"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.
Achaius’ footsteps made bold impressions upon the soft sandy earth, epitaphs to the stars of his passing. The twitch of fabric across his shoulders and the whisper of wind through the strands of darkness at his nape were the smallest part of a ballad that marked his place among the pulsing hearts and the keening of lost promises in the rustle of feathers. The earth had yielded many mortals before him, and would birth many more after him, but there would be none exactly like him; drifting and stagnant and clarion in the fugue of a pseudo-human life. He wore eyes that had inherited beauty not in themselves, but in their beholding. Senses and thoughts that had sensed and thought all the greatness of the world before being born blind and silent in his body; still dreaming of life. But such are we all; the earth and water that sustains us, the fire and air that empowers us – the empathy that enables us.
There was a sea of new pale green grass beneath him, but he still felt as if he were walking on sand. Well, he didn’t know it was pale green – at the moment it was mostly silver, courtesy of the moonlight. But it was green in his mind’s eye. He could feel the sand slide beneath his feet, feel the warmth of it build up over the day burning up through his legs. It certainly reminded him of desert. And desert reminded him of… what was it? he frowned in the dark; every few minutes since his feet had touched the sand he was jabbed by a memory that was incompletely formed. Someone, or something was trying to get the attention of his conscious brain and yet… he couldn’t quite turn his thoughts toward these impressions fast enough to catch it.
All around him was a world of yesterday’s promises; dimly lit paradises bludgeoned with doubt by the icy fists of uncertainty. Walking beneath the canopy of stars he could feel – and almost taste – the bitter apogee of newfound grace; newborn hope. His steps were light and unhurried as the gentle breeze that swept upon them from the west, his eyes masked by the cautious optimism of new life. Twilight had faded into the veil of darkness. Stars dotted the canopy above as it darkened in consistent lethargy from navy blues to tones of darker black, and illuminated the suns of nations far forgotten. Above him, Polaris burned his passionate might, as though to rival the predominance of the sun during the day, irrelevant to the distances between. But the moon outshone him, even in crescent shape, and her light made ghosts of the few, pallid creatures that skirted the edge of his sight.
He glanced around him as he came to the beach. He flexed his neck, touching his chin against his chest and stretching the tension out of his shoulders. The sound of waves breaking feebly on sand in the calm air was all he heard, at the moment. He walked forward, to the bright flashes of silver off the cresting heights and paused at the edge of the water. It lapped, cool with a chill of winter still, against his feet, and starkly contrast to the heat of the dry sand of his previous steps. He shivered, and watched the light jump and dance across the water as his feet sank in the damp bank. Achaius could swim but… that felt impolite. ”Knock, knock” he said out loud, glancing upward and down the beach. He knew there was a bridge, to his left a short way – Ilios had mentioned. Probably no one would see him out here in the dark, however. No matter, it was well past the middle of the night so he doubted the wait would be long. The salty air was refreshing and the play of moonlight on the waves was attractive and something about it was pulling on that memory he couldn’t dislodge. He settled his weight over the shifting, wet sand and – while his gray eyes looked outward into the water his thoughts gradually turned inward, roped into stalking something half-imagined in the back of his mind.
She couldn’t sleep. Try as she might to tuck her head under a copper wing and doze off, Nasreen was restless. Used to the dense forests of the Edge and her ancestral homeland, the young mare was not yet accustomed to the sparse shrubbery of the desert. Even the central oasis was not much better; she still felt exposed and unsettled—a few palms did next to nothing when it came to sheltering her beneath the open sky. After hours of shifting her weight and refolding her wings, the girl finally accepted her fate: sleep would not come tonight. Rising from her bed in the sand, Nasreen shook lightly, sending a cloud of dust swirling to the ground below, and began to walk.
She did not know where exactly she was going, but the Throat was an island and she knew that if she continued in a straight line, she would come across the shoreline sooner or later. Though normally the mare considered it dangerous to travel after dark, there were few natural predators on this desert isle, and tonight the moon illuminated the dunes with enough luminosity to inspire her confidence. Keeping a careful eye out for hunting snakes, Nasreen trotted across the sand, heading for the sea. Perhaps she would arrive in time to catch the sunrise.
