared to the frozen tundra they had found themselves in meeting Ophelia and the wicked, delicate weakling filly. A small rumble vibrated the dragon's vocal chords, her song of contentment and comfort gently moving on the afternoon wind. Birdsong was treating them well, it seemed, as well as others.
The massive colt's head lifted at the sound of another, and his oddly hued eyes watched as another colt--so closely colored to himself--came barrelling across. Abraham narrows his eyes, watching the colt in all of his glee, and decides to close the distance between them. Gwyn shifted, her own head perking up at Abraham's mental rousing. A confused, small trill escapes from her drowsy lips, but she complied as her bondmate moved towards the black and white colt. Spreading her wings, the female lifts her body up and climbs up Abraham's topline and crest until she finds her favorite perch, grasping his twin twisted horns.
Abraham let a call ring out towards the boy--deeper and stronger than the young squeal the boy before him had unleashed moments before. "Boy!" The dark prince called out, attempting to close the distance between him and the white-faced trotter.
@[Volterra]
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
01-14-2015, 06:08 PM (This post was last modified: 01-14-2015, 06:09 PM by Volterra.)
@[Abraham]
VOLTERRA
you will remember me for centuries
Boy!
The word enters the young titan's mind, head turning to observe the caller even as he carries on his trot. As a result he finds himself unable to run in a straight line, falling in through his shoulder and trotting on a rather ugly diagonal path that, if he doesn't turn around again soon, could result in him crashing into a tree. Now that would suck. So he turns, feathered hooves skittering across the ground as he draws to a halt to examine the source of the voice. It is an older colt, probably a year or so Volterra's senior, and he bears the twisted horns of the unicorns. Yet - and the youthful beast's eyes light up at the sight - he has with him a beautiful white dragon, and, as ever, envy begins to bubble in Volterra's chest. Everybody here seems to have either a magical ability or a companion (or both in the cast of Nymeria, the lucky cow) and in the absence of both, the colt is forced to be content with admiring the talents of others. The white is smaller than his father's green had been, but she is still a dragon, still stunning, and Volterra's blood-red gaze devours the sight with greedy awe.
One day, it will be him approaching idealistic young boys with a dragon at his side, as proud and regal as the stallions he so admires. Perhaps he will be so fortunate as to bond to two, as the green said he was able to do. Think of the envious glances he will receive then!
He's breathing quite heavily from his run, fledgling muscles tense with exertion, but he doesn't want to blow too loudly for fear this older male will think him weak. "Your dragon's really pretty," compliments the youngling, admiration heavy in his voice. He thinks of his twin and her precious black egg, of the creature that lurks within, of the fact she will grow up with that companionship that his father and grandfather alike succeeded in obtaining. "Is it a girl?" He can't help but think it would be mightily odd to have the consciousness of a girl inside his mind, although, he reasons, he would simply love to have the pleasure of Nymeria's thoughts intermingling with his own.
LINEART: DARYA87.DA
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
As Abraham, in all his glory and strength, draws closer to the boy, he examines him. He has strong blood, but his young body looks untested. Even in his small excursion, the Dauntless' son can see that the crimson eyed colt was tired by his flight. He attempted to keep a cool head over his warm breath, but Abraham was more experienced, wiser than the child, able to see through the veil of childish deceit. However, the boy reminds him of someone. Reminds him of days past, when he kept most of his time in the Rotunda, warding and fighting off intruders. The one that this boy reminds him of, however, was the child's first encounter in the ancient place. Tyradon. Abraham scoffs. The stallion's dragon had played with Gwyn, and the two blacks had conversed, but at Reginald's appearance Tyradon had turned his tail and left. Weak, afraid of Grey-Eye'd brother. Gwyn nodded at Abraham's note of the green-bonded stallion. Abraham smirked some, letting the boy blurt his compliment.
