"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.
12-13-2015, 04:56 AM (This post was last modified: 12-13-2015, 05:25 AM by Mirage.)
Mirage the DragonHeart
You should not have taken it from me.
It should not mean that much to you.
A sigh fell from the inky lips of the mare as she walked. Sunrise was not far away – and for the first time in years, the mare had to worry about it. Her eyes, so wide and sensitive to light that they saw the darkest of nights as the clearest of days, could not take the full illumination of the Sun God’s wrath any longer. So she wandered all these past nights, searching for that which her dragon took and purposefully misplaced. Akaith the delightful creature that she was, had come to the conclusion that the reclusive life was not for her beloved any longer – it was time to greet the day and live as mortals.
Mirage did not want to admit that she felt the same way.
So devoted to the Goddess was she, that the thought of losing the gift the cosmic being had bestowed upon her for all her Leal service was heartwrenching - soul-crushing. The anxiety that had quickened her heart rate when she had felt the warm licks of sunlight kissing her dark hide for the first time in years, and the sudden transformation into her other form that followed, had been enough to unsettle her for many nights. For only during the night did she search – confined to caves and groves otherwise, the dragonmare was still as reclusive as ever, unwilling to let go of the memory of the life she once lived – the life she once ruled.
It is in the past – leave it there. Sharp words came from the queenly dragoness that shared the soul-bond with the mare. Golden scales, muted by moonlight, flitted from tree to tree above her. Mirage walked beneath her as an equine, though she was ever aware of the dark, fiery magic that lurked just beneath her skin, ready to burst forth at any given moment in a flurry of fire and pain and agony.
And where did she wander? Mirage knew once her hooves settled upon Helovian ground that this realm would be her body’s resting place, that she would forever remain here – even when the Wraiths stole across the land and she was enveloped by the Moon Goddess’ dark magics to preserve her, she knew that death would find her one day, and that it would be upon these grounds she fell.
Stop, her beloved bonded pressed upon her mind, willing the mare to cease all thoughts of death and dying and misery. A huff of laughter passed through the mare’s lips.
“Why? Why stop thinking of what is happening to us both, Akaith?” The mare did stop her motion then, and looked to the golden queen with sharp, wizened eyes of molten amber. “Look at me – I am no spring foal prancing upon lush meadows, leading a valiant army towards glory and wonder. I - we - are old, Akaith.” Between them they had lived many decades. “I still remember finding you at Isilme, and being chosen by your nestguard at the time to hatch and raise you. I remember our adventures there – and I remember the doom that befell the realm, causing us to flee and seek safer pastures.” So nostalgic did she become that even the golden dragon queen settled and quietened, affected as she was by the emotion that overcame her bonded.
“I remember, before then, how I lived with my siblings, how they watched me grow, trained me in the ways of shadows and fire – I was a dancer of the deadly arts, and oh, how I excelled at it,” she reminisced quietly, her voice soft and melodic, gentle on the chilly breeze that whispered through the trees – a constant reminder of the Goddess whose Wind powers were ever-present. “I remember my dam and sire, laying together upon a stony ridge one night, never to rise again. To die like that Akaith – peacefully, alongside the one you love and surrounded only by those who cared for you – I have, I think, always wanted that. Rage might be in my name but it is something I have always fought to keep hidden – I have only ever wanted to love, and be loved for my existence upon the world.” The dragoness above her crooned a song, a melody that resonated through the lands and souls of all who might have known the mare in her time upon these lands –
For the golden queen knew what was coming now. There was no turning back.
The mare’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, tears for all the hate and harm she had caused in her failed attempt to live a life of love and compassion. Oh, Mirage always loved, wholly and completely, and she loved many who walked through her life. But it was that love that destroyed her – for when she was betrayed (and it was only a matter of when such a thing would occur), it destroyed her, body and soul. It awoke the dragon within her, the rage that was in her name and within her soul, the fire that she tried so hard to keep within. Over the years she had different ways to cope – be it through dancing amongst the shadows, or sparring with her brothers, or even embracing the dragon form that the Goddess had bestowed upon her. Occasionally it would rear its ugly head and she would behave rashly – she thought of the wars she had caused, of the hatred and she had helped brew, the sheer chaos and trouble she had impressed upon all around her – and she would carry that guilt with her until her dying day.
Which would be today.
I will see the dawn one last time, she spoke to her bonded through their link, speaking of things the wise queen already knew. Yes, today would be the day she see the sun rise, and let it blind her once and for all. Today would be the day she laid to rest in the embrace of the bond that bound her heart and soul to the golden queen dragon Akaith – she would depart on her own terms, and she could feel the sickness in her body spreading.
One last time? Akaith queried as she floated upon golden wings to land upon her beloved’s back.
One last time, the dragonmare returned, her age-old smirk curling her lips as she bowed her dark cranium and summoned the fire and darkness within her, letting it engulf her, letting it cover her bodice in iridescent scales, allowing wings to sprout from her shoulder blades, elongating her tail and nape so that she became no longer equine, but draconian.
As the sky lightened with the creeping dawn, the dragon rose from where it crouched and peered at its surrounds. With a shiver, and a shimmering resettling of scales, she tested her body, stretching her limbs and wings out before realising just where it was she stood. At the cusp of the Grove and the World’s Edge border, overlooking the great Endless Blue, the dragonmare was not trespassing but instead perched upon the precipice of the cliff that overlooked the great expanse of sand and ocean. With wings spread, she flew into the twilight of the dimming night, with her bonded flying by her side, and farewelled the starry skies for the final time.
She did not know how long she flew, but the Sun was lapping at the eastern border of the realm by the time she landed. Amongst the trees, it did not hurt her eyes as much as she expected – she could still look to the western horizon and think it was hours away yet – though she knew better.
Hooves replaced talons, and a dark, shadowy pelt replaced glimmering scales. As she resumed living in her own, true-born skin, she felt her other magic, that of illusion and mystery, wash over her. It’s embrace was like an old friend’s warm hug – it was what she needed as she farewelled this land and prepared to shut her eyes forever.
A deep breath expanded her ribs as she released even that magic too, and looked to her bonded, who sat at her eye level upon a branch. Velvet was the texture of her muzzle as it stroked the scaly nape of the dragoness, who crooned warmly under her beloved’s touch. Dragons could not cry tears, but Mirage could feel the heartbreak and soul-shaking emotions that toiled and roiled within as she held her beloved queen this last time. It wasn't until she pulled away from her to wipe her own tears away upon a slender foreleg that the mare heard something else – a distraction, a snapping of sticks, an approach of another. Delicate ears pricked at the obvious sounds of approach, and the mare had to check where she was – she did not want to be trespassing, to be ushered away from her chosen place of death, - she feared what might happen should whomever was arriving was an unfriendly set of eyes, or horns, or wings.
But her dragon did not worry, her dragon sung a song of welcome to the one who approached, and Mirage soon knew why.
How could she ever take from her daughter one last embrace, one last farewell?
The location was more metaphysical than physical – her hooves did not depart Helovian soil but her mind certainly did wander. The youth used her time to grow, to think, to learn and evaluate what she wanted from her life. She spent a lot of time doing this – she almost forgot how to actually live. And she grew, physically, mentally, emotionally – she changed.
What is for the better?
Only an observer could be a judge of that. The mare had decided to cease living a life pleasing others – there was a difference to living a life of servitude for one’s own self-worth and living it in hopes of bettering the opinions of those surrounding you. Amaris has grown, and learned, that the only soul she truly needed to please was her own.
And once she embraced that, she seemed to transform.
The mare was both a golden dragon and a champagne horse. She was a magical, mythical blend of the two, come together in a clash of amber fur and glimmering scales that danced across her hide. Now, when she caught a glimpse of herself in a pool of water, or upon the curious walls of the Heart Caves, or even against the Frozen wall of the Arch, she did not shudder with loathing of herself, with confusion and hatred for being so different, so ugly and malformed. How could she boast to be so welcoming and accepting of all those around her when she could not even accept and love herself?
So she made the conscious decision to love herself, to cherish herself and to listen to her needs. The dragongirl wanted to help others still, it was simply her nature, but now she could do so without feeling a failure for simply existing the way she was, for simply being who and what she was.
The relief was almost palpable when the realisation struck her that she had been successful in eliciting this change within herself. If I look back I am lost, she would hum to herself, though still she would occasionally stumble, and look back into those dark days of her past, and trip and stumble – but always she looked ahead again, and focussed on creating the life she could and would love to live. With confidence she strode through the lands now, always observing, ever polite and always seeking to improve upon the person she was the day before – sometimes she did not succeed, but even that in itself was a success, because then she had more to learn from, more to grow with, more to develop and maybe even teach to others, should they care to listen to her soft tones.
The sensation that tugged at her was entirely unexpected, however. It was like a ping, an alarm, a hook latching onto her heart and luring her in to a place she had not been to for many turns of the moon – her very birthplace, the World’s Edge. But more importantly – she knew who was calling her. It caused fear to carve an icy trail through her – Akaith had only very rarely called to her like this, only in times of need – and from her current sensation, she felt the direness of this particular occasion. So the dragongirl spread her wings and flew, pushing herself desperately into the skies and tilting her body to race the dawn to the lands where she cut herself free from her own mother’s body. Anxiety caused her tail to lash nervously behind her – her whip snapped with a sharp zap as she did so.
What will I find..? Deep down, she knew what was coming – her mother’s little queen would not summon her for anything else, and Amaris touched on the magic she had neglected for so long at the thought of it. Today, she would need the comfort and company of her beloved draconic souls, so that they may farewell the first bonded queens to walk Helovia together.
A bright blue light and white one appeared by her sides, shining strongly against the twilight of the early morning, as the dragongirl landed closer to the Grove than the Edge, southerly and generally out of the way. Her ears pricked as the Sun rose, and she heard the telltale melody of dragonsong upon the wind. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes as she listened to the farewell her mother and bonded sung to the lands. Amaris was not so afraid of her emotions any more – now she knew how to recognise them, feel them, and then move on, she allowed them to dance across her features at this time of great sadness and sorrow. It seemed only breaths had passed and suddenly she was watching her mother, an unassuming black mare, embrace her little queen one last time – Akaith could not hold back any longer, she just had to -
So she pushed through the bushes and approached them, afraid that any second might be their last. Without hesitation she bent herself around her mother’s nape and wept into her dark, silken threads of mane. She whickered and murmured into her shoulder and purred deeply in a way that only dragons (or those with dragon’s blood) can do as Akaith fluttered to Mirage’s back to hum and caress her farewells upon the young mare.
“Don’t… go,” she murmured between sobs, succumbing to the selfishness that screamed at her to do anything, everything to stop this from happening.
”Don’t… go…” the sobbed words almost broke the mare’s heart. Mirage could only smile, a sad smile that said everything she wanted to say but could not. Akaith purred upon her back as the girl pressed against her, and the dragonmare was forced to remember the time she was a mother to the young fillies, the strange hybrids who were her life’s pride and joy. Gods and Goddesses, please judge me fairly and tell me I raised my girl’s right, she prayed, perhaps her last prayer, to those who might be listening, those who had the power to hear and see all that went on in the lands they crafted.
“This is a choice not many of us are granted to make. I can feel my body dying; there is a sickness within me. I am only grateful that I got to see you, my beautiful girl – my daughter.” The mare reluctantly pulled away from the golden child, to view her fully, and celebrate the mare, the queen she had become. Love and pride filled her tear-glistened eyes, as she beheld the creature she had birthed, the girl she had raised, the beautiful and courageous mare she now stood before. Mirage was a queen in her lifetime in rank and power, Amaris was a queen in beauty and blood – it was up to her to choose what to do with that she had been given, and the dragonmare supported whatever the girl – no, mare - decided to do with her life.
An amulet chinked at her chest in the gap that spread between the mares, and its sound reminded the mare of how she received it – her first gift from the Moon Goddess. Within it was an ancient King’s power to travel across the land as a mere shadow. Without hesitation, the mare silently asked Akaith to remove it, and the dragoness did so, and in one smooth motion, placed it around the slender nape of Amaris. The champagne mare stood before her, tears streaking her pale façade, sweat causing her caramel locks to stick to her forehead and ears, and yet Mirage could not imagine anything more beautiful to look upon in her dying moments.
She could not hide the constriction that took place within her chest suddenly – the pain was too great, too sudden, and it spread like wildfire through her veins. It was not unlike the pain that swallowed her whenever she took to her draconic form, only she knew this pain would not subside – not until she could no longer feel a thing at all.
Golden eyes peered up – for she was suddenly on her knees, and then on her side – to the matching golden pools of her daughter, as her breaths came in shallow leaps and bounds. “Tell them…” she coughed, choking on the words as blood trickled from one of her nostrils.
--“I’m - …
sorry --”
And like that, the DragonHeart was slain, her heart having beat reliably all her life, only to cease on near the same day six years past that she entered the lands of Helovia for the first time, with dragon by her side. Oh, what she achieved in those years was too great to recount here, but her memory would live on – she had shaped the very land she was now laid to rest upon – she had started wars (and ended them too) – she had loved and lost and loved again – she had lived a full life, one that she could not imagine having lived any other way.
The dragon that was bound to her felt the passing as if it was on her own heart, and sung out a sharp tune, which was echoed by the shimmering soul-lights Amaris had summoned. Surrounded by those she loved, and embraced by her one true soul-mate, Mirage passed into the abyss that was whatever awaited her in the afterlife – with Akaith’s golden soul to guide her along the way.
[ Any who wish to post are welcome to hear Mirage's last words.
She is deceased now, and has given her Moon amulet to Amaris. ]
“No,” Amaris murmured as her mother spoke, as Akaith so easily placed the amulet around her nape, as reality seemed to truly sink in and suddenly when she thought she had more time it was taken away from her and everything just came crashing down around her. As Mirage fell, she felt Akaith’s final thought, a flurry of emotion but a somewhere within there a confused and muffled call for me, but the champagne mare could not process it at this time -
“No!” she intoned more fervently, even as her mother fell to the ground. Amaris followed, bending her knees as the golden dragon that was her mother’s companion floated down to rest upon her bonded’s nape for the last time. But no matter how she cried or shouted, two magnificent souls left the earth this day, and she was powerless to stop them. Maybe once she was done grieving, she would come to accept this, but right now, she knew she had to let the emotions roll over her, to let them play out – if she held them back, they would only riot within her, stirring havoc and ill, irrational sensations.
With shuddering sobs rattling through her, she reached out so that only her nose was touching the still-soft, inky muzzle of her mother, almost as if she was checking if the mare was still breathing – but no, the breathing ceased almost when the heart did – it was all Amaris could do to watch as the Sun rose and lightened the world around her, birthing a dawn on a day she would never forget. Its rays peeked through the branches of the autumn trees around her, and she felt its warm kiss upon her scaled hide as she watched it attempt to light up Amaris’ similarly golden scales – but they were dull and lifeless now, the dragon ever-faithful, passing with its master.
It was only some time later, that Amaris realised her mother’s bracelet of everlasting midnight was missing – and it troubled her for perhaps a few minutes, before she was overwhelmed once more with grief and sorrow, mingled with anger at the unfairness of it all – but then sobered by the following thoughts of it would be unfair if she should live any longer in a life of regrets.
I’m sorry, the DragonHeart’s last words, her last breath, seeking forgiveness for all the hate in the world she had caused. How could Amaris ever hope to do as her mother wished? How could she ever accomplish such a request, an apology for all? Amaris, though raised seeing the good and strength that was in her mother, knew the things she had done too, knew the chaos and pain the DragonHeart had stirred – and loved her for it as only a daughter can do – she did not know what to do, how to do her dying request.
I will live my life to right what wrongs I can in the world, she thought to herself, a whisper amongst the sobs, a promise she hoped she would be able to keep as the years wore on.
But for now, the champagne mare became a mere girl again, crying at the sight of her mother in death.
V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED
He knows something is amiss when his dragons stop their incessant squabbling and instead sit tall atop the beast's back, as still as statues and with a slow, draconic song of lament emitting from both their jaws.
The stallion halts, confusion flexing across his rugged features. What's wrong? he asks both the red and the gold, but neither companion answers him. His question reaches a brick wall of nothingness, because the dragons are both fixated on something that the brute cannot see. Suddenly, as one, Vérzés and Vadir hurl their weights forward and take to the wing, flying in unison, wingbeat to wingbeat. The young golden queen, still relatively inexperienced at flight, soon lags behind the larger, older red, but to Volterra on the ground, they both appear as blurs of glimmering scales in the sky.
With a snort, the black behemoth throws his weight forwards into a heavy canter, devouring the ground in front of him as he follows his dragons. The wind whips his skull-adorned face and rips his mane into a tempestous tangle behind him as canter turns to gallop, faster than he's ever gone before, faster than any creature of his sheer muscular bulk has any right to go. What's wrong?! he asks again, his mental voice more commanding this time, demanding, but again he meets nothing but the steely silence of his companions. A growl rips free from his jaws, hauled away by the wind.
He hammers his consciousness at his dragons, until finally he can see through their eyes. The ground is a sickening blur beneath them as they fly, and vertigo knots the hellion's stomach as they both turn and bank downwards. Through both of their eyes, Volterra catches a glimpse of a black mare, a fully-grown golden dragon by her side, and....Amaris! She is familiarity, she is a memory of his youth, she is....
Crying.
His hoofbeats are thunder as his gallop intensifies, until sweat breaks out on his flesh and his lips begin to foam. Finally, he can see her through his own eyes, stood over the corpse of a black mare bonded to a golden queen. That must be her mother, who she'd told Volterra about all that time ago. With a groan, the stallion slams on his brakes and skids to a halt near to her, sweating and heaving with exhilaration as he looks at her. Just as the corpse, not-yet-a-corpse, speaks her final words - words that the beast feels almost intrusive for having heard. This is a sacred moment between mother and daughter, and he glances away, pretending he didn't hear.
His dragons, red and gold alike, have landed next to the fallen body of Akaith. Their song is one of mourning, of sorrow for a dead kinswoman, an elder queen passed into the abyss. Volterra always knew dragons had some sort of mental sixth sense that manifests around others of their species, and they must have felt the passing of one of their bonded cousins. Vadir, in particular, seems quite distressed by the body of a fellow gold, a fellow queen, and she swings her knifed tail with evident anxiety, her horned head bowed. Even Vérzés, who respects nothing female, dips his head in lament, his song gruffer than Vadir's but no less soul-wrenching.
Volterra, meanwhile, looks to Amaris. They have both grown since last they met - he has reached manhood, with all its perks of power and brawn, and Amaris...is as beautiful as the day they met. Hunger gnawls in the stomach of the beast, but now is not the time for wicked innuendo. "Amaris," he rumbles, his rough baritone of a voice a far cry from the squeak he'd possessed when they first met. "Is this...your mother?" It has to be - who else could have birthed the dragonmare? He fixes his crimson gaze on the hybrid, mustering an expression as close to sympathy as one of his dark, foreboding, hulking mass can possibly summon.
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragons were singing—low blending with high-pitched, wails and keens, a deeper rhythm, a harmony akin to a heartbeat (—and the sun is rising, the dawn brilliant, golden and bright). Voice-threads wove together in a complex pattern, yet so easy to understand, spinning as easily as leaves in a storm, yet with all the fervor and intensity of earthquakes; it drifted in on the wind, tugged at his heart, and carried it up, up into the air, as if he flew himself, and in the highest notes of that hymn he knew—
It was a song of mourning.
And with that knowledge, Mauja's heart fell from its divine heights, fragile glass shattering on cold, dark rocks. The song which had borne him had not been strong enough to keep the weight of his darkness afloat, and his consciousness sheared through the dirge with a kind of split-second clarity that, for a moment, made him feel as if he understood everything.
But the power-lines in the map of his head flashed once, so bright, too bright, and then it ceased, fell dark again, and left him feeling bewildered and gutted by the sorrow in those draconian voices—for they still sang their haunting song of mourning, tugging at his heart (at his soul—) in a way he would not have been able to understand had he not lost so much.
Tentatively, the sunlight fell upon his pristine form, touching him with hesitance as if not sure if he would simply burn up in its full splendor. It glittered along the curve of his pale back, struck sparks in his glistening eyes, and, finally, smiled into the misty forest as the once-Queen slunk away through the trunks. Blinded by the dragonsong he did not think; he did not even know that he moved towards it, drawn in by the power of those alien voices that haunted the early morning.
As he moved the owls came, one after the other, sharp talons pressing into scarred skin, eyes blank, hearts patient, minds wary. They had little love for dragons, but in this time of need, how could they deny him?
How could they deny the feeling of a heart cracking, of ice breaking, of a kind of lost confusion, like that of a child stumbling in the dark, searching for what comfort it could find? (—but finding none.)
Trailed by rabbits of mist Mauja swept out of the surrounding forest, leaving streaks of frost upon the fallen leaves his hooves touched, a trace shining in the splendor of the sun.
And the hesitant fumbling of his steps, the blind tug on his heart which had drawn him to this place of grief, it shattered, and Mauja stood there, raw with his own agony, eyes still wet. It was a graceless pose, as if he'd stumbled to a sudden halt, something blank in his gaze and his long, silken hair just hanging—
Mirage lay upon the ground. For a moment, that was all he saw, that black fucking bitch in his homeland, the lands she had once taken from him, the lands which had been traumatized by so much fire and still she set new ones in it, with no care for how the forest had burned, how it had screamed in agony as the fire had eaten and eaten and eaten away; he had heard it, its deep, rumbling woe, the sharp crack of it breaking, and the rising keen of the flames licking at drying wood.
The narrow-minded dragonwhore who had raised a glass wall while screeching about equality and peace and whatever the fuck she had preached, the hypocritical asshole who had passed up on chances and then come back with an army once the opportunity was lost—the one who had called for a trial when Torasin had been found dead, the one who had threatened his life with the idea of her false justice—
The word was bitter and burning on his tongue.
"Justice," he even spat into the grief-struck moment, a foul and harsh word raking across the beauty of the dragons' dirge. If he had come for such a trial, come as an honest man, had told her it had been an accident (—and that was the goddamn truth, Mauja was no murderer, not anymore, not anymore), would she have believed him? Or called for his death, simply because she could not accept that she had been wrong about him?
The blue rage had woken in him, a fury blazing in his eyes, a tension under his snowy white pelt, ice poised, the ground nearly quivering with magic waiting to be unleashed.
All he wanted was to take those last few steps and bash her fucking head in.
But he didn't—because somewhere behind the curtain of anger he had already realized what had happened.
Mirage was dead.
Mirage was fucking dead.
Mauja blinked in the sunlight, tears a mixture of rage and grief sliding from pale eyes. Mirage was dead—he had nothing to gain here. He had no score to settle. He had—he had nothing, and with no anger to hold on to he was lost again, as lost as he had been when he had come here, drawn in by the sound of dragons in mourning. The blaze in his eyes was gone, replaced with a sort of desperate confusion—a sob tripped up his breathing, and he glanced to the left, to the right, but it offered no clarity.
A mare he had seen before stood with Mirage, along with a young stallion he also vaguely knew. Something about red dragons eating and the earth bucking beneath him—something about burnt shoulders and sun gods. Something—oh, shit. Wasn't that Mirage's daughter? Wasn't that what that arrogant little fuck had said at the same meeting?
The fuck am I— "—supposed to do?" he shouted at the forest, something running rampant in his veins, in his blood (—it is fear).
Breathe—
The morning air smelled of tears and recent death, Mirage's familiar scent drawn deep into his lungs, and for not the first time he wondered why he had hated her so. In his past, there was so much he had forgiven, forgotten, let go of, come to terms with, but she had always burned in his mind like a beacon of all things terrible, all things unjust, the centerpoint of all his hatred. What was it about her that provoked him so? That she had bested him in battle? He was used to losing wars—
Maybe anger that she had tried to follow her dreams while he had crushed his. Maybe jealousy that she could spread her wings to the skies and fly. Maybe because she gained followers even though he thought she was stupid—and so he ought to be angry at the world, for failing to see that she was stupid.
He found himself standing over her, peering down at her black shape, and the golden dragoness fallen with her. How could he have hated her so much? How could she have posed such a threat to his existence? She was tiny—a small, slender black mare, unassuming ..soft-looking. Perhaps he had hated her for where he had always been spectacular in his coat of white with black spots and his imposing height, she had just been a tiny black mare and still she had seemed a fucking goddess of mystery and infinite things and her presence had been so much larger than this mere shell lying empty on his forest floor.
"You know," he was suddenly saying to her, "you're not the only one who is dead. Lace is dead, too. Psyche is dead. Aviya is dead. Snö—" and he choked for a moment, struggling for air through the smothering grief, struggling for blood through the talon gripping his heart with merciless fury, "—is dead, too. d'Artagnan has left. Kou's dead. It's just—" He blinked, trying to clear the tears from his eyes, but they kept falling, blurring up his vision. "I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what anyone wants from me. I just—" And bitter laughter tore at his throat. "Maybe I should die, too. Since.. since all you other ones are dying. Maybe I'm holding on too hard when all I should do is just .. let go."
Was this the end of an era? Would they fall, one by one, those who had roamed Helovia in those times past? Those who schemed in the darkness of the Edge, only to fall to this mare who now lay dead before him? They had survived the frozen north, found a new God and a new home, but what was left of them now?
One of the mist rabbits nuzzled his right forehoof, and Mauja raised his head into the vibrant sunlight. "Death," he said, a humorless smirk tugging one corner of his mouth up.
Today was another ordinary. Well, it started out as ordinary. I have not seen my son since his birth, which makes me uneasy of course. Is he alright? Is Phantom alright? I think that is one reason that I seem to patrol more and more on my own in the early mornings and late nights. In hopes that I will see them, see him. I will not be my father. I will not be like Azale's father. I will be there, whenever he needs me. To guide him, to give advice. "You will be fine." Alanna soothed in my mind. I snorted. Fine start I was of to. Can't even find my own son. He needs to be safe, with me in the Falls. He needed to be among family.. I know Phantom will not consider giving up an outcast life... But my son... I need him safe. I have lost to much in my life to lose him too simply because I can not protect him.
Alanna suddenly stops, and I draw up and stop with her. What is it? She doesn't answer, but lets lose the most mournful cry. It was a haunting call... As she had not called this way since... Since my mother... My sisters... Silently, she took off leading me. We weaved in and out of the trees almost as one. What did she sense that I did not? Who had I lost this time? Oh Gods please don't let it be my son or Cheveyo... My hooves dug in deeper, desperate to find out what was wrong and who we had lost. Just please. Please don't let it be Brendan or Cheveyo.
As we near the Edge, I think of stopping but sense Alanna was moving forward without hesitation so did I. It was as we came to the border, my heart sank. No, it was not my son or my love. It was no one that was blood family... But she was family none the less. "Amaris..." One of the two dragon girls, no longer a girl and very much grown up. She is half my age, in fact I remember her as a child. But it's who she is near that takes my breath away. Alanna howls in sorrow as it hits me. "No.. Oh gods no.." It's only then I see the other two around, and I hear the words of the spotted. "Justice" It is only then, I really look and see. My eyes turn from a dark mahogany to nearly black. "If this is justice, then you clearly do not belong among those of us who mourn." I dare not look at him. For if I do, I will not be responsible for what I do next. Alanna growls at my side, her own anger and sorrow equal to mine.
Please Tag Aaron in All Posts
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Aaron at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
A keening. High, wavering, and unearthly drifted and spread over the Edge. It was beautiful, devastatingly so. Filled with a sadness so poignant that it drifted through the ears, to the blood, and pained the organ that pumped so powerfully behind the armor of ribs and sternum.
The Elephant, already beginning to rise with the sun’s arrival, flung his head to its height as the veil of sleepiness shred from his mind. Large ears perked, jaw clenched against the melancholy that so easily overtook his newly-woken and impressionable mind.
Instinctively, before he could even form a thought beyond the initial woe, he begins moving towards the source of sadness. He can offer comfort, aid, help, something to whatever made such sounds. Though, as his brisk walk carried him just beyond the borders of the Edge and to the cliffs, his mind caught up to his body. Only loss could cause such forlorn wailing, of that he was certain. Fear sparked— had the Edge lost another?
Sure enough, dark blue pools landed on a fallen black body. A mare, a horse. Slender and graceful, even in death. His eyes raised to a cream and gold mare, crying above the dead body. And a young, black stallion along side her— comforting her? The source of the song is revealed as his gaze alights on the two crying dragons, one red one gold, above the dead companion of the fallen ebon form. “I am sorry…” His low voice was quiet, words spoken from instinct and drawn out by the mourning song.
And then there is Mauja, already standing in the clearing, shouting and raving fragments that made no sense. And sentences that made too much sense. A snort escapes his nostrils, clouding in the cool Orangemoon morning, as his gaze goes from sad to wary while listening his friend.
His hide shivers once, as he fights the urge to approach the spotted stallion. The anger, the bitterness, the grief— they were all parts of the poison that one needed to bleed out. Tembovu coming and smothering the stallion in compassion would stem the flow… and it needed to gush freely.
Though, perhaps another death was not the best catalyst for catharsis; but, fate was funny that way. Regardless, he still felt the need to at least be near his friend in the moments of his wild words. So, slowly, he approach and halted beside the leopard.
But his gaze quickly shifts and his brows raise at the spotted draft stallion, whose hellhound companion hovers beside him. "If this is justice, then you clearly do not belong among those of us who mourn.” The words, spoken rashly as the growling hound, struck a cord within the Elephant. A cord similar to the one played by keening dragons—
—but oh so very different. It was anger. Of all the ranting Mauja had said— of the litany of deaths and losses bitterly exclaimed— there was now a sermon on mourning being given? Saying who had the right to mourn and when?
Despite the disbelief and irritation that roiled in the giant, a calm mask with raised brows was all that showed on his face. His lips pursed, contemplating. And then his voice, low and firm, rumbled. "Unless there has been foul play,” he looked pointedly at the dead body that was absent of any trauma or other marks that would indicate nefarious causes of death, "Then there is no place for accusations or confrontation here. And, should you seek such things, then it is you that have no place among the mourning.”
There was a finality in his words, spoken flatly and with little inflection. Though his gaze had pinned the splashed stallion as he spoke, his eyes fell back to the crying mare..
12-14-2015, 01:52 AM (This post was last modified: 12-14-2015, 02:27 AM by Amaris.)
They came.
Somewhere, she knew they would. Somewhere, deep within the confines of her upset, gloomy mind, she knew they would come, and with them, they would bring their issues, their hangups and dirty laundry that they just couldn't keep to themselves - not even on her mother's deathbed.
A hot flush of anger washed over her as she heard the bitter tones of justice rippled across the expanse of space and time. He may not have been the first to arrive, the first to speak, but his words were the first to register in the mare's troubled mind. Amaris had always guarded her tongue - and this occasion was no different, though it took everything for her to grind her teeth as she tore her teary, golden gaze away from the corpse of her mother to look at the leopard brute, her gaze holding back nothing that she was feeling - Amaris could hide her emotions, she could train her façade to reveal nothing more than a look of stony indifference, but she chose not to - he didn't, so why should she?
He sputtered incoherently then, a question that was only half a question shouted into the realm. The golden trimmed mare watched him, watched the rate of his ribs expanding and collapsing, watched the way his eyes looked between her and her mother's corpse, she just watched and - she felt sorry for him.
Tears still trickled over her eyelids and down her face, but they were slowing, sobs weren't shaking her entire bodice as often. She allowed her attention to drift to Volterra then, gave him a polite nod and murmured quietly in her low, harmonic tones, "yes. This was the DragonHeart." There wasn't much else to say - idly she recognised that the once-colt was now definitely a stallion, and that he had another dragon - another queen bonded to him to boot. A hint, a shadow, a memory of a smile almost curved her lips as she looked at the young new queen, a fleeting thought of rightness touched her mind as she recognised that new life would always be present to replace that which left - but then more came and her thoughts were shattered once more, she was forced to return to this reality, this nightmare, this tragedy.
He was talking again, the spotted one who she had witnessed being crowned King the last time she had attended these grounds. He spoke to her mother, probably the first conversation that wasn't laced with insults and incoherently jibberish she had witnessed between Mauja and Mirage since the first war of the Edge. Her heart would have broken with his words, but hers was already shattered, already in a million pieces scattered across this realm and whichever one contained her soul-dragons. They came and went, ever-changing hues as souls from beyond came to farewell the fallen queen they had come to know through Amaris as their vessel.
Another came, and she knew this one too. Aaron, she recalled, an old guard from her youth within the confines of the Edge. Her gaze, weary in its reach now, peered at him dully, as fatigue suddenly replaced the anger, the hurt, the sadness - but these were only to be revitalised with his foolish words. But the dragonmare was not swift enough to gather her tongue to speak yet - as another arrived. He was a beastly brute, almost as tall as her father and with a seemingly similar disposition. Ears lifted from their downcast state to hear him speak - and she recognised a shift in the power of those present. This one was King - she was almost certain - she wondered if he had replaced the other King who was crowned, and was ruling alongside Mauja - or perhaps, even, she could not think fast enough - had he replaced Mauja?
Perhaps her mind was too disjointed to think coherently, or maybe the chaos of all the thoughts were what brought her to the correct conclusion - either way, her ears fell back to her skull and the dragonmare took on an appearance that was more snake-like in nature than anything else, for a moment.
"Stop-" she snapped, sharply, commanding attention with a snap of her long, serpentine tail, which crackled as the whip that would wound around it sparked angrily. "Just stop," she almost pleaded now, as she looked to each who had shown up. The mare took several moments to compose herself once more - she would do as she promised, she would, she had to, she could not fail, not even in this first step (- nor could she stop and actually process what Mauja had said before, who had died, there was names there she should know, she should care about, but she couldn't, she wouldn't, not yet, now now -). A deep breath went shakily through her, as she then broke the silence once more.
"She would have agreed with you," Amaris said first, shooting her piercing, fiery eyes towards Mauja. "About justice. She never-" a pause, a hiccough, and the mare carried on "-never wanted to inspire such hate and cause so much harm. Yet she knew what she had done - she just didn't know what to do about it either." It was the truth, as raw and blunt as the dragonmare could make it.
"She wanted to make amends - to heal the lands and souls she had helped break - but how could she? Would you have listened to her? Helped her?" It was a pointed question, and the mare let her gaze sit silently upon Mauja for as long as it took her eyes to fill with tears again. Then she blinked them away, and did her best to address the rest who gathered.
"I.. Thank you. For coming." Her words were short and emotive, her lungs stuttering again as she bent to touch on her mother's forehead one last time. "With your permission, sirs of the Edge," she addressed those who clearly resided within the lands her mother had returned to in her last moments. "I would prefer her remains are burned, so that no beast may feast upon her flesh."
[ PS: Post order is only a suggestion, to keep things moving C: ]
Daniel Schiersner @ flickr & larfsalot @ deviantart
Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.
It was technically her job to keep problems to a minimum. She was more of the brawn, where Tembovu took the more civil approach. That was probably for the better, considering she had no tolerance for bullcrap or emotions. She preferred to work out her problems in a more physical manner. So when she heard cries, heard movements, she just followed behind slowly.
Toward the group she moved, watching in both horror and sadness to see that at the center of this remained a dead mare. Unknown to Elsa, and certainly riddled with age. Her brow cocked toward the one she believed to be her daughter, the one that spoke of burning her. Even in betwixt high tensions, she seemed to be keeping her cool very well.
Elsa shot a look to Tembovu to allow her to burn the body. No sense in keeping it here for two reasons; one, the unknown girl wished it to be burned. And two, it wasn’t exactly good press to keep a dead body lying around. The sea of faces presented many unknown bodies, the only one she recognized was the stallion she had run off in the invasion. A metallic taint of revenge riddled her mouth, but she kept it firmly shut and her façade indifferent. She was simply here to make sure no one was going to carry on funny business. Think of her as a police guard for the procession. Mauja was there too, probably again knowing the deceased. She frowned, but kept her distance. This was such an odd position to be in, she felt the need to give her condolences, but at the same time, who was she to say that about a woman she never know? Emotions were never her thing, and this was not the time to try and practice that.
"talk"
[Elsa's just here to make sure shit goes okay >.>]
V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED
He comes, then. The spotted one, the one whose image is burnt behind the brute's eyes from a memory of his youth. Dying mares, needless brutality, clashing men...then again, when he's older, spotted flesh intruding on his meeting with Colt, the woman he would one day take for his own.
The spotted one does not seem devastated at the black mare's passing, to say the least. Whilst Volterra's attenton swings towards the unicorn, his dragons remain hunched by the dead queen's body, their haunting song aching in the doldrums of his heart. There's something about dragonsong that is otherwordly - it's eerie, dark, yet beautiful, all in one. Perhaps it's the fact that he knows dragons, especially his two, can be remorseless killing machines who douse the world in blood and fire, so to hear them singing is a far cry from the brutality he knows them to be capable of. Yet it is a sign of quite how close the scaled ones are to their own kind, if they can actually feel the passing, and feel it to such an extent that they drag their bonded halfway across Helovia to be part of the death.
Another equine comes, his dog at heel, then a unicorn stallion who has the unusual privilege of actually being taller than the earthen titan, albeit only by a fraction. The black colossus looks between the pair, unspeaking, a simple pillar of strength beside the dragonmare with whom he had spent many happy hours as a boy. He does not make to touch Amaris, but his presence beside her will hopefully offer some semblance of comfort, similar to the harmonious funeral song that his dragons are giving her mother's queen.
Vérzés' song ends as he backs away from the corpse and flares his wings to take to the heavens. He circles high above, a red-scaled sentinel, hardly beating his wings as he glides on an updraft. Vadir does not move, still crouched beside her fellow golden queen, her song not wavering despite the fact it now warbles on alone, a mournful dirge through the crisp fall air.
A pegasus mare follows, who receives a perfunctory flicker of the stallion's gaze. He says nothing, content to stand and watch proceedings. His mental bond with his dragons has trickled down to the thinnest of tendrils as they close their minds off even from his own, and he is loathe to drag them away, especially Vadir. He will stay for as long as she wishes to lament, silently watching proceedings like a shadow. ""
please feel free to skip me! He's just sort of lurking awkwardly xP
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ] [ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
The world would not let him be in his reverie in peace; it would not grant him this curious moment of having a very one-sided conversation with a dead body whose soul he had loathed. It stole the peace from him, it stole his reconciliation with the fact that he was a giant ass and had hated the shadows in his mind more than he had hated the actual dragonmother lying dead before his feet. Brutally, the words rattled through his skull, a dark-eyed accusation that left him bewildered and lost—much again that child trembling in the darkness, looking for the comfort it would never find. "If this is justice—" says the one who had taught Mauja what it feels like to well and truly burn; the one who confessed to not regretting fighting in that war. He had grown, since. Older. Maybe more harassed by the terrors of the world.
But why was he talking about justice—? Why was he accusing Mauja of thinking this was just? He felt himself shift away, as if Aaron's breath was fire and his words a whiplash, a sting across his skin; what had he done to deserve this? This.. this baseless accusation, the darkness of those eyes which had now turned away? His soul still smelled of rage, a tense vibration in the air, and it made Mauja sick to his core to feel. He felt weak. Shaky. Like someone had punched straight through his ribs and grasped his heart with a hand of darkness, squeezing and squeezing, until he grew cold with fear and clammy with sweat—
But he didn't—he was just standing there, looking lost, surrounded by his quiet harem of nuzzling mist-rabbits. Tembovu stood beside him (when had he gotten there?) and eloquently told Aaron to shut up; Elsa lingered nearby, a white blur in the periphery of his awareness. What was going on? And Amaris, a daughter abandoned by her mother (—and he, a father abandoned by his daughter), was telling them to stop it. Mauja agreed. The tension made him nauseous, afraid even, some kind of nameless terror chasing his pulse and coursing through him like disease. With each beat of his heart came a wave of weakness, of his hearing fluctuating and vision darkening.
And all because one stallion had accused him of thinking this was justice—
(—justice is the coward's vengeance—)
—and justice is bullshit, but Amaris was talking about it too, saying Mirage would've agreed with him (and he glanced down at her body, still wondering what everyone was talking about), how she never had wanted this, but hadn't known how to stop it either, and he knew what that felt like, too. Sometimes you simply unleashed forces you could not control, and no matter how hard you tried it just got worse.
"There is no justice," he said, voice fleeting and quiet, into a moment of silence; why was everyone going on about justice? He had thought about it earlier, hadn't he? About that trial? Did they somehow know what he thought? His blue gaze rose, hovering somewhere in the vicinity of the dragongirl's face, as if trying to find something tangible to hold on to. But there was nothing there, and he could not comprehend what she asked of him, so his gaze fell again, to the black body lying before them, listening with half an ear as she asked for her mother to burn.
Not yet, he thought as the red dragon ceased its song and left the gold to mourn alone. His white head lowered, black muzzle trailing tentatively over a slowly cooling shoulder he had never dared touch in life—and in death her coat was velvet-soft, unresponsive. Her mane was silken and smooth, too, moving lightly as his lips ghosted along her neck to her ears. His breath on them elicited no response, stirred fine hairs but there was no flick of them to escape the annoyance of his words; "I did not murder Torasin. I came for your trial—I came late, but I came for it, but you were already gone by then. I came, even though I did not trust you to judge me fairly."
It was the least he could do, wasn't it? To tell her the truth? He hesitated a moment, then— "He died smiling," he said quietly, backing away, eyes flickering restlessly between those gathered. He felt naked, stripped of his armor, stripped of his grace—he had revealed pieces of something not many knew about, he was undone in a circle of strangers, a lost and broken man barely reminiscent of the stone-cold King he had once been. He had admitted to having intimate knowledge of Torasin's death. He had admitted to being afraid.
Psyche had been a hawk to him. His anger was the shape of a swan, and his restless grief was sparrows; what was Mirage? A dragon? He could not call forth dragons to burn her. And it couldn't be some dumb bird, or some snide remark like a magpie—no. Mirage had been graceful. He didn't want to call her a worthy opponent because in truth, had she been an enemy? Sure, he still thought she'd done a lot of dumb shit in her life, but ... so had he.
"I don't know what to burn her as," he finally said, as if everyone knew that the so-called Ice King commanded fire. "A falcon? Something smaller, and kinder, like a dove? I just—I don't know," and genuine distress crawled through his voice, through his eyes, across his face, as if it was a great failure that he did not know which bird he associated Mirage with and as if he could not recall ever having hated the mare, "—please, help me." And those lost eyes focused on Amaris, begging her to tell him which birds to make for her mother's funeral pyre.
[ For the record, Mau isn't exactly aware he said 'justice' out loud. ^^ @Aaron@Amaris@Elsa ]
12-14-2015, 05:51 PM (This post was last modified: 12-14-2015, 05:52 PM by Alune.)
Alune the Seer
Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars
The dragon song carries high on the winds, it's lament is hauntingly beautiful, it sinks into the bones and resonates it's sadness. A sadness for a lost kin, kin whose eyes had slipped closed for one final time and succumbed to the twilight. One who had parted the veil and gone gladly to the night lands, and one who had left their beloved behind in the realm of the living, where the sun shone brightly and cast it's warm glow upon the land.
Alune had heard the reverent hymn upon the sea wind, silver eyes peering towards it's direction as he turned to follow. There had been but one occasion in his life time he had heard dragon's sing, and many more committed to memory from Oracle's that had walked the night path before him. Dragon's of gold, silver, bronze, green, red and blue had bowed their magnificent crowned heads to the once-queen as she lay upon her funeral pyre — as pragmatic and heavenly as she had been in life. Queen's and Kings had raised their harmonious voices in reverence, sadness and remembrance of her accomplishments and her essence. Now it seemed, their much smaller kin were doing the same, and Alune would come and pay respect to the one who commanded such recognition.
As he neared, he heard other voices in the under tow of the song, and his brow furrowed. Two he recognized as his King and Queen, the rest he did not know, and the one threatening one drew his attention the most. The misted creatures by his feet had changed themselves, turning draconic in appearance to show their reverence to the somber occasion — they scurried to rest upon his back and peer with their never ending gaze at the sight before them.
Quad-horned head lowered in consolation to the fallen mare he spied among the living, though his pupilless gaze moved between them all. "It is unbecoming to turn a place of mourning into a battleground, you do well to check your misguided grief. The dead gain nothing from your anger, and neither do you." The Seer stated, his tone uncharacteristically flat for his usual jovial spirit and ethereal appearance. He nods his greetings to Tembovu and Elsa as he passed the newly crowned Monarch's, he turned then, to the magnificent dragon-mare and his head dips lower in a sign of respect and greeting.
"I am Alune, Seer of the Moon Goddess. My deepest condolences for your loss, milady." His words are genuine, and the flat tone has slipped into one of gentle comfort. He may not know intimately the deep well of loss, it's cold cavernous deeps of frost and despair or it's waterfalls of grief and sorrow. But he knows as one who has witnessed the proceedings and news of loss, he has seen many a strong soldier felled by the news and stoic priestesses brought to their knee's.
He knows one day, he will face it most intimately. He will crack like glass, chip like brittle marble and eventually shatter when the weight comes crashing down. The tide will sweep him far out into the dark ocean and drag him down in her watery embrace of grief, denial and inconsolable anguish — and he would have to find the light to see him through.
Just like this dragon-mare must do now.
"Think not of the sadness that envelops you now, but the fond memories that you have gained. Wrap them around you tightly like a blanket on a cold night, close and clasped tightly to your chest, for they are precious and dear to you both. The blanket may never remove the chill completely, but it will stave off most of the cold. Use that blanket to chase off the most coldest of nights."
His eternal gaze settled upon the spotted in their mists, he see's the anguish and the pain upon his crowned brow. There seemed to be a never ending waves of sadness, a flickering light lost in the eternal night coming from the stallion and he wonders. What caused so much pain and misery? What marked and wracked this icy stallion so? It is for another time, such thoughts he decides and moved on.
The dark pelted Seer then turns to the mare that had parted the realm of the living, and the golden creature that lay curled beside her in their eternal slumber. If not for the nature of the gathering, one would feel as though they were merely sleeping, catching the last silvers of night before the dawn broke into day. Alune's voice changes once more, sweet and filled with blessed intentions. "May the Goddess see you safe and swift into the Night Lands. Let not the passing of transgressions and heated emotions in this life scar your life in the next." The misted dragon's upon his back shift in their vigil, their incorporeal silver wings raised and flickered in the sea breeze.
More came, as they always seemed to do when someone died. One I did not know, taller and horned. He seemed to be the new leader of the Edge now. He spoke, but I barely listened. My attention is on Amaris and the spotted one who dared speak the word justice. I remember, a long time ago when I made him feel like he was on fire. A small childish part of me longed to do so again. How dare he even indicate that in death, this was her justice. But I did not. The only thing that saved him from my fury, or even Alanna's acidic bite was Amaris. She began to speak finally, and I listened. As I listened, the anger and fury that was threatening to both over take myself and Alanna seemed to dim. She was right, and I know it. Mirage would not want this. She had never wanted anything but a home for the Qian.
So what we had invaded? Had she not gone to every herd to seek out the leads? I remember her going to the now Falls, then called the Foothills. Why else would Paladin of had us stand at her side. Yes, I had been in the invasion not just as a Qian member, but as a Foothills member too. I remember the fight very well. It had been my first real fight. I hadn't been much help. I probably barely did any damage and came out of it with no scars. "She wanted to make amends - to heal the lands and souls she had helped break - but how could she? Would you have listened to her? Helped her? Without thinking, I spoke. "I would have. She is family, just as you are Amaris. The Qian, no matter how scatters we have all become will always be family to me." My loyalty, had never wavered. Not even all these years later.
"There is no justice," It seems my words had an effect after all. I merely nodded. No, there was no justice in any death, be it of old age or murder. However it is the words that come next, that makes my blood run cold. "I did not murder Torasin. I came for your trial—I came late, but I came for it, but you were already gone by then. I came, even though I did not trust you to judge me fairly." My head jerks around to stare at him now, the shock clear on my face now. "He died smiling," I find my voice, one word barely able to escape my lips. "You.." So many questions began whipping through my mind. Finally, I spoke again. "He was like a Father to me.... If you say you did not murder him.... Then what happened?" I had not been there for the trial... Had there ever been a trial?
The next time he seemed to speak, it was not to me. It was to Amaris. I am surprised to know that he could weld not only ice but fire as well. Alanna and I couldn't move, and instead stand there frozen in our own shock and awe.
"Talking"
"Alanna speaks"
Neo, I freaking love you. Because Aaron didn't know Mau had a hand in Torasin's death, yet i've always wanted him to find out.
Please Tag Aaron in All Posts
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Aaron at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
12-14-2015, 11:12 PM (This post was last modified: 12-14-2015, 11:23 PM by Essetia.)
I had wandered with my white wolf at my side, aimless and carefree, until the shades of darkness began to lighten into morning. The hesitant warmth of a crisp autumn day purged my skin of any comfort and the resulting chills forced me to keep a brisk pace that lathered my sides. It had been hours since I’d left the southern realms of Helovia behind me and, though I often fooled myself of the cause, I came once again hoping to catch sight of the land by the sea and the glory it once knew. The images were hazy at best, but the cooling mists had travelled away from their borders (as they were so wont to do) and I smiled inwardly when they wrapped mirthfully around my knees.
However, above the sprays and above the quiet chatter of a world not yet awake, there arose a song so thick with sadness that I stopped in my wanderings to listen. The notes were low and proud and so beautifully crafted that I trailed each wounded rift toward the roar of the sea beyond. It seemed all too familiar and yet so far away, that song… a dragon song. It bit into my soul and began to flower as painfully as any heartbreak and as painfully as any grief I’d ever experienced. Yet, it was different, because it reminded me of days I couldn’t conjure to mind, days that were once mine and now stolen away.
Overhead, light began to bleach the skies in a golden aura that defied the saddened tunes that drifted across the land through the mist. It bent through the greying Edge and allowed me sight where I could not see before. In a moment of hesitation I struggled to ignore the eerie melody, but was instead drawn into the warped sense of loss it conveyed.
Without any rhyme or reason, I trailed the draconic symphony along the very borders of the World’s Edge until I encountered a small gathering of creatures unknown to me. Their heads were bent, their faces distraught, and somehow frozen by time. Everything around me slowed, because I’d seen this once before… I’d witnessed the softening of their stares, the sloping of their shoulders, and the confusion that twisted their lips upon gazing directly at death.
Though what I saw was nothing short of a novel written in chaos that didn’t quite matter, at least not to me. I didn’t know those faces, but felt as though I should have. If hesitancy hadn’t kept me at bay, I would have understood what was at stake and I would have remembered, at least if I’d been able to gaze into those molten eyes before they closed for the last time.
They would have spurred in me my first memory of her, as well as her last. They would have reminded me of where I’d first heard such a brilliant song… I would have remembered Mirage the DragonHeart.
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"With a deep, yet feminine call, she sung a warm dragonsong over the area she suspected they lingered, which was confirmed when Akaith dropped below the canopy to greet Thor happily, chirruping her welcomes and celebrations to the new mother and daughter as she did so. Above them, Mirage smiled, before flying low, so that the canopy almost tickled her underbelly, a golden hulk creating a draconic shadow over the gathering."
“ Above them a glint of golden dust seemed to catch his eye and he smiled, confident that for once in his life he felt at home. No matter where she led him, he would be home. Mirage had been only a reminder that his heart had not only been claimed by love but by family as well.”
More arrived. By this stage, the dragonmare knew they would. She stood before them, unmoved from her position at her mother's crown, and unwilling to move until her mother's body was floating away as ashes upon the wind. The stubborn determination of a dragon held her on her spot - it was fortunate for all present that it was tempered by the equine blood that she was able to convey her desires and seek permission before simply asking one of the soul-lights who accompanied her to light a flame on the dry, autumn leaves surrounding her mother's body. Her gaze, forever golden in its depths, peered at each who arrived; an icy one whom she recognised vaguely from her last visit to the Edge, a completely new, many-horned one, and somewhere on the edge of the gathering she registered at least one more set of eyes - no, more, for there were bonded creatures present as well.
Tensions flare and then ebb, as the foolishness of before is washed away by sorrow, and the mourning tones of the dragons continue. Every now and then Amaris adds her own soft hum, a melody neither entirely equine nor dragon in origin, a simple intricate addition to that which is already being sung. The golden mare watches as the leopard lord bows his head - she can't help but wonder if they had ever stood so near to each other in life, or what it something only this tragedy could elicit without violent repercussion? - her ears pressed forward to capture what he says. Memories are summoned from the depths of her mind at his words, memories of the Sun God's presence, a gathered crowd, and Mauja, Mauja was there with his neck and shoulder red and raw, charred and ruined. She was smaller then, but she remembered watched as the Lord of Light and Fire traced Mauja's wounds with his fiery magnificence and healed them, leaving not a hint, not a trace, behind. Amaris remembered telling her mother - the body before her - of the events, then remembered days, weeks, later, when her mother returned to her, asking the same questions again - what could it mean - Mauja spoke of a trial - and now Aaron was questioning it too -
Amaris shivered as the memory of the icy tree marking the place where Torasin had fallen sprung to the forefront of her mind. She didn't want to think about how large or small a part she had played in Mauja's life, in something that had clearly churned away within him like some poison for too long. Because if she thought about how it was her fault he was found out -even though she didn't know then, truly she didn't- then it would be up to her to fix it, she had to fix it, but how could she fix it when she didn't even know what it was -
"Kiba burned you." She spoke softly, simply, the words meant only for Mauja, though no doubt someone else overheard. The mare couldn't process anything else for that moment - Aaron's words were heard but the girl was unable to respond to them, her mind too choked up, the traffic jam of emotions were piling up at a bottleneck of realisations and unpleasant truths.
I am Alune, another spoke then, his tones somehow penetrating the dragonmare's attention, as her gaze, numb and vacant, looked to his own. He spoke eloquently, though his words awoke the fire within the dragon's breast - she almost laughed, but ended up coughing a sob through her crinkled nostrils instead. Dragons don't feel the cold of the night - and don't presume to tell me how to think. But he was trying to be kind, trying to show compassion, and Amaris thought the world could do with more of kindness and compassion, so she allowed his words to be voiced unchallenged, and simply nodded in acceptance of them. He spoke a prayer then, and the golden one knew it to be a fitting one - Mirage was ever a follower of the Goddess of these lands, she had been born on lands where the Sun never rises, Amaris held no doubt within her breast that her mother would return there once more in death.
The dragonmare was not sure what Mauja meant when he asked what Mirage was (for Mirage was ever a dragon if she was not an equine) - but he seemed to want to define her as some kind of bird. Amaris returned her gaze to him, questioning softly, reflecting the puzzlement he conveyed through the distress in his tones. Is he mad? she wondered, or just tormented by grief and misery? How else could a stallion arrive to the death of what surely had been his enemy and proclaim justice, only to (appear) to be genuinely concerned about her funeral arrangements moments later?
Help me, he pleaded with her, and the mare couldn't deny him. She nodded and stretched out her maw to him, wondered if he would allow the touch - wondered if it was the right thing to do at all - and blew a warm breath upon his spotted skin, as if that would give him the answer. Maybe all he needed was to be reminded that he was still amongst the living, that the living were real and here and that they cared, and that he should care too, because to hell with grudges and wars and violence - Amaris wanted peace, no matter the blood between her forebears, no matter the petty arguments that caused entire herds to become disjointed and lost. If she could make amends, maybe everyone else could, too.
"I need you to help me," she started, seeking out his gaze as she spoke, hoping he would hear her - hoping he would help her. "We'll do it together," she explained, as a red and a blue dragon-shaped soul-light descended from the canopy to hover nearby. They were ready with very real flames held within their ethereal jaws to spew out as the dragonmare requested, though she asked them to wait until the spotted steed had done whatever it was he was fretting about doing. "I trust you to choose whatever you feel is right," she said with clear honesty, willing him to select that which he needed to the most - we all have demons stalking us, perhaps this will enable you to release a few.
[ lol, I took this quiz as Mirage and it told me she was an owl. Do whatever you like Neo! :)
PS - if/once Mauja releases his fire-birds please everyone feel free to play out Amaris' magical dragons helping the flames spread with their fires ]
Daniel Schiersner @ flickr & larfsalot @ deviantart
No need to mirror my post length - I have a horrible case of the rambly writer syndrome!
I like being tagged!
You are always welcome to 'try' and use force/magic on Amaris, but similar to spar posts, leave it to me to decide how the damage is taken please~
Slå mig hårt i ansiktet så får jag känna att jag lever
Many had gathered around the fallen dragon, some who had known her in life and others who would only know of the legend. He was neither the former or the latter. Once they had exchanged words beneath the boughs of this woodland cathedral, but other than the memory of gleaming golden eyes and a mysterious smile Cathun couldn't recall much. She had seemed so much smaller than in his father's stories, so much softer and warmer.
But she was gone now, and he stood on the outskirts of the group with his mind reeling from words carelessly thrown into the wind, words that shook him to the core and threatened to overthrow his whole world.
"Lace is dead too", the unicorn had said.
What?
Lace is dead.
No.
No, that wasn't right. Couldn't be right. It had to be some kind of mistake - Cathun had seen his father only half a season ago, had seen him jump into the heat of battle with rippling muscles and the white mane flying like a banner through the air. They had fought together, parted again with the promise to meet and catch up properly later, he had been cheerful and just as vibrant as when they'd first met, full of vigor and life.
How, how could he be dead? This wasn't real, it wasn't happening. Cathun had been on his way forth to Amaris, to be there for her in her grief - but now his feet stood glued to the ground and all he could do was stare blankly while faces swam before his vision, blurred and inconsequential. They spoke of fires, of burials and send-offs and somewhere the colt knew he ought to be there, help stem the flow of agitated voices...
but he just couldn't bring himself to do anything. Numbly, with a feeling that everything that had meant something in the world had disappeared, he quietly turned and left, leaving others to their grief so that he would be able to deal with his own.
Some things just weren't meant to be shared. This was one of them.
BRENDAN
HARDSHIP OFTEN PREPARES AN ORDINARY PERSON FOR AN EXTRAORDINARY DESTINY
I had slipped away again. I am probably to curious for my own good. But oh well. The fire had taught me not to stay away for to long this time. But I want to find Dad. I have only seen him the one time, at my birth. Did he even care about me? I forget about that when I hear something. I look around, unsure what is going on. Nothing. But then I hear it again. This time, I see Dad. In his and Alanna's rush to find out what had happened, he did not see me. I could tell something was wrong, and because he's my Dad I wanted to know too. So I fell in behind him, so that I wouldn't be in the way or anything. But I didn't distract him either, which didn't work out in my favor. I soon fell behind and Dad was out of sight. Frustrated I kept going, following Dad and Alanna's scent.
When I lost that, I really got frustrated. Now what am I going to do? That's when I heard it for the first time. A beautiful yet sad song. It was joined by a howl. I didn't fully know the howl, but at the same time I feel like it matches the song. I follow it, and it leads me right where I want to go. Dad is there, along with Alanna. But so are so many others. Quