"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.
Birdsong; it carried with it warm and sweet winds, the change of the world from white and barren to green and lively, carried through the breeze a riling energy that swept through the wilderness of Helovia and stirred beasts both large and small. It is no different here in the north, the mountains chilling the touch of the wind which sweeps down over their peaks, reaching down into the vale, where it tousles the fur along the back of a tall, elder elk.
His vast crown of twenty points towers above his already bulky frame, his beige and black pelt lightened at points with the grey touch of age. Locked among the branches of his impressive crown are the tines of a failed bull, the skull and part of the spinal column still dangling from the smaller antlers, the flesh rotted and dry.
The visage of him in the mist laden dawn of the mountain valley is one that inspires awe, perhaps even fear, until one notes that he is thin, that his breath is heavy, and that his rich brown eyes wear the luster of one feels death’s cold breath rattling down his spine, but never actually dies.
He is old. Even the elk knows this. He has had many escapades with women in his day and has defeated many foes, and like any creature who respects the balance of the world, and their own place within it, the aging beast has slipped away from the places where his kin hide in the tall shadows of the mountain forests, out into the open, where he may at last fulfill the only purpose he was ever born for aside from perpetuating his species.
It does not mean that he will die without a fight; an honorable beast, a warrior within his heart, he wants to die bravely, the trumpets of battle flying upon the spring wind.
It is this death he seeks as he stands along the outskirts of the grasses which gain a green tint under the sunny kiss of the season, their rustle familiar as the smell of the dying snow, as the sight of the grey peaks along the horizon; seeking an end, he waits.
[ Hunt for Basin members! Large, elderly bull elk with a second bull's horn/skull stuck to the tines of his rack, somewhere in the rear of the Basin's valley along the outskirts of the forest. ]
Dawn is Hotaru's favorite time of the day. It could be because she is painted in its colors, that she feels a kinship to the soft, muted pastels that bleed softly across the skies. Or maybe it's the metaphor behind it all, that with a new day comes a new chance, a new beginning. If Hotaru were prone to that sort of softness, of course. You are, Alice stated primly, and Hotaru kicked an errant limb at her, completely harmless but meaningful nonetheless. Alice snickered and dashed off further into the half-melted snow of the valley, parts of her seeming to disappear with how her fur blended into the background. Hotaru merely rolled her eyes, allowing her hellhound the time to bound around without having to worry about appearances. Hotaru at least was open enough with her companion for Alice to understand that she did, in fact, feel guilty that Hotaru's rank forced Alice into a certain role as well. One of obedience, intimidation, and dominance.
Out here, they could be whoever or whatever they wanted to be. Hotaru was still figuring that out on her own. Her heart and soul were torn, her emotions in constant conflict. How could she know who she was any longer? Who could she even turn to? Her heart ached uncharacteristically for her twin, perhaps even for her mother. There was so much she had messed up as a foal, things she wanted to fix, but could not. Things the Moon Goddess had stolen from her. She'd give anything to speak to her mother only once, to mend the bond she'd broken so long ago, if only for closure. But Raeden...where had she gone, after that morning on the borders? Where had she disappeared to? Hotaru wanted her twin back, her elder sister, her reluctant portector and beautiful idol. So much had changed. What would she think of Hotaru, having become the Queen that Raeden had always desired to be? Would she succumb to her jealousy? Or would they be able to mend the bond they'd once had, shaky though it had been?
Prey! It budges into her mind, breaking apart her steadily declining thought process, her hatred of her stupid younger self. It was likely purposeful, as Alice knew Hotaru better than anyone else. Still, she found herself frowning as her eyes tracked across the brightly light snow, fighting the glare of the sun off is pale surface to find her companion. She was hunkered down, a half-formed pose of stalking as her ears flickered atop her head. Hotaru lifted her eyes in the direction, and through the rosen-hued fog a dark, majestic form emerged. An aged, weathered thing, but large and beautiful nonetheless. Alice was a hunter, but Hotaru had hunted for her when she was young and defenseless. The pair had never hunted together.
Regarding the animal, Hotaru weight the pros and cons. Leather for her crafters, horn bone could be useful in multiple ways, meat for the companions...on top of that, it would be a faster death than a pack of wolves seeking nourishment for newly born pups and scraggly winter members. The Lady paced closer, watching, shifting her form downwind just in case. Elk were generally not bothered by equines, but Alice's scent could send him running. Kill, Alice whined softly at her hooves. Hotaru shushed her absentmindedly. The pair of them could take it down alone, certainly, but it would be harder nonetheless. Shrugging, her mental train of thought registered in Alice before she could form any sort of official decision, and the hellhound went loping across the snow. Hotaru laughed softly, kicking her heels to run after her. A chase it was to be then, at least until the Elk attempted to fight back or they moved in for the killing blow.