"Yes, she is a girl. Gwyeneverre is a queen." He states, eyes looking up sideways at his companion. The white, regal and haughty, lifted her body and spread her magnificent wings, letting the light flicker and shine on her hueless body. She was beautiful in her display, and she decided to add power to her beauty. Her belly and chest grew with orange, flickering light, originating in the depths of her body. From her parted jaws spiraled flames that matched the color of her body--pure white, with some flames of grey and silver mingled between. Fiery eyes glowed with pride as she extinguished her flame, setting her gaze back on the star-struck child. She trilled, a low, rumbling, dark song, before she leapt from Abraham's brow and glided around the body of the small boy.
Abraham, in his behemoth body, began to mimic his queen. The darkling prince circled the boy, tail tapping against his hocks, mirroring an agitated mountain lion. His oddly colored eyes flashed, amused at this child's amazement. However, Abraham turned his shoulder away, turning towards the breast of the sky island, a comment thrown back at the boy, eyes disinterested. All a ploy to get the infatuated youngling to follow him. "I am Abraham."
@[Volterra] [Made my text bigger, hopefully that is better to read ^^]
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
@[Abraham] yeah that is a bit better now :D I've made the text on mine a bit darker because I found it hard to read on screens with less contrast.
VOLTERRA
you will remember me for centuries
His father had not fled the Rotunda that day - he held no fear about two green colts, and was certainly not weak. He had simply left at his own pace, sickened by a hybrid unicorn bonded to a dragon despite the quest that bid him to befriend it, revolted that his own green had played so freely with her. Of course, Volterra knows not of their meeting, knows not what thoughts go through the elder's head, but if he did he would most certainly protest for his father's strength. After all, boys naturally idolise their sires, and the young titan is no different. His mother, too, is fiercely defended and, of course, so is Nymeria. Woe betide any man or woman who says a single foul word about his precious sister.
He watches the dragon, still awestruck, his breathing returning to normal as he observes every flutter of those beautiful wings, drinking in the way the flame blossoms from her scaled gullet like a burning promise. Eyes watch in thinly-veiled delight as she flies around him, large hooves pivoting to follow the path of her flight. Stunning she may be but that doesn't stop the young warmonger shaking his broad head at Abraham's words, remembering Amaris' teachings and all the lore he knows of dragonkind. "Only golds are queens, or dragons bonded to leaders. Whites are low-ranked. No offence - she's still really pretty." He flashes the older male a toothy grin and a waggle of his ears, his usual tactlessness meaning he has no idea his words could be construed as rude. To him, it is a simple correction of facts; the only queen dragon is one bonded to a king, like Cynder, or those with gold scales, or both like Amaris' mother's companion (and, unbeknownst to him, his own grandfather's gold). Unless this older colt is a king, but he seems too young, despite all his obvious power. When it comes to dragons, Volterra is a complete nerd; he practically has My Big Book of Dragons open inside his head at all times, to spew facts like that one geeky kid you really want to smack.
The white-legged one circles him too, and Volterra continues to spin until he feels decidedly dizzy. He pouts as Abraham shifts away, the elder's plan working as the attention-hungry colt struts after him, crimson gaze looking up in admiration. One day he will be big, a titan like his sire; all hewn muscle and easy arrogance like the man he remembers from his birth. The older one introduces himself, and the beastling returns the favour. "I'm Volterra," he says proudly. "Did that bad cloud bring you here, too, or do you live up here?"
LINEART: DARYA87.DA
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
Offense. Rage. Demolision.
Gwyneverre spins around at the colt's words. NOT A QUEEN? BASTARD BOY, I WILL SHOW YOU QUEEN. Before Abraham could react, Gwyn is lighting up the scene once more. A warning to the boy and his tongue, though it was a testament to her deep power. Fire bellows forth from her jaws, belly and breast alight in the orange glow once more. The white draconian girl sets the ground beneath the young fool's tiny hooves to fire. For this dragon's young life, to date, this was the most fire she had let pool from the depths of her belly. She is raging. Her eyes are glowing with malicious intent, the dancing reds, oranges and yellows flickering dangerously. Her fire stops, but the wildfire on the ground spreads and is wild, with every intent to burn the black and white colt where he stands.
