"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.
12-01-2015, 06:46 PM (This post was last modified: 12-01-2015, 06:47 PM by Erthë.)
Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,
And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.
Flying. It was better than she could ever have imagined. There existed no words to describe the wild, fierce joy in soaring weightlessly through the heavens, rising in vast spirals on warm updrafts whilst the splendor of the world spread out beneath your feet. The air was so clean up there, so fresh and sweet that inhaling too deeply left you dizzy and overwhelmed, drugged on oxygen and the joy of being alive.
For one who had spent the latter part of her life hampered and slowed by a dysfunctional body, it was even more liberating. The process of learning had been long and there were still many things she didn't know about wind and terrain and the effects weather could have, but it didn't matter because finally Erthë was free, able to travel as far and fast as she wished without having to consider her accursed legs.
Without even thinking about it, she set her course for the northern expanse. Wiser horses might have warned her to stay close to home until she had learned to control herself in the air, but she hadn't asked for advice before leaving. The high of flying was better even than chewing poppy, Erthë admitted herself to be hopelessly addicted already and wouldn't have accepted a cure even if there was one. In the manner of most young people she thought herself near invincible, strong and able, perfectly capable to look after herself. She would be a yearling soon, once the leaves had changed color and shed from the trees in welcome of the first snow, and though she would always remain small and lithe of built it meant that she was not a child anymore.
Jubilant she swept across the vast inland sea, the journey laced with pauses where she practiced the more difficult parts of flying, like landing and takeoff. She swam through icy lakes and grazed from the wide-stretched meadows on the southern parts of the tundra, played tag with hawks and eagles in the eastern mountains. And when she saw the trees change color from subdued greens and autumn yellows into a uniform crimson, she lowered herself down in lazy circles, wings cutting gracefully through layers of cloud while she searched for that one clearing where, it seemed, everything had begun.
What she would do there, Erthë didn't know. Like so many times before the red forest with it's bloody falls worked a strange magic on her, both pulling her in and filling her with a deep set revulsion. Bad things had happened in this forest, and it had been the start of a conflict that ultimately robbed her of both family and health... But at the same time it was impossible to hate the place, because it possessed a bittersweet beauty, of the kind that made you want to heave deep sighs and write bad poetry.
And who knew; something new might have appeared there since last she'd visited. If nothing else, she could pay her respects to the spirit of the Bear God.
12-12-2015, 07:47 PM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2015, 07:48 PM by Erebos.)
Erebos
The prince basked in the glow of the Bloody Falls as if he belonged there, hastened by the desire to shed ichor, commanded and summoned into its wretched, stained halls to commit memories of battles and campaigns to vicious, vehement reverence. He and Orsino waltzed beneath the convictions of red and the creeds of crimson, unveiling nothing, scorching naught, smoldering and dreaming and aspiring the drums of revolution. However unwieldy the notion, however far away the ambition, he carved it over and over in his heart, in his mind, in his soul, sculpting the ferocious nuances, playing the stalwart, kindred spirit while his skull pulsed Mephistophelean delights and conjured the relish of an enemy’s demise – perhaps, one day, he’d be able to invoke it into tangibility, reality. When everything aligned, when justice could be served, when vengeance could be more than just a whim, a fantasy, a chimera haunting his endeavors, perhaps he could trace more than monstrosity, more than calamity, and touch the world, sculpt kingdoms, trace sovereigns, into his tenacious, intrepid grasp. He remembered golden frames and pale cheeks and bloody pools, he remembered ivory dragons, he remembered miniature beasts; and he remembered how it felt to help fell a god – and his enemy was no deity, no divine being. If a God could be destroyed, so could Goliath.
They paid homage to the clearings, to the glades, to the copses lined with images of persecution, of death and demise, of the sweet, nourishing blades of danger, of the flickering barbs of destruction curled at their feet. As Orsino rambled through moss and undergrowth, the boy narrowed his eyes and stared amongst the bracken, Stygian abyss. When only a strange spark of color, white, ivory, vivid and bright against the midnight plain, appeared beyond the damask leaves and the damning decadence, he first thought to ignore it. Perhaps it was one more being rustling about the everlasting night, dreaming and drinking and casting aside their wares of hallucinations of grandeur, for tales and rumors sparked about the treasures hidden below lakes and streams of gore. Perhaps it was some other creature beckoning for absolution and could only find it in the torment of veils and shrouds. Perhaps it was nothing at all – or a beast, a monster, flanked by its fallen comrade.
Orsino hissed, then chuckled across their connection, staring at the gliding filly, the only thing reverberating with light. Only child!. Thereafter he laughed again, quiet and mocking, derisive and bitter, as if intending to torment the lost babe. At this, Erebos arched a single brow, standing perfectly still in the midnight canvas, just another soul etched upon pathway after pathway, lingering in the breadth of silence and listlessness. While Orsino would have gladly tortured the youth with visions of madness and mania, Erebos merely stepped out from the threshold of a bloody tapestry, nodding his head in her direction, tilting his cranium in sheer, damning curiosity, in speculative wonder at how she could serve him. “You wander alone?” His voice curled over the twilight gloaming, tracing over the quiet, amiable and affable, cordial and inquisitive, no damning mentions – for he too had meandered across many a throne with little to no guards. Maybe the filly was much like himself, confident and assured, resting on laurels and not the art, the thrill, of dangerous foes and treacherous snakes, and his mouth coiled into a soft, impish smile. Orsino maintained his distance, staying amongst the brush, waiting, watching, listening, and stalking.
I'LL SHOW YOU HOW GOD | FALLS ASLEEP ON THE JOB Image Credits
In the time after the fall of the four gods, Öde had watched and waited from the frozen north. He supposed he didn't expect much else - four gods, four lands, four battles and four deaths. Yet, he hoped for more, and since hope could be so singularly powerful and utterly useless he held onto it and wished for the former. His only results were the latter, much to his chagrin.
He supposed part of his fervent desire for more was that he'd missed the last fight. It was more than just passed opportunities though. Öde had been alive during that time because gods had been abound like never before, a surplus of power and infamy rich for the taking, and his thirst had granted him more success than he'd realized. After all he, and much of Helovia, became aware that gods could truly and fully die.
This desire to be close to gods once more had drawn him to a place that seemed suitable to his own. In times past he had prayed in the Dark Forest, and of course the brutal north was always acceptable for his god, but this new place bloodied in more ways than one seemed a fine place to bow his head and ask the shadows for favors. So he returned to the resting place of the Bear God, walked in the footsteps of the battleground and conjured up memories of that beautiful scene. As he did his lips murmured promises and chimes to the DemonKing, and Öde swore to himself that he would ascend this platform of mere mortality.
Somewhere amid his chants, the young stud heard the sound of a familiar voice. Interest piqued he turned towards it, slipping through the crimson foliage like a wolf on the prowl until he found the dark prince. His grin spread, feeling as if fate had led him to this promising sinner - a prayer answered perhaps. Erebos seemed too powerful to take into his shadow directly, much like Reginald was, but he supposed there was a good chance of dealing a strong friendship with his cousin, the Reaper's son - ally or disciple, swaddled in shadow was always beneficial.
Yet the unicorn was not alone.
Red gaze drifted towards the pale filly, who seemed for all the world so out of place in the land, before the two darklings, that surely she was some angel gone astray, and now to be devoured. "She does seem in need of company," Öde interjected, his grin so broad it showed his teeth. He lingered somewhere near his kin, wreathed in bloodied leaves and crowned on crimson land.
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Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
12-20-2015, 07:01 AM (This post was last modified: 12-20-2015, 07:02 AM by Erthë.)
Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,
And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.
It didn't take her too long to find the former battlegrounds. While time had erased the more obvious signs - washed away the blood and the soot and wrapped whitening bones in a wreath of verdure - there were things you couldn't hide as easily. Scorch marks on red-leaf trees whispered suggestively, betraying the whereabouts of glittering fragments of blue crystal, dimmed and faded under the wear of wind and water but there none the less. The soft ground surrounding the ruby red basin had been trampled to mud back then, and if you knew what to look for it was still possible to see where the grass was shorter, less durable.
Though moderately thirsty after the long flight, Erthë still shunned the blood-colored water. Too many foul essences had mixed into that liquid for her to want to drink it, like that argent princess had done nearly half a year ago. Instead she drifted towards the shadows and lapped at the moss and the ferns, nibbled dewy grasses until the worst of the dryness had eased away from her throat.
Just about to pick her way gingerly through the dense woods, Erthë paused and turned warily as a voice called out to her. She hadn't expected company - not here, of all the god-forsaken places of the world - and it felt like a bad omen to see the tall, tenebrous stallion walk towards her out of the darkness.
His query didn't exactly sound cheerful either. Was she alone? Well. Even if she was, how smart would it be to tell this handsome devil? A normal girl might have tried to evade the question somehow, excused herself and then left the place immediately. But, well. Erthë was weird sometimes. The weight of an ivory weapon pressing against her side beneath the folds of alabaster feathery made her braver than what was healthy, so she felt no need to run or hide or otherwise consider her own safety.
"For now" she replied with an airy smile, soft tunes lilting with the poorly suppressed thrill of being on adventure. "I've been testing my wings, see. And you... are not alone, I see?"
Pale dual-toned eyes moved to fix upon a second stallion, equally dark and armed with both sword and a peculiar sense of humor. Her smile faltered a bit, unsure of how to respond to the jibe - did he mean she looked lost and in need of help, or that she seemed too weak to travel on her own? Or was it a way of suggesting she should stay and chat, or some poorly phrased invitation to play? This second unicorn seemed a bit older than the first, and it felt decidedly odd to think of adult horses playing the way she imagined it, romping around over flowery fields chasing butterflies.
"Well..." she said, hesitant and obviously puzzled. "Well I suppose I don't have to leave yet. I don't mind company, so..."
She shrugged and tried the friendly smile again, though she didn't try to bridge the distance between herself and them. Naive she may be, stupid she was not.
"I'm Erthë" she offered, gaze moving between the young men in an expectant manner. "Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
Enigmas and iniquities; inquiries and enmity, he remained stoic, amiable, affable in the face of ignorance and innocence, an idle predator studying the length of her fragile wings and the angelic plume of her feathers. He’d seen ivory and blood washed together before, flecked by gold, unceasing, a river of desperation and unattainable whims – if he’d been faster, if he’d been quicker, if he’d been swifter, perhaps she’d still be breathing and he wouldn’t be so full of hate, so full of restless, vagabond ideals – and he wondered if this filly would ever meet the same fate. Would she come across strangers and secrets, temples and rogues, brutal armaments and unholy demons, searching and prying and discarding virtue, honoring only the actions of discord and strife? Would she be saved? Or would she be just as damned as Arwen, a lamb sent to slaughter? If she was prying for knights, this was the last place she should’ve been looking. His gallant acts had long since faded. The boy, for he was still young and vibrant and seditious enough to warrant the name, glanced towards the ichor-laden leaves and the persistent echoes of Orsino, the constant demon in his head, pondering over what to do with her now. He’d approached, he’d made random diatribes, he’d glossed her over as one more harmless, benign creature, but had yet to provoke anymore. With others, the fiend had scorched or smiled, had irked, irritated, or bestowed something, anything, other than inaction; some lectures, some harsh sentiments, some playful notions, but this girl of airy, soft tunes and delicate foibles gave him naught. She was like a phantom, a hallucination, a laced foil of grace and morality, and it made him want to tarnish it just a little, just a smidgen, so she could see the world for what it really was: wicked and cruel, demanding and vicious, plucking all the greatest thoughts from one’s head, staining and bludgeoning and ripping them to shreds. The only webs sticking to his skull, the only fibers melding and weaving their way through his cranium, were Cheshire impulses and mischievous designs, snares and traps and an unholy barrage of heartless deceptions – his own version of play. Another’s appearance, Ode, as dark and mysterious and hellbent as all the others looming within their kingdom, only pried the impish grin into broader strokes, into zealous, fervent, handsome spheres, as if she’d been invited into their game, a little fly pulled into the spider’s parlor. His eyes were cast towards Ode’s crimson set for the slightest of moments, an extension of abhorrent humor, before casting his glowing, ebullient stare towards the white maiden, sociable, outgoing, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I’m Belial. A pleasure, Erthë,” his voice lingered, a charming, charismatic invitation to niceties and friendly raptures, as if he were not a child of death and infidels, as if he were not a prince to a frozen world, as if he were not on a fast pace to becoming a demon himself, lying and lying and hoping his companion would do the same. Thereafter, he mused, quietly putting his lips together in a solemn line, bending in pretense and dismay, harboring grand, impish secrets behind the walls of a thousand bedlams and merciless ideas. “I’d be careful around here if I were you. Who knows what could be out there,” and he gestured, long and low with his head, towards the red underbrush, where blood and water flowed and melded, molded, together in a scene of perilous delusions. As if on cue, Orsino, hidden in the bushes, emitted a terrifying, bird-like screech, allowing it to resonate through the valley on high-pitched decibels; sounding like danger and discordance.
I'LL SHOW YOU HOW GOD | FALLS ASLEEP ON THE JOB Image Credits
[Wherein Blu tries to be cruel and clever and just rambles about useless shit the whole time and achieves none of her goals :D]
The world was full of pretty things and ugly things, and pretty ugly things too. Öde was familiar with ugly; it had nurtured him, groomed him, made him the stallion he was and repeatedly broke him whenever he failed in that regard. It was not so much that he liked ugly things, but the comfort with them, the understanding of them, well that was something he'd always prefer over the fretful unknown of those prettier parts of the world. That this girl could be so pretty, a seemingly flawless dove cut from porcelain and glass, well it rankled him. How could she be that image of purity and childhood naivety that he knew didn't exist? How could she portray the goodness of the world when that was long buried beneath all the bad? How could she be?
A lie, he decided after a moment of staring at her youthful grace. She was a falsehood, and he realized in that moment that honesty made ugliness bearable. Hardly a virtuous man, and certainly not one above deceit, he disliked being lied to all the same. His mother, the world, the gods - her, here and now, being who she was.
His lips attempted to snarl as he looked upon her so he jerked them back into a grin, gaze catching Erebos' with a knowing intent. Although he had no claws to flex into the dirt, the wolf that was Öde nearly seemed to sink his hooves into the bloodied realm. Break the little doll some raucous voice inside of him hissed, decidedly feminine and utterly ugly. The son heeded his mother.
Yet Öde was not accustomed to working alongside others, and it seemed neither was Erebos. Oh sure, they both dwelled in a herd, the same herd in fact, and Öde had even marched with an army, but when it came to trickery and foul play, one needed a brother to back them up, and Öde and Erebos were but cousins. So Erebos' answer surprised Öde, but he swiftly kept himself checked, betraying only a flick of his red gaze which could easily be written off as a normal look. Without missing a beat Öde replied as well, not needing the time to conjure an alias - though he had to admit, he liked horses to know his name, whether for better or worse.
"And I'm Oblivion," he drawled in turn, flashing another one of his winning smiles, hoping he made it out less wolfish. The best laid traps were the ones never seen after all; he'd need to be a gentleman to get a lady.
Ears flicked back then at the explosion of noise, so abrupt and shrill that Öde's flesh rippled like dark, disturbed water. He held his desire to shy away however, settling for a flinch and a turned eye towards the source of the cry. Erebos' utterly unperturbed response smoothed Öde's nerves. perhaps after today they could become brothers, but for now, that single look was not enough to convey the plan. Still, Öde did his best to fall into line with Erebos' mischief, a boy who seemed rather apt for the talent where as Öde was much more outgoing and just left blood and bruises in his wake. A wolf that slayed was soon betrayed though, all the sheep rounding upon him. Yet the fox that snuck away, lived another day, with all the sheep in a daze.
Öde didn't fear death, but he didn't like it either. Better to be a little bit sneakier.
Holding the girl in his sights, Öde feigned calmness during the ordeal, figuring his own brief moment of surprise would have been lost to her beneath her own - for surely she was too weak to be anything but witless after that. He figured the dead calm of both him and Erebos' might further rattle her, so he held the charade, and even lent his magic towards her to restrict that defense should she summon it. Feel your mortality he thought joyfully, loving little more than to withhold the gifts the gods bestowed upon others, bringing them down to the plains where they belonged, into the shit and the mud rather than the stars which were his playgrounds.
"That sounds like the Skullmaul now," Öde chimed over-pleasently, shivering with noticeable drama. "Nasty thing," he went on, becoming more grave. "It loves the color white and collects anything that it cane to build its home. Ground and snow don't work of course, no it needs things it can hold and collect... like bones and," here Öde glanced from Erebos to her, "pelts. It'll peel away skin from meat and meat from bone just to get at what it wants." Öde was clearly unconcerned, because he was decorated in black and red.
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Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,
And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.
Cygnet neck arched gracefully as the young men introduced themselves, one after the other. She had no reason not to believe their word as they offered names and accepted the lies easily, even smiled to each in turn with the innocent delight of one who had just gained two new friends.
And what luck - the kind-hearted Belial even attempted to care for her. Erthë smiled even wider, though there was a mischievous touch to her expression this time.
"Oh, I can take care of myself" she assured, "but I appreciate the warning. And nothing will happen while I've got no less than two warriors for company, don't you thi..."
But she was interrupted by a loud, shrill scream, so sudden that the girl jumped in place. She spun around on the spot, wings half unfurling as she stared off among the trees. What had that been? It sounded like nothing she'd heard before, not in any forest.
Her nose reached downwards to lip at the curve of the bow beneath her wings, but halfway through the motion she paused and shot a sideways glance at the stallions. One of them, Oblivion, had jumped a bit too but both seemed rather unperturbed. Belial hadn't reacted at all, which was both odd and somewhat reassuring.
Maybe this was a common feature of the place? Red woods weren't creepy enough without ghosts, undead or forgotten gods caterwauling at the odd hour?
Fine. If they were going to chill, she wasn't about to be any worse. Erthë was no a coward - not the bravest either perhaps, but definitely not scared. What would Volterra or Murtagh say if it ever got out she'd freaked from some fox or hare or whatever it might be? She'd never hear the end of it.
Straightening up, the fierce little dove drew a deep breath and forced her taught muscles to relax, ears swiveling back towards Oblivion as he continued to speak. His words made her frown, and as she laid eyes upon him her eyes were not so much frightened as they were puzzled - the kind of direct, steady gaze one might turn on a mathematic problem one couldn't quite understand.
"Skullmaul? I've never heard of that before. What does it look like? I hope it's not too big, I'd hoped to stick around here for a while..."
She glanced back towards the clearing. In the tall grass the bones of the fallen god were hardly visible anymore, only pale rocks that gave off an eerie glow in the gloom. "You think it'd be interested in those, and that's why it's here?"
Erthë looked at Belial for an opinion - if this was the case, then it might be wiser to move away from this part of the forest.
Erebos wanted to laugh. He wanted to chuckle and guffaw, snicker and smirk as the girl flinched, as Ode jumped, as Orsino’s mind and his swarmed with the endless possibilities of trickery and deceit. I can take care of myself, and nothing will happen were like misshaped clamors on the bloody shoal; too inept, too silly, for the strife and debauchery they’d all eventually endure. She would have her innocence now – but it’d be breached, taken, stolen, she’d get to watch her friends die on a battlefield, she’d listen to the sad, strangled stories of a different time, a different place, and she’d hoist companions on a pedestal to merely watch them topple, lifeless and gone. It was an eternal revolution: days of juvenile bliss toiled and muddled and mired with actions of elders and Gods – war, famine, abhorrence and obliteration – and babes were always thrust into oblivion and damnation before they were ready. He acted on otherworldly caprice and mercurial weavings, flicking an ear towards the abrupt, dissonant wail, listening to Orsino ripple and chime with an eerie sibilance, pleased with himself, eager for more, more, more. The boy bit back the rich desire to roar and howl with ebullience, with assurance of trickery and disaster, but he was too much like his own fox now, immersed and embedded in the machination, wile, and artifice, altering his features into a composed length, staring off into the crimson abyss as Oblivion wove his tale. A notion of pride even found itself wound around his sinew and flesh, heart and soul, as Ode took up the chicanery and hoax with equal aplomb. It was almost like being with Aithniel and Rikyn again, striking out towards the Dragon’s Throat with false names and adventures dabbled across their tongues (the swell of memories were beautiful and bitter, rancorous and refined). The boy sent the smallest of looks towards his cousin; satisfied with the other’s endeavors, the camaraderie between demons and terror. Even Ode’s story was hilarious and intriguing. The infidel yearned to know where he’d come up with the tale on such a spur of the moment, where he drowned his ideals, where he learned of these myths and legends – but instead of asking, of bending into curiosity, he continued the subterfuge, glancing from where the screech had erupted. His face took on a bit more intrigue, a crinkling of his brow, furrowed either from worry or inquisition, nares widening in hopes of catching the scent of the infamous monster. Vocals became low and quiet, audible only to those gathered in their seine, purposefully maneuvering closer to the bushes. “I heard they feast on the young,” and here he glanced at Erthe and her attempt to dissuade the moment with rocks and pebbles and old bones from the last god. He stifled another smile, another snicker, another grin, shaking his head fiercely as if she were far too slow for his tastes. “No – their meat is always fresh." Then Orsino, quick, swift, rapid, horrible Orsino, let out another agonizing screech – predacious, carnivorous, voracious, and Erebos took himself in on the act, backing away from the bushes as if afraid of what lurked within its hold. Drunk on illusions, on hallucinations, on wicked, abominable delusions, the sable kitsune moored amongst the red plumes and the violent wiles, conjured a menacing, ferocious chord, filled it with images, with brambles, with thorns, of a form stalking the shadows, of a feral, giant, cat-like creature inching closer and closer to the pale form of Erthe. Only framed by contours, silhouettes, and profiles, with no real distinction, it appeared to be stalking, drifting and haunting and poignant, and Erebos whispered through the dream, through the fantasy, through the nightmare, “There it is,” allowing his voice to drop an octave, for his limbs to shudder a minute amount. But lord, how he still wanted to laugh.
I'LL SHOW YOU HOW GOD | FALLS ASLEEP ON THE JOB Image Credits
He had to admit, the girl had pluck. He wasn't sure if he admired that though, if only because what he wanted was the inevitable bowing of her pretty little head as she shriveled back in terror. He wanted to feast on her fear, sew his discord in her flesh then harvest it bit by aching bit just like the Skullmaul, but she was ruining those endeavors with her confidence and her rationality.
Hmph Öde thought with an inner sneer. He couldn't break her physically, it'd ruin the game, even if it would be so easy to execute a well placed kick to her thin little knees. No, he needed Erebos' loyalty, to whatever extent he might offer it, and this girl was now an unavoidable key to that. He's have to break her in other ways, teach himself how to snap someone from the inside without so much as touching them - remove whatever support beams she had built herself up ona nd watch her tumbled down into herself, none the wiser.
So what's a boy to do?
He wondered this even as Belial gave more life to his tail, more attributes to his phantasmal monster decorated in fox fur. Then the idea came to Öde, who moved it up a step from Belial's in-place shivering.
"RUN!" Öde shouted suddenly, his voice leaping from his throat with such an urgency it scratched along the way as he went. His body leapt out with the sound, moving as if to block the space between her and where the Skullmaul seemed to be fast approaching. Words were one thing, but action was quite another. They could tell her stories and hope for fear, or they could enact it and create it, real or otherwise. This the young stud knew from his time on the battlefield, where the action and the fear were very real.
Of course if he'd had any sense of observation he would have seen she was on similar battlefields, facing monsters already - but that was with an army, this was with two young stallions.
"QUICKLY, BEFORE IT SEES YOU!" he panted in desperation, hopefully close enough to the dove now that she could feel the heat of his breath, see her own reflection in the white-rimmed pool of his gaze, if she hadn't already run. He hoped to convey in that one, aching stare, his need for her safety, his great wanton for her survival. Passion was something the boy did not run short on, and though it often bled out of him in ways he couldn't control, this notion of harnessing it and turning it into something useful, something deceitful, was an exciting prospect. Could he manage the ruse that he cared for her? Could he heighten it further and insinuate affection? He hadn't started off on the best foot, but she was young still, easily swept away by the present sensations, and he hoped for that.
False hope, that's how he would break her.
The moment was over nearly as fast as it had started, unwilling to let it linger and ruin it, he snapped his head back around. "BELIAL CAN WE HOLD IT OFF?" he bellowed to the back drop of the screaming kitsune. He turned, his horn lowered and ready, flanks heaving in preparation.
If she ran, just a few more moments, and then they could give chase.
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Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
01-17-2016, 12:15 PM (This post was last modified: 01-17-2016, 12:34 PM by Erthë.
Edit Reason: oops
)
Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,
And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.
Their act was well put together. Not good enough to fool a soul experienced with treachery, foul play and taunts but well enough to ensnare a naive girl still wet behind her ears. Though hardened by the flames of war her heart remained soft and pure, soul yet untainted - the battles she had fought had been, though still horrible enough, honest and straightforward.
This was nothing of the sort, though she was led to believe so. Unlikely though the tale was, the illusions weaving through the dark woods patched the more gaping holes and sent a thrill of horror down the spine as Erthë followed the direction of Belial's gaze and saw a monstrous something emerge from the underbrush. It was shadowed, indistinct, a mere silhouette but one that touched upon all the right places. Instinct, for what it was worth, screamed about danger and while her conscious mind still had trouble comprehending this sudden turn of events Erthë found herself pulled along with panic as it swept her off.
Oblivion screamed and spun on his heels, threw himself in before her and told her to run. Erthë stared at him with mouth half open, startled by the sudden urgency, by the furious fire in his eye as he stared wildly at her. He was so close, she could feel the heat of his body flush against her skin that was no longer quite as icy as before. Something hummed and quivered within her, an unknown something she was not yet old enough to fully comprehend, and it moved her to action even though she didn't know why...
Retreating. Right. She took a step back, and two, three; but it was as though her thoughts were wheels suspended in mid air, unable to connect with the situation. She tore her gaze away from the passionate black stallion and looked at Belial again, at the approaching creature wreathed in shadow...
Oh. Right. Run. Trouble was, she couldn't. Not on those legs. Fly? Not with the canopy so dense above her head, she barely had room to spread her wings properly. And again - unable to run, gather speed, take off without an elevated position to start from.
Solution?
Fight.
And it was as though an electric charge shot through her brain, connecting limbs with brain and brain with thought. Even as Oblivion shouted at Belial to fight the creature off the wintry lass reached for her bow again and pulled it from the wing, brought it up to a suitable height and released it. Even as it settled in the air, hovering before her she grasped the string and moved, stumbled out of the shadow of the suddenly so protective knight and sought to aim for the monster that supposedly was coming to slay her.
"Move!" she cried, tone commanding despite the onset of adrenaline that distorted it into something high pitched and frail - and as soon as she thought herself to have a clear shot Erthë let go of the string.
Without a sound, in a flash of piercing white light that illuminated the forest and burned away even the densest of shadows, the magical arrow shot off towards the cause of this situation - towards the empty shadow that would neither bleed nor crumble or scream in agony as life blood rushed from tapped veins.
But she didn't know that. Nor that this was all a game, a play, a horrible joke.
They chose a poor heroine for their act... perhaps one who had never fought to save her life would have been better suited to crying and fainting and screaming for help.
There was something about the way she seemed totally impenetrable that irked him. She was too young to remain blank faced at the sight of danger, at the stories of monsters and mayhem. She was too young to think the world was full of pure, beatific whims and caprice; that everything would have a happy ending and peace would ignite. Why did she get to traipse through realms and empires without fear, without terror, without horror? Why did she get to wander into terrible, deceitful lairs and come out unscathed? Why did she get to notch an arrow and escape a ghostly, delusional reverie? He didn’t understand the bitterness, the rancor flowing through his veins; it was toxic and indulgent, venomous and clawing, rasping and grating within his mind like a devilish hiss, like a demonic croon. The prince had been entitled and privileged, just like her, only caught between lessons and stories and myths and silly, ineffectual things – dreams of being a warrior, dreams of being a legend, dreams of power and strength and fortitude. But those articles had come at a price, because he’d seen his friends die, he’d watched them disappear, he’d lost all these bits and pieces tying him together that he truly didn’t know who he was anymore – just a vengeful, resentful cretin lurking behind a charismatic grin. Maybe he simply wanted her to crumble, the way he had, to show there was vulnerability everywhere and in everything – and if he could find it, he could pluck it and lacerate it and leave the world in disheveled, molten pieces. But if he couldn’t get a filly to cower in his presence, then the Colossus certainly wouldn’t. So he continued playing, he embedded himself into the horrible, soulless game, embraced Ode’s acting and pretenses, labored in the connection between Orsino and himself. As they danced along the edge of a knife, as they reeled and courted impending disaster, the boy delved into a stage they’d created and concocted, lowering his blade to try and drive through a monster that wasn’t real (and if he imagined it as the painted brute, what would happen? Would it satisfy and content him, even when this charade went up in smoke?), maneuvering away from the shiny figment of an arrow blazing through the sky, narrowing his eyes, his stare, for a fraction of a second to look at a girl who didn’t acknowledge fear. He did. He knew apprehension. He knew trepidation. He’d felt it when Arwen was murdered, when Asch disappeared, when Aithniel said she was a child of the Sun God, when they marched into battle, when he lost to Ashamin within a labyrinth beguiling his own demise. And he hated her for it – because she didn’t seem to understand the weight, the impact, of what terror could do, of how it destroyed, of how it altered, of how it fed and fueled and incensed, twisting and annihilating, distorting and crumbling. The boy beckoned to Orsino as the image of the famed demon flickered and faltered; the sable kitsune nestled within the bushes concocted a dying, heady scream and allowed the image to stumble and quiver on the ground. But it wasn’t an admittance of defeat – something else brewed, stirred, between both menacing minds, and the prince swiftly glanced to his kin, nodding in assurance that all was well when it wasn’t, when he conspired and deluded. “Wow, good job! It’s dead!” His gaze enclosed upon the girl’s, a fake smile plastered along his lips, hoof prodding the empty carcass for another measure – And then he looked beyond, and stoked the fires of Orsino’s invocations. More and more of the shadowy, feline fixtures suddenly appeared, slithering and sliding, immersed in a predatory crawl, slinking towards the filly and Ode, unwinding in a sinister wake, in a callous, hungry, ravenous ploy. They growled and hissed, roared and defied, promising to pierce, to puncture, to destroy (if they’d been real, if they’d been more than figments of a boy and his malicious intentions). Eventually, they all appeared to be surrounded by this force of mythos, and dear Erebos allowed his jaw to drop, his stare to reel, his movements to quake closer to them. “Watch out,” he cried amidst the madness, “They’re everywhere!”
I'LL SHOW YOU HOW GOD | FALLS ASLEEP ON THE JOB Image Credits
She didn't listen, didn't heed his advice (never mind that it was a ploy), didn't even just stand there! No, she fought back, even slung out a command like fighting monsters was old hat - and given the recent wars, maybe it was for everyone. Still, Öde knew what it was like to be afraid, to run, so why didn't she?
His teeth grit in audible frustration, and he had half a mind to turn them upon her and tear apart her undaunted flesh in little strips, to pummel the fear into her with his hooves. Luckily his red eye caught the steel of his kin's as he turned towards her in disbelief mounting on rage. Belial's outcry stilled Öde's action, for now. How long will you play this worthless game? some raucous part of his subconscious hissed, a noise that hadn't stirred for some time since her death.
His ears fell back at it's sound, and he shook his head to be rid of it as the fox's shadows lent themselves everywhere. Taking his cue he stepped back into his role, biting onto his anger and using it for something better than a beaten filly - he would decimate her with it. "DAMNIT GIRL! SEE WHAT YOU DID?" he roared, these moments quickly spun after her arrow was released. "You can't attack it like that, it only grows!" he hissed, his neck snaking out as he attempted to land a nip on her to drive her away. "Now run, I'd hate to bury you," he urged, trying his best to let his touch linger in apology after his impassioned nibble.
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Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,
And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.
No, Erthë didn't listen. The boys shouted at her, one praising the swift shot and the other cursing on quivering baryton cords. She payed them no heed, focused only on the path of the arrow and the sweet, sweet taste of triumph as it struck true... Who couldn't they see? Why didn't they realize, that beneath the pristine facade of fragile innocence she was just like them? Thirsty for honor, hungry for glory and craving with all her essence the kind of renown that made heads turn and mothers whisper tales of heroism and strength into the ears of their progeny. A white fox to their black wolves, less immediately dangerous but just as tenacious in the battle for survival. Was it because she was female that they overlooked her potential? Was it because she was young and gullible? If it was scars they needed as proof of prowess then she carried them, tucked away beneath skin and flesh, hidden under silky white fur - a secret only whispered of in the eerie gleam of a silver eye. Instead of frightening her, it might have been more prudent to recruit the vicious, fearless dove. For what better wolf was there, than one who looked more like a sheep than kin.
Erthë triumphed, but the jubilant swoop in the gut faded almost immediately. The black figure vanished, erased by the might of her blinding arrow - but it seemed the light caused even more shadows to arise, as though the darkening shade became a breeding ground of terror and threat. Belial cried a warning and Oblivion fell towards her with flashing teeth, digging yellowed ivories into her shoulder with a force that was both jarring and peculiarly thrilling. Like a slap on the cheek to awaken a child to reality it sent her mind reeling - anger flared in her eyes like lightning, even more violent because it was born from the chill of winter - and with tingling, sweet sensations zapping through her skin from a memory of his touch the fawn tried to shove him off.
"I can't run!" she hissed, feathers bristling with frustration and rage - how dare he suggest she run away while leaving others behind to face danger! "My legs are busted, I can't even take off from here... We have to fight!"
Seizing the string of the bow once again the crowned princess aimed towards the shadowy monsters once again, seeking out Belial's gaze as she did so. Would he stay and fight, or run for cover? Would they stand together and bleed, or would he turn tail and let her face the dangerous task alone - leave the task to her trembling hands and failing knees, who only kept her upright because others were there to witness the humiliation of a fall?
"If you boys are too scared then you can hide behind me!" she said, mouth twisting into a mocking sneer.
Oh, if she only knew. It was such a shame that her valiance and bravery went completely wasted. What did it matter that she hid her fear behind a mask of anger when it was all a trick, a mean prank meant to leave her broken, ravaged and in tears. What did it matter, when the men she tried to protect didn't want her to win?
It was a cruel game they played, and as sprawling, demonic illusions closed in on the trio, the final act was approaching rapidly. How would they wrap up the scenario, what would they do to get the last laugh? She had shattered their expectations of a helpless heroine, damsel in distress to rescue and abandon, but maybe as the hero of the tale...
Regardless, the lie would be revealed as soon as the conjured illusions came close enough to touch, and sooner or later she would run out of arrows. What indeed would they say, when her flaring hooves went right through the monster and she was left standing there, like a fool?
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62.5/62.5 HP