Now this was much better. He breathes in deep, filling his lungs to the maximum, and feeling the cold chilly air rushing through his system. For the first time in several days the golden had slept, deep and long. It might have just been the necessity of sleep driving his heavy eyes to close, but that didn’t matter. It was one of the few mornings his mind woke up ready to go, and body not lagging as he rose from bed. So strange was this occurrence that Haldir remained asleep. The Laurelin was silent as always that the deer was not woken, nor did the golden try to wake him. Bonded or not, the golden always enjoyed the free moments without the deer.
He moves silently through the slow lighting forest, and when he comes to the treeline he pauses. Most of the vale was obscured by the rolling mists of morn. Like moving mountains they curled up and through the landmarks, giving the whole valley an obscure yet mystical feel. Yet one moving shape did shift through the fog. A flash of pale pink dashing through.
Harks lean back with a snort. Ever since that evening in the cave the golden had kept his distance both physical and mental. He did not want to think of her. It brought nothing but a shadow, and thick mire to his mind. So he had stayed away. He blamed her, in the same selfish thoughts. She did this to him of course. She invaded his space. His teeth ground to wonder why he had not shoved her out. She should know her place. This whole lord and lady business did not grant her equal ground to him. He was the golden. (The lies were stronger now, impenetrable to the weakness she had attacked during.) He did not need her, and she did not need him. A lie. Lies. Good gods why had he not pushed her away. What had stopped him? Shaking his crowned head vigorously the golden moves to look away, to sulk and graze. But another shape is revealed in the rolling fog between him and the Lady, a stag.
Earth eyes return to the scene to see the Lady hesitate before the sight, and he does as well. A stag of such size and age was not usual. Even from this distance the golden could see the sagged shoulders and uneven coat of age, but also the tangled mass of something rotten in his rack. Tasseled tail switches against his hips.
Already though his heart, fresh from sleep, was pounding and breathe coming quick. He was not a hunter though. But his body was already answering the challenge, especially as it saw another thinking the same questions. After all, he was not meant to be a chained prisoner. Every morning before he came to this vale had been greeted with a rush of wind and power. The thought of death, of rush, the crisp morning air, the invigorated morning after a good nights sleep, it was already calling him to the thrill.
He moves forward, ready, but hesitates. The large tines, and dark body were such a familiar shape. Haldir….Something in his gut twisted to think of the deer seeing the sight. Something completely unbidden, and unnatural. And certainly something he would not name.
THAT IS ENOUGH. Enough hesitations. Enough chains. Enough twisting guts and weak knees. In the face of the walls rising against him the golden roars within, and he unleashes the bent up frustrations.
He was golden thief, and the sly lord. So of course he was not about to charge like a maniac. Crowned head reaches back in his satchel and pulls from it a cloak of black, tossing it over his back, and he slips into invisibility. In silence and invisibility he comes closer, coming up on the other side of the deer from Hotaru, ignoring her for now, but using her. She was moving forward, and soon the deer would act, whether moving away or turning to fight, it didn’t matter. The golden was poised, ready, like knives waiting around the corner in the shadows.