Abraham spins on his heels, watching as Gwyneverre sets the island grass on fire. "Watch your tongue against us." He scolded the young boy, eyes narrowed darkly. "Gwyneverre is a queen of death, of fire, of destruction. She has ended life, and she will continue to conquer those that oppose her. 'Tis wise to curb your tongue, Volterra." Abraham's words are but a snarl, cold and dark on his lips. He stared down at the younger boy, chin tucking some with dual horns pointed dangerously, glistening in the sunlight shining from above.
"The cloud brings all without wings." Abraham finally spat, ears tipped back with annoyance. Time was too slow to temper this child, and Abraham was bringing it upon himself. "You feel bulletproof but you are not. You are young and weak and small. Do you understand? Hold the piss that pours from your mouth. THINK. Who do you even think you are? You have barely seen the world--you know nothing! You are but a maggot in this world, having just spilled forth from your mother's womb!" Abraham tosses his head, voice booming as he rears some, anger flashing behind his mismatched eyes. "You cannot even fight. A bird could take you to the grave." He stops again, amulets bouncing heavily against his neck. The Leviathan snorted, stomping his forehooves into the ground, wishing he could send deep tremors to knock the child on his ass, just as his sire could.
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
01-18-2015, 09:52 PM (This post was last modified: 01-18-2015, 09:57 PM by Volterra.)
@[Abraham] he's that child that you smack and ground and take their xbox but it STILL. WON'T. GO. TO. ITS. ROOM
VOLTERRA
you will remember me for centuries
Suddenly there is rage; suddenly the very ground on which he stands is aflame. Any sane-minded child would scream and flee, but not Volterra. Instead, he utters a small huff of delight and leans down to inspect the simmering flame that dances around his hooves. Him, honoured with the flames of a dragon? Yes, it's every bit as hot as he'd often wondered, so hot it singes the tips of the feathering around his feet, but in a display of brazen defiance - or mind-numbing stupidity - he stays where he is. He is a dragon king - he remembers the scars on his sire's body from his green's flaming tail, the way the stallion hadn't even flinched when the fire tickled his leathery skin, so used to it was he. If the young titan is to claim mastery over dragonkind, he must learn how to cope with fire. He sniffs at it, feeling the acrid smoke burn the inside of his nostrils, and finally decides to move out of the way when the agonised stinging of flame licks above the fetlocks on his forelegs, ruining skin and creating scars that will undoubtedly stay with him as an eternal reminder.
It hurts almost unbearably and he winces slightly, imperceptibly. He will not show pain. He will never show pain. As his dam taught him with her venom-laced bites, pain is for the weak.
He's also learnt something else, something to file away in his encyclopedic knowledge of dragonkind - they're proud. He'd gathered as such from Amaris, but this dragon's vanity is a damn sight more destructive.
One brow quirks, lips ejected in a grumpy pout. As much as it's a learning experience to be burnt by a dragon for the first time, he can't say he particularly appreciates this older man's tone. And the beastling is a mouthy little shit who doesn't know when to be quiet; he has no older brothers or father to dominate him, to put him in his place, to show him that boys whose balls haven't dropped have no right to assert authority over those who have. He answers back, he defies, he backtalks, he pushes and prods and needles away like a virus, because right now he admires this white-legged man something rotten and wants to see more of that anger. "What's she killed? Bunny rabbits and little foals?" Crimson eyes narrow at the dragon, unable to mask the fact he's still full of adoration. Her fire is the best, and he's wondering if he can maybe goad her into giving him some more burns on his back or flanks, to take home and show Mother. Admittedly his legs are throbbing incessantly, heat spreading through each stout limb, but the badassery of dragon-burns far outweights the pain.
He follows Abraham's horns as they lower, almost going cross-eyed in his haste to examine the lethal tips. So. Cool. The older man continues to spew vitriol, however, and the young titan's ears flick back with displeasure. "Hey, I didn't just spill forth, I'm nearly a month old! And birds are teeny, they wouldn't stand a chance against me." The nuances of the speech are, of course, lost on him. Abraham rears slightly and, in awe-struck mimickry, the colt copies, lifting his fearsome young hooves from the ground and beating them at the air slightly. The movement causes the tight skin of his fresh burns to tug, and despite himself a hiss of pain slips free from his teeth, which he attempts to disguise as a snort to further copy his new idol. Sure, the man had shouted at him, and set him on fire, but that's what big brothers do, right? That's why Volterra doesn't want Abraham to think him weak, why he's doing everything in his power not to think about how much his burns throb and how much he wants to dip them into icy cold water and whimper into his mother's breast. "I'll be able to fight one day," he vows, lids narrowing and back straightening in defiance. "Can you fight? Can you show me some moves?" In typical childike fashion Volterra cares not about his recent ordeal, so keen is he to eke every ounce of knowledge from this older man and his grumpy pearl dragon.
LINEART: DARYA87.DA
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
Gwyneverre hissed darkly, her anger pouring through her eyes and stabbing at the young fool. He does nothing at her fire but put his fucking nose in it, and Gwyn sends an image through to Abraham's mind. The white queen envisions the stupid boy devoured in her flames, screaming and crying and flailing about in a futile attempt to save his own life. As the draconian woman finds purchase once more by clutching to her bonded's mane she wishes this boy's death and nothing else. A hissing scream leaves her open jaws, showing a mouthful of teeth, rowed like that of the sharks that scoured the deeps of the ocean from where she came.
Abraham glares at the boy, tail lashing against his hocks in his apparent anger. He is not even slightly impressed by the mimicry, nor is the darkling prince flattered. He is simply annoyed. "We have taken the lives of those who have stepped wrongly in our path. Do not patronize me, child." Abraham's horns move once more to point at the red-eyed boy's throat, and he sends an image to Gwyn of it laced with crimson, of the boy laying dead where he was standing now, throat sliced from throatlatch to chest. Gwyn hisses with pleasure, tail lashing behind her like a furious feline. She wants to silence this boy just as they had the white girl in the north.
Without speaking, without giving voice to his intentions, without making outward preparations, Abraham rockets towards the boy. The flames Gwyn had unleashed on the earth were fading, leaving black char for Abraham to charge over. Swiftly, the training of his mother ringing true, Abraham sidesteps in his approach before he jumps forward again. The Leviathan lashes his head back and forth, his intent to slice his dual swords across the width of the foal's shoulder. Gwyneverre rises from the boy's mane and swoops down towards Volterra, opposite to the shoulder which Abraham intends to rip sinew from bone, and as she glides past the boy she extends her hand, claws aimed to rip into his skin down the length of his topline.
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
Pain pulsates through his forelegs, his young chest aching to gasp and drag in the breath he needs but that seems to catch in his throat with the agony he's in. "You take the lives of children? Woah, impressive." Sarcasm drips from a venomous young tongue, so very barbed. Still he needles, still he pokes, unwilling to back down, unwilling to give in to the inevitable. How far can he push until the white-withered man snaps? How much can the little troll get away with before he's forcefully put in his place?
The answer is, not very much.
His dam has been teaching him and Nymeria their battle since the day they could walk, yet at this age the colt hasn't been taking a great deal in. Goofing off and being a pain in the ass with his twin is far more fun than being taught attacks and defences by his mother, but as Abraham begins to charge the beastling wishes more than anything that he'd paid more attention to his lessons. He makes his mind up to be the perfect student from now on - if he survives. He racks his brains for what he can remember, bracing his legs apart so he has greater movement, arching the neck that will one day bulge with a stallion's muscle, focusing his crimson gaze on his opponent's movements and hoping that instinct will do the rest. The older man's sidestep throws him off and he hisses with frustration, not knowing what to do, where to go. He continues to observe, hoping something will come to him, that he will suddenly gain the ability to read minds or dodge bullets...