Without the heat of the sun beating down upon her as she traveled, Nasreen was able to maintain a steady clip, and to her surprise she reached the shore much faster than she had anticipated. A little ways ahead, the mare could hear the calming sound of the waves lapping at the sand, and she quickened her pace, eager to appreciate the sight of the moonlight on the water. Though she had not grown up near the sea in Th’orqui, Nasreen found that the rush of the tide and the ceaseless churning of the waves soothed her—they were a lullaby she had learned during her seasons in the Edge, listening to the sea crash against the base of the high cliffs. Striding forward, she summited the final dune: and there was the ocean, swallowing up the channel between the Throat and the mainland in all of its hungry glory.
For several minutes, she paused atop of the mound of sand, light grey eyes surveying the rolling tide. As predicted, the sound of the waves did relax her, and the girl sighed in time with the crashing water, nostrils flaring slightly at the sting of the salty air. It was only when she mindlessly scanned the horizon that the small figure on the opposite shoreline caught her attention. Shaking off the tendrils of sleep, Nasreen strained to see, but her efforts were in vain. Who was this that waited at the gate in the middle of the night? Vaguely anxious, the mare lofted herself into the sky, crossing above the channel to see what was the matter. When she reached the other side, she circled once, taking note of the dark stallion who waited below. He was tall and well-built, but she reasoned that it would be safe enough to land. Should he be dangerous, he lacked the wings to follow her back across the sea. Hoping that there wouldn’t be trouble, Nasreen dropped from the sky.
She landed a comfortable distance away, so as not to startle either of them, then called out a quiet greeting with a questioning nicker. “Hello,” her voice rang softly into the night. “Can I help you?”
Alone as he was on the beach he sat in a contented silence, the minutes passing and the subtle change in the moonlight and the star-spotted black shroud above them were companionship enough for a few hours. He had not anticipated to arrive so late and was not really surprised that there was no one to let him across. His thoughts had drifted deeper into his memory, trying to find that one, elusive piece that had been snagging on his train of thought like a loose nail. His eyes stared outward to where he assumed the island of Dragon’s Throat was – at least there was a break in the shining, diamond-reflected waves out there, an expanse of darkness that was deeper than the sky beyond it and the water below it.
After an hour or so of standing, lulled by the lapping of the water against his feet, he became dimly aware of a break in that darkness out across the waves. A piece of the darkness detached itself and, unmistakably, was heading toward this shore. It was still a few long moments before he really registered this as a fact rather than an instinct. He had a long trip back to the present from the rummaged, upturned heaps of the past in his mind. Starlight caught in the smoked gray of his iris, adding a flicker of silver as he tossed his forelock out of his eyes.
He watched her touch down a little ways away and he turned toward her, putting the water and the distant shore to one side. He had to pull his feet free of the wet sand to do so; they had sunk while he was thinking. Mentally looking himself over as she landed he rearranged his features, twisting his ears forward, lifting his head to catch a scent of her on the salty wind, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. Relaxed, open posture - and by the time she was close enough to make out his face there was a polite relief written there.
She had colouring he recognized, not as gaudy as some of the others he had seen and he felt himself almost grateful to see it. The wings blended in warm chestnut, overo paint flashing as she folded them against her sides after landing – from a polite distance – speaking her soft greeting. He took in her careful distance and her soft voice. He guessed that this was not typically her job – to greet strangers on the shore after hours. Or else this was a strange land indeed.
He dropped his head over his bent knee in a bow that was decorously executed. The way he held himself, his mannerism, was formally polite. Meant to preserve the subconscious distance she created as she landed nearby though he stepped toward her afterward his comportment communicated a habit of nobility and civility. He nodded gratefully to her as he approached a few steps. “I hope so,” he said, a sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his lips in well-crafted deference as he glanced up at her. “I had been hoping to take a tour of the island. But I arrived a little late and of course, there was no one here to let me across…” he glanced out again at the water as he spoke, his ear resting in Nasreen’s direction. There was a moment where his words hung on the air before he broke the silence again: “My name is Achaius, by the way.”
Before Nasreen could venture any closer, the stranger returned her greeting with a deep bow that took her quite by surprise. Out of force of habit, she immediately returned the gesture by extending a gracious foreleg—then abruptly snapped it down as she realized what she was doing. Though she had not observed much formality and no ritual to speak of since arriving in Helovia, she had a vague instinct that it was rude to treat him like one of the many courtiers who had knelt before her all of those years ago. She was no princess, not of this land nor of any other, she internally admonished herself, and so she could only hope that the polite traveler had not seen her tactless, if not automatic response. As he approached with a warm smile and declared his intentions, Nasreen made an effort to appear extra attentive, nodding along at the correct intervals.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Achaius,” she replied when he finished, dipping her head in what she hoped was a more appropriate manner. “My name’s Nasreen; welcome to the Dragon’s Throat,” she lilted, gesturing with a wing toward the small mound of land that rose above the sea. “I’m afraid that I cannot let you across the bridge, as I don’t have a key—” Here, she smiled sheepishly, casting a glance at the large wings folded against her sides, “—but, I’d be happy to wait with you until someone happens along. I can also fetch someone come morning,” she finished, giving diplomacy her best shot. Perhaps it wasn’t the answer he had hoped for, but it was all that she could offer him. Secretly, she was a little relieved that the full responsibility hadn’t fallen upon her. Nasreen was still new to this herd, and the thought of unintentionally breaching their lines of defense plagued her to no end. She trusted this polite gentleman, with his impeccable manners and easy way of speaking, but the memories of past failures were all too fresh to be forgotten so easily. She had been wrong before, with disastrous consequences.
“Are you looking for anyone in particular?” she inquired after a brief pause. The prompt was partially a security measure, but partially rooted in curiosity as well. For whom had Achaius traveled all night? She wondered.
He was relieved to see that she did not remain tense in his presence, though he wasn’t sure exactly what to make of her almost-response to his greeting, not yet. Achaius tended to treat people as disassembled puzzles in unique packaging. The general pieces were usually the same (all people are kind sometimes, selfish sometimes, angry sometimes...) but they were inevitably jumbled in different combinations and quantities that needed sorting into place. Interestingly, the finished puzzles rarely resembled the original packaging. There was a lot that could be learned from someone based on their mannerisms, the way they presented themselves to strangers, but these were only partial truths. He had a knack for the politics of things and to that end had a knack for assessing what motivated others, and an active, curious mind that could not turn off this processing. He also had impressions, his own emotional reactions to people, but he tended neither to rely nor to act on these if he could avoid it. Sober second thought was a much better director.
“I have only recently arrived in Helovia. I met young Ilios on my way through the Threshold and he recommended I come and see for myself if the Throat was for me.” He smiled, remembering the enthusiastic gold and teal adolescent. “He made a rather good sales pitch, actually.” Here he paused, glancing at the distant dark shadow within the veil of night’s shadows. His eyes sizing up the darkness and the weight of the future possible before he turned again, saying smoothly “I rather expected Ilios would not be the one to meet me, he seemed a little young for gatekeeping, so I came without expectation.”
He stretched a cramp from his right thigh as he spoke, the dark threads of his tail twitching against the warmer browns in his hide like extensions of the night, fingers of inky darkness looking for purchase on his skin. “Your generous company would have far exceeded them anyway, Nasreen, and I am very grateful to you for it… if I’m not keeping you from your sleep, that is.” And his expression was curious in a subdued way, to match the subtle question in his statement. Hi, I think we speak the same language...What are you doing up and out at this hour? The flattery was of the vain that was common in more formal settings; it was true on its surface but it was also an invitation to play that game of hidden meanings which was common for politicians and for courtiers. He had an instinct that she might be familiar with this language, and if not – well, it was perfectly true that he found her company more charming than he had expected to find tonight.
As introductions had been made and civilities exchanged, the young mare moved forward to better converse with her companion, no longer worrying that any harm would come to her by his hoof. The tacit trust came with his regal air. Walking the few steps towards him, Nasreen noticed that he was tall. It wasn’t just that he had a good hand on her, but he was tall in the way that he carried himself, she observed. When he confessed that he was new to Helovia, she found herself wondering where he had come from, and who he had been to comport himself in this fashion. Of course, without wings, he could never have been a prince in Th’orqui or the surrounding lands—and besides, he lacked the self-important smirk that all princes (her brothers included) were given to from time to time. Perhaps a knight then, Nasreen mused, casting a glance over his strong back and straight legs. But he lacked the telltale scars that often accompanied that station. Achaius remained an enigma then, and thus she paid him even closer attention as he spoke, asking herself what seemed so familiar to her about the dark stallion.
The mention of Ilios brings a warm smile to her face and only reinforces the trust she has placed in her new acquaintance. If her adopted younger brother had invited Achaius here, then surely he would bring no danger to the herd. Though the boy was young yet, she had always remembered him as incredibly independent for his age, and he had a certain air of maturity about him that often fooled her into thinking that he was older than he really was. A flush of pride tinged her gentle features as she listened to Achaius describe Ilios’ success. He may have not been related to her by blood, but she considered him family. As evidenced by the fact that Achaius was standing before her now, Nasreen was delighted to see that the plucky hybrid colt had made a good first impression. “Ilios is wonderful,” she agreed wholeheartedly, “But probably asleep right now, if he recently made the journey to the Threshold. It can be quite the long trek, especially by foot I imagine. I’m glad that you made it here safely.”
As her companion stretched subtly, Nasreen found herself settling in as well, refolding her wings along her copper back and cocking a hind hoof in the sand. Though dawn was fast approaching, she suspected that they may be there for a while yet. Achaius, having accepted her offer of company, was characteristically gracious about the whole thing, worrying aloud that he was keeping her from her sleep. Nasreen tried to put him at ease with a gentle shake of her head. “Not at all,” she reassured him. “I couldn’t sleep tonight; that’s why I came out here. I…missed trees,” she confessed, realizing how idiotic it sounded once it was out of her mouth and hanging in the air between them. Slightly embarrassed, she pushed on, trying to explain. “Just, sleeping beneath them, you know?” Still no better. “It’s silly, I know,” she mumbled, casting a glance off to the side and wishing he would say something. There he was, so noble and genteel, and there she was making a fool of herself.
Achaius’s face smiled in an understanding sort of way, nodding a little as she tried to clarify her explanation. Behind his well-placed, convivial expression Achaius was watching Nasreen with piqued interest. She held herself self-consciously; a little too tense like she was unaware of how many muscle groups were active. A little shy in the way that she looked away, trying to lose her gaze in the surrounding shadows as though that might also shadow the words she had spoken out loud. There was definitely something picturesque about her stance, the chaste way she came off, the delicacy of her femininity. These were aspects of a so-called higher breeding; a system and a time that put well-bred women on impossible pedestals and taught them pretty behaviours both overtly and covertly. And at the same time she was too shy, and though he invited her to the shared dialogue of double-meaning which was the only real game between young people of her… well, their class, she didn’t pick it up. Something had happened to her, in the time before Helovia, before Dragon’s Throat. Something that made her more interesting, more poignant, more real to him.
He shared her opinion of Ilios, and was glad to see that he was known to her. He was certainly a promising young man, and likely would make interesting, if noble, things of himself. “Thank you,” he said, to her first statement. “I have walked much farther, even as recently as a few weeks ago… Though I have heard that there are present Gods in this land, so I admit that it made me a little apprehensive in my travel, but it seems they have more important things to do than harass travellers.” He laughed a little, an easy falsetto that fell from his lips, mostly to convey that he was not too serious about his concerns. And he wasn’t – Gods were Gods and would do what they did. He had no fear of the uncontrollable aspects of life, he would meet whatever came. He always had.
“I think I know what you mean, Nasreen.” His smile was encouraging, or so he meant it to be. “I was raised in a forested place too and there is still something special about the wind in the leaves overhead, the quiet, softened darkness surrounded by silent gray trees older than all of us.” He looked away too at this point, back the way he had come, though his attention remained on the painted Pegasus across from him. His face turned in the direction of the forest he had left behind, some distance ago. There was a beat of silence, where he mostly tried not to remember the truth of his own statement, and then he turned his gray, friendly but reserved gaze back into her face. “But most good things are better in our memories than in reality – For instance it has been a long time since I felt warm sand gently swallow up my feet.” He glanced down as he spoke, and again for the hundredth or maybe the thousandth time that day something tried to grab his attention from his memory, poking him but not hard enough to pinpoint where the jab was coming from. “Or heard the lulling crash of the surf…” He raised an eyebrow as he spoke again, a soft but not forceful question; “I’m sure the desert has its advantages too?”' He had seen plenty of deserts, though they all tended to be different in some way. Why did the desert remind him of someone? Someone, or something? He was curious to hear what she had to say about it, interested in her experiences.
“I think I know what you mean…” he began, and as he described the feeling of trees all around, the girl felt her heart wrench. It was startlingly accurate, so skillfully and poignantly phrased that it moved her just to hear the words. For a moment, she was transported to the godswood of her homeland, gazing up at the noble trees that stretched far into the sky. She remembered marveling at the way the trunks had disappeared, fading up into the inky darkness, and it was just as he had said. “Yes,” she replied with a wistful sigh, sinking out of her reverie, “I think you do. I’ve never heard anyone explain the feeling a forest gives so well.”
However, when he spoke of the sand and sea, she heard the eloquence of his words, but her heart did not twist upon itself in the same way. “I suppose there is beauty to be found in every landscape,” Nasreen replied in her politely agreeable way. “The waves are welcome on a warm day, and the sand…” Truthfully, the winged mare didn’t much care for the stuff and the way that it sucked at her hooves and clung to her hide, but she knew to complain would be shameful. “…the sand, well, it, ah, keeps the sea at bay,” she finished, gaze slipping to where the bank stood the attack of the crashing waves. Perhaps it was a clumsy attempt at neutrality, but it was a truthful statement nevertheless.
Still, something about it didn’t sit quite right with her. Nasreen didn’t know what it was—perhaps it had been her companion’s understanding of the forest—but she felt that she was cheating him with her shallow attempt at impartiality. “I don’t care for the sand much,” she admitted. “It’s itchy and you can never get it all off. But,” she continued, gazing across the sea at the tiny silhouette of the island she had left to greet him. “Without it, there would be no place to rest my head. The Throat welcomed me in, and who would I be to turn up my nose at a gift so generously given?”
OOC: Sorry for the length/lateness, classes started this week and I wanted to get something up before I fell asleep for the night!
The skies held her up as Ampere cut through them, dark wings taking her all across the Throat while the blue of her gaze peered down at the moving shapes of horses below. She was on patrol again, still thinking over everything that she'd learned about the Blood Falls and what it all meant. It was a welcome distraction from trying to figure out what her heart wanted, because ever since Mesec... stop she chided herself. Sighing heavily Ampere tilted in the air, hoping the change of course might also alter her thoughts, or perhaps better, her feelings.
That's when she noticed them below on the edge of the herd land. They were just standing, not summoning, not threatening, just chatting - she assumed. Either way, standing so close to the bridge, she figured she ought to check in on them. Besides, she was due for a break anyways, and maybe the change would keep her too preoccupied to dwell again.
She landed in a spray of sand and feathers a bit away, and ear cocked as voices drifted across, catching the tail end of their conversation. Folding her wings against her back and shaking herself off, Ampere turned and strode closer, proffering a small smile on her wild face.
"I like the sand," she murmured. "It represents a herd. So many grains, each one an individual, but together they're strong enough to fight the sea, for which their is no match. The sand is moldable, shifting, changing, but it's warm and it holds your body well, even if it does itch sometimes - just like family." She gave a short laugh, blue eyes alight with the sound. "I think the sand is brave. It reminds me to be strong. Every day it faces off with the ocean, no matter the condition of the tide. And she, well she has her own sort of beauty. She's flexible, but rough, lovely, but dangerous, water which you don't drink, but that does heal, as often as it does otherwise." The salt in the sea did wounds of the body good, and for Ampere, also her mind. Still, the waves could be treacherous. "I'm not sure if either of them can win, but the beach is always fighting, sand and sea, surf and turf, for eternity... there's something in that that gives me hope. It makes my own obstacles seem so small, and my own weaknesses so meaningless." Maybe that was part of the warrior in her, finding beauty in an ongoing battle. To Ampere though, life was a battle for every moment. She was a warrior by trade, but they were all fighters by design, to be otherwise meant death.
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[O] We build too many walls (Knock, knock?)