As soon as the deer moves the golden’s hood tosses off, the cloak slipping to visible black and he surges forward in silence with horns aimed at some unprotected tender flesh. You wanted him to let it out, to let it go. Here then. The golden unleashed.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: Invisibly sneaks up on the elk and as it see Hotaru, throws off cloak and attacks.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
He’d never lost a part of his malevolence, a surge of his heedless, ruthless calculations. Too much of an infernal pariah, too renounced, too forsaken, he was entombed in the ongoing struggle between right and wrong, compassion and damnation, building tenuous bridges of understanding, of comprehension, before whittling them away down to nothing over and over again. The Reaper, while seeking, while stretching, while wandering for ways to adhere to sagacity and wisdom, still yearned, still longed, for the taste, for the ruin, for the art of dissolution and disrepair. He desired destruction and massacre as a moth to a flame, poised for domination, posed for supremacy, hankering along resolute carnage and forbidding invocations, a ghost, a ruin, a wraith, a phantom, launched and lacquered in the searing pulse of acrimony. Anarchy long since ended, he’d had naught to relish, to feast upon, no pillaging, no plundering, no absolution tarnished or taken away; and all the restlessness clawed against his insides, rasped across his chest. He forgot about his heart and its broken little bits, he forgot about the lure of mercy, and merely became a study in violence, a sculpture of the devil’s distorted manifest. The monster’s skin crawled with sedition, with predacious exploits, with rolling, curling, coiling annihilation, and it contorted through his breath, through the slow, meticulous movements, through the carnivore reverie slipping and slinking amidst his thoughts: prey on the loose, unwinding and unfurling from its shadows. Once majestic, once proud, once more than a fleeting, drawn breath, the elk was a likely portrait, a canvas, of their foreboding future, when all their strength withered, when all their minds warped, when everything they had was gone. But the barbarous titan, the cruel king, the ravenous beast, would never dream of his structure becoming naught more than an imposing skeleton, a cast-aside specter, a lavished predator searching for its last days. He lived down in the annals of resolution and determination, hoisted and harpooned finality with the touch, the stroke, the finesse of his presence – he’d likely twist and turn and exhale his last moments on the battlefield, cloaked and covered in red. Maybe that’s what the other beast hoped for: a fitting end for a long, lingering tale. The winter Lord’s hunt was not to be alone, however – rosy hues etched their way along the horizon, a gilded movement unveiled from thin air, and suddenly he felt utterly compelled to laugh despite it all. Would they ultimately work together, not for the herd, but for the chance of treachery and demolition, the rush, the zeal, the ardor, of death? Wasn’t that just like the Basin thrones, to conspire, to unravel each other, only to be pulled back in again for the sake of damnation? He could almost see Mauja smirking. He could almost hear Psyche snickering. He could almost imagine Illynx cackling. But instead, his eyes were drawn, narrowed, fixated on their motions as the rush began: he was a machine of war, a plague of immorality. He wouldn’t be fed into the entanglement of his rulers’ horns, bewitched and allured into friendly fire – so he pressed from the hills, from the shadows, launching naught but solid, stoic movement, a wolfish gleam, a pressing opportunity. The notion to utilize his enchantments, his necromancy, were clear and barbaric, etching a thin line along his skull and wishing, hoping, dreaming for their chance to make the world fall apart, and the itch of infernos drank its fair share of his veins, grappling for domination and demise – but they were likely to use this elk for something thereafter, and a burnt pelt would do no good. Instead, he approached the opposite side of Thranduil’s pursuit, towards the hind of the guardian; wondered about gods and all their leaves, all their shelters, all their shackles, and intended to aim for its right flank, swiping his long horn towards its sector, its sanction, becoming all the more hollow, all the more bestial, all the more nefarious – drowning in his raptorial reverie.
[I really didn't know which direction Thran was headed in, sorry Hawk. D: I just assumed a position, and headed for the elk's right flank, intending to lacerate its hind with Deimos' horn.]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
09-09-2015, 08:14 PM (This post was last modified: 09-09-2015, 08:15 PM by NPC.)
Death comes, an array as beautiful as the life that had unwound before it, a stream of horned creatures delicate and graceful.
A Lady glorious as the dawn he had waited in streams first across the frost laden earth in dulcet tones of rose and aureate, the light of the sky painting the warrior damsel in colors that make the old man’s eyes water in their beauty, a hesitation lingering in his body for only a moment to look upon her as she comes.
It is fitting, that she is a woman – for that is what gave him his life, and it is that which he has led his life admiring.
He turns to give the violet and ivory hound running in bounds of joy before her what she desires, a good long run before weariness steals what little vigor the elderly stag has left. Bounding as if he is to take to the forest, he suddenly turns to take to the fields, only to suddenly find the dawn light framing a golden stallion in the misty spring air, the gentle glow piercing the snowy hue of his mane which frames his dual horned features. The Lord’s challenge provokes a bellowing trumpet from the buck before his own proud set lowers, meeting the strange horse creature in combat as he has met his fellows before time and time again, forelegs hitting the earth with an audible smack in the earth.
His head is heavy with the added weight of his long since defeated foe, and the stag knows he will wear fast wielding it – but he had never fled a battle before, and would not begin so today. He meets the sunlight stallion’s horns with his own quadruple set in a resounding crack! that almost severs the sound of a third set of hooves approaching.
The poetry of it all makes the old warriors heart pound with a proud finality, the final walk of a man who feels fate smile upon him, who revels in how very blessed he is.
Black as night, there is a deadliness to the smooth approach of the azurite crowned creature that is etched into every fiber of his dark being, viewed from a glance as his tines fought the points of the golden one. Swift as wind, the lion tailed wraith descends, his horn slicing a rift into the elk’s tough flesh, the proud and haggard stag grunting in pain.
The hound and the dawn maiden are not far behind, coming like that which he will never see again.
Kicking out towards the dark stallion with some measure of force, he hopes to return the gesture with a swift impact with any part of the creature he can reach, though it is a slim hope – he is, after all, more involved with the golden one before him, the black cloak billowing in the soft spring breeze and the motions of his limber frame.
As soon as all four of his hooves are down, the elk presses forward and to the left, his head held low and defensively between himself and the aureate male, hoping to press his bulky figure slightly passed the bicorn so that he could have the woods to his back rather than a dog – assuming, of course, that the hound wasn't already leaping for him, lost in his surging forward…
[ Summary: The elk moves to run away from Hotaru and Alice, only to find Thranduil's horns, which he meets with his own/the skull (its very tiring to do this, as the skull is heavy, and he has been carrying it for some time). Deimos lacerates the right leg above the hock joint, and it is now bleeding. The elk tries to push away from Thranduil and better defend himself by pulling to the left towards the trees. ]
Dainty legs take her onward, lithe and beautiful as she creases the landscape. Her hair a wild halo of silver and gold that glows in the dawn light as she descends towards the elk in all his majestic age. Alice runs before her, a pace ahead, a synchronized team that waits for blood and privately desires to end this beast's suffering with dignity and poise. The way they would want to die. Beautifully, poignantly, with grace.
Snow kicked up beneath her hooves, gliding across the glen as her pace fell into perfect rhythm. Nares wide and snorting softly, clouds of mist and vapor tickling against her cheeks. Alone and vibrant, filled to the brim with life. The same life she'd be ending for this magnificent creature, and she'd see to it that every bit of the body was used. Such beauty should not be wasted. But even with her morality in mind, Alice was intruding on her thoughts, their bond thrumming with the hunt and the idea of fear and white-eyes and adrenaline. Part of her was exhilarated simply to be there, a predator in her own right, and she yearned to see the elk fall beneath the cutting blows of her horn and hooves. She'd paint the snow and tundra in its blood, and the contrast between her thoughts was so strong but she could not deny either desire.
He runs from her, as the pair had anticipated. He is breathtaking, in his own right. Alice hungers for the chase, and her legs pump harder, body seeming to flatten as blackened claws dug into the earth. She's a silhouette, poisonous purple rolling from her body in waves like a disease. Hotaru is proud of her, her own gait changing and quickening to keep up. They are young and nubile, lithe and spirited. They will run him down to the ends of the earth and watch as he crumbles before their might, should he evade their preliminary blows.
Everything warps, odd and beautiful. Her breath escapes her, slow and vaporous, curling against her cheeks and framing eyes that go wide beneath frosted lashes. He is revealed all at once, flickering and magnificent, eyes like flint and body sinuous with power that reflects inside his gaze. Her heart surges in her breast, and she cannot draw her next breath. Her steps falter, and her hair flies forward to tickle her skin and send her pulse thrumming, shrouding her view of him in tendrils of ice and sunlight. But she knows who it is, she'd never forget that form, because he's burned himself inside of her somewhere precious and untouchable. In that stolen moment, unprepared, she finds herself aching for something she's terrified to name. Startled by his appearance, taken aback, an instinctive reaction. One that is too telling, too raw and brutally honest for her to consider. He's handsome. He's come for me.
Alice, too, stutters at the moment that is so brief to others but so prolonged for the pair of them. Their hearts squeeze in tandem, Hotaru's hips going beneath her in her alarm at the sudden appearance of her the Lord. The two clash loudly, and she stifles her concern for him even as her mind registers the approach of another, Alice staring at her with grim judgment in her eyes. Turning, she sees Deimos approaching on the opposite flank, and her hesitation has kept her free from the kicking of the beastie's hind legs. It feels almost sinful to speak in this moment, but her heart swells privately to see her boys fighting this fight with her. Alone but together.
Hotaru could contemplate her reaction later, she was spurred onward by Thranduil and Deimos flanking her, supporting her. Whether they actually were was different, but she could at least imagine it was such. The elk swung round, and Alice leapt for its front right leg, Hotaru following her hellhound's lead and charging forth with horn lowered towards the elk's right flank. If it worked right, the elk would either rear or have his leg injured, and he'd be pinned between the three of them and less likely to run. She didn't want to use magic to fell him, it seemed a cruel injustice when he could not counter her celestial gifts. And she wanted to soak in the essence of his raw, brutal death. Things she had never wanted to embody, things she'd been afraid to encounter. She was refined, impeccable. The beast's honesty scared her. But Hotaru's heart soared to be felling him with her boys at her side, as unstoppable in politics as they were as a well-oiled machine in the field.
He wanted release. He wanted raw force. And he got all he was asking for a more. The great head turns, and the soft spot of the target stolen in a flash. Replaced by a literal grove of antlers. Like lightening they clash, crack and surge with power. But the golden does not have the same protections. Only two horns bear on his head and though they meet the others, some slip past their guard, and scrape at his poll and neck. A hiss sings from his lips and though his earth eyes look up their sight is blocked by the dark form of the rank decayed flesh tangled among them. Blood slides down his neck and inches more the antlers would find more than that. Suddenly this little release just got a whole lot deadlier.
Hooves slide backwards in the soft earth, though braced and dug in. The golden muscles locked and straining to just hold his own against the beast. Age may have worn his body but it was still the King of his kind. But like a masochist, a psychotic warrior, and a fool twisted so deep in this mess the golden grits his teeth and strains against the two locked in. To let go would be to have the great beast’s antlers pierce his tender flesh, and his heart, pounding in the reveals of threatened mortality, roars with such ferocity that it knows no other path than this. Spanish neck, trembling with strain pushes out in an effort to uncurl, straining to get the better of the locked in, but little ground was made.
The golden put all his weight to hold the deer in, to keeps its antlers locked in, but the great stag was about to put the flaming gold back in his place. A surge of force shoves onto the gold and he slides another length back, unable in all his strength to stop the force, then gone. Body reels as the pressure leaves, and the darkness over his eyes vanishes into a bright morning light again.
Gasping in the light and air the golden, with all the movements of war still stirring in him, takes no more than a second to turn and move forward. Earth eyes charging back onto the beast. Glutton for punishment. Raging for power. Addicted to the releasing pain. A black shadow moves with the pink but the golden pays little heed. He charges again, his horns, feeling the paradox of a lightheaded heaviness, aim low, clawing for the tender flesh of the old stag again. Desperate for something, some movement, power, or pride he can grab on to and possess. Something he can conqueror in this recent world of shapeless demons and shadows.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: Is shoved back by the deer, breaking the connection, but quickly runs after him again, once again lowered horns, ready.
I'm not sure where he should hit, maybe since the deer turned left his right side is exposed? I think thran would be aiming for his barrel, heart, or lower neck, but not sure how ru fits in.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
Death and persecution fit him like a glove, bending and breaking until there was naught left but the soulless damnation of one more character, one more essence, one more life – and he took it each and every day, proclaiming oblivion and massacre with every breath. Hollowed away from the hallowed grounds, he was satanic and Machiavellian, blending into the folds of Stygian beliefs and Lucifer atrocities, seeking mayhem and depravity between the gallows and the sunlight; heeding nothing, caring for nothing, until the ruthlessness was over and he saw the piles of bones, the lined carcasses, the misshapen figures of those he once knew. The stag was another beast intending to take the plunge, too proud to fumble and stumble in the wake of his death, in the foreshadowed lines and stanzas of what was to come, and they were followers in its stead: forgoing the notion that they too would become him in time, aching for release but too determined, too resolute, too damned to ask for anything more than one last battle, one last folly, one last run into the noose. Instead of slithering into melancholy and the void of their own future, he relished the reverential qualities of the hunt, the carnivore substances, the predatory gleam, the varnished, awakened, tantalizing allure of demise and ruin, a barbaric witness to Thranduil’s thundering longings, to Hotaru’s brewing capabilities. Naught more than a shadow whispering on the wind, a quiet, everlasting opus of scythes and catacombs, he was delivered a kick to the left shoulder, altering his course with an inaudible grunt of pain and a burrowed growl, drifting into the shadows to study, to muddle, to scrutinize where his influence best fit. His cold, calculating stare regarded the motions and movements of his allies closely, paying no heed to the blood dripping down his sword, to the besotted wickedness of his invocations chanting for release, to take away the creature’s life, to put one more knot in the rope and throw him off the ramparts. Instead, the beast, the monster, the Reaper pushed off the ice and rime and frost, pulsing with a grand madness, a sharpened edge, a keen, rapacious gleam, avoiding his compatriots and delving into absolute brutality, barbarous and unstoppable, aching and unwinding, aiming his blade for the elk’s left flank, intending to leave it completely, utterly vulnerable, weak, decrepit, begging for its thread to be snapped.
[Tries to avoid getting in Hotaru or Thran's way. Aims to cut the stag along his left flank.]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
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