But it is to no avail. He has had little practice, knows not how to use what he's learnt in an actual fight, so all he can do is spook to the left with flattened ears and a feral snort as Abraham's dual horns come for his right shoulder [you didn't specify a shoulder so I eenie-meenied and went with right xD]. The movement probably stops the horn ripping into muscle, but it doesn't prevent it hooking deep into flesh, etching a horizontal laceration from the front of his shoulder to the back of it. Agony explodes, blood oozes, yet still the colt refuses to cry out. As anticipated instinct takes over and he lunges forwards with his jaws, aiming a bite for Abraham's right shoulder where it joins his neck, hoping that his fledgling teeth and hardened gums will cause a bruise at the very least.
So intent is he on his attack that he forgets about the dragon - for shame! Claws dig into his back and drag painfully, gruesomely downwards, and this time as he shies to his left it causes the talon to create an arc-shaped cut, starting midway down his spine and ending just before his right flank like a flourish. The pain is indescribable - he hurts everywhere, and as expected instinct takes over. Not the instinct he wants, though, no, because it isn't making him suddenly know what he's doing on the battlefield; quite the opposite, as what little self-preservation he possesses finally kicks in.
He submits.
Body lowers, hunching, quivering legs still splayed and blood pissing down his body like angel's tears. His head lowers, breaking eye contact, chest heaving as he stares at the ground. He speaks the most ancient language of all; body language, the silent acknowledgement of his superior. Not a single cry has left his dry lips throughout the encounter; not a single scream, not a single beg for mercy, and now not even a word escapes him. He stands, a young colt giving into his elder, an elder that he will one day overthrow. Oh, in a year's time, such an exchange will go very differently - when he can engage Abraham as an equal, by all the gods he will. Perhaps there will be an undertone of brotherly respect in their future engagements, or perhaps they will be blighted by hatred and a stallion's urge to dominate, nobody knows. Only size and age make the young leviathan bend this time, but when testosterone burns through him from descended balls between powerful thighs and when heavy muscle explodes across his already stout figure, he will fight back. He will know what to do, he will know how to kill, and he will gain revenge for today's events. Abraham has shown he can dominate a boy, but it remains to be seen how he will fare against a man.
For now, he continues to stare at the ground, suffering pain so great that he wonders if it will ever stop - but the sizzling light of defiance still bubbles in the depths of his heart. A heart that only needs a stronger, older body to do all the things it craves.
LINEART: DARYA87.DA
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
02-02-2015, 11:18 AM (This post was last modified: 02-02-2015, 11:19 AM by Abraham.)
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
The titan's horn slices across skin, the tip painted crimson by the gush of blood he had caused. No sickly smile plays across his features, instead, everything goes flat and unmoved. The beast twists his head up, a sidestep carrying him away once more. The tiny boy flinches out, trying to grasp his shoulder in his teeth, but he is met with air and nothing more. Abraham is bigger, stronger, faster, and always will be. This boy needed to learn, and as Gwyneverre's claws raked down his side and he watched her lift her clawed hand away, covered in the lifeblood of the youngling, he decides he needs to be the one to teach him.
The white draconian queen circles around, landing on Abraham's crest, grasping mane and amulet for balance. Abraham, with his head held high and his body lifted with elegant power, trots around to stand before the colt once more. Mismatched eyes are burning, seething, but they always were. He lowered his head, an attempt to rouse the boy to look him in the eye. "Pain is the only thing that will give you power over others. But ignoring it will give you nothing. Embrace pain, youngling. Do not hide from it, and do not wear masks." Abraham does not stutter, his voice is confident and solid, flat but stillknowing. The scars that litter along his neck, shoulders, withers, and poll were all from the untrained youth of his dragon, before she learned to manage herself and her claws that could so easily remove muscle from bone.
Abraham lifted his head once more, looking down at the young colt, tail flicking at flies that buzzed anxiously around him. His stoney features were unperturbed by the bleeding child. Gwyneverre, moving to rest between Abraham's ears, gently steadied herself with his dual horns. "There are others out there with less mercy than I, be thankful for your injuries today and not your death." Abraham moved away from the boy, turning to walk towards the edge of the island once more. He needed to find a source of water, and teach the youngling about which herbs to chew up and spit onto his burning, stinging, agonizing wounds. "Come."
[Volterra]
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
Limbs vibrate with pain, sweat beading liberally across his neck and quarters. He didn't even manage to bite onto Abraham - to his considerable surprise, since he has little idea how something so big could move with the grace and speed of a ballerina - so he's left shamed and pained atop a cloud that he has no idea how to get down from. His head remains lowered, body submissive and hunched, chest heaving, tail flickering against the flies that are already trying to persecute his open wounds. If he's not careful the gaping cuts will grow infected, and he can't say he fancies dying of gangrene at his tender age. Perhaps there's more punishment to come - perhaps the older man wants to thoroughly crush the spirit from the defiant little boy. The thought is not a pleasant one, but the young monolith knows he will face any further pain with the same guts as he's faced the previous blows.
Abraham shifts, and Volterra allows his head to lift to catch his eye again. His gaze naturally darts, avoiding keeping lingering eye contact as a further sign of his acceptance as a lesser, because to stare is to try and dominate. The older one encourages him to embrace pain, but the colt shakes his head, wincing as the movement causes his fresh cuts to rip and ooze. "I'm not allowed to show pain. Makes enemies think you're weak, and you need them to fear you, because an enemy who fears you is halfway to losing already." That's what Mother has taught him, anyway, and Mother's word is gospel to the beastling. She is firm with her teachings, always pushes her children to the limits, but always knows when to stop. He respects her, adores her, and he thinks Nymeria feels the same. They are a wolf pack, all for one and one for all.
He is beckoned behind the older one and his white dragon, and the colt follows with as much eagerness as he can muster. The bounce is gone from his step, because each stroke of his hooves against the ground causes a spasm of white-hot agony to explode through each wound. He does his level best to keep pace with Abraham, though, stride elongating despite the considerable pain it causes him. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges, but he fights it aside. Must follow. Must be strong. "Where are we going, mister Abraham?" he asks, trying to inject his usual childlike cheer into his voice but coming up tragically short. He hurts too much to be able to sound as bouncy as before - he can keep the pain out of his posture but it's impossible to keep it from out of his voice.
LINEART: DARYA87.DA
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
"Embracing pain is knowing how to wield it in yourself and give it to others. If you ignore your own pain you will bring your own death, and you will be weak. If you're truly as fearsome as you think you are, or will be, those that see you in pain, able to wield it and embrace it and make pain your bitch will only fear you more." Abraham did not look at the colt as he walked towards the edge of the floating island. His words were harsh but they were true. Only idiots ignored their pain. Ignoring pain, ignoring injuries, letting them fester and become infected was the highway to death. Any mother who taught her children to ignore pain and let it swelter was a fucking fool. Circe and Archibald were wise in teaching their sons about pain, about taking it with grace and bestowing it with greatness. Never would the dual horned prince forget his father's scars, the massive drapes across his body from dragonfire and the slices from horn and hoof alike, the patches of missing hair from teeth. Archibald was a warlord, a legend on the battlefield of Helovia, and all who waged war with him knew true fear.
Abraham would cause that fear and more in the hearts of this world.
Gwyneverre glided above them, the sun glittering off her white body beautifully as she weaved around in the air. "Observe. Find answers yourself. Shut your trap and just wait." Abraham snarled, wanting to warn the boy with a cowkick to silence him. The ones who continually spoke and did not silence themselves to observance, to take in the world in their own accord, would learn nothing and would gain no power. Circe had taught him the power of silence, but Reginald had always mastered it over him. As a boy, the Leviathan was too curious not to verbalize his wonder and awe. Time, however, tempered his tongue, but not without a few nips and slaps from his mother when it was not his turn to speak. Obviously, the foolish mother of this stupid boy did not teach her son anything of weight and truth for his life to come.
When they reached the edge of the island Abraham let the clouds gather around his feathered hooves and lift him into the air. He stood square, confident and unafraid of the journey as he descended to the world below.
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
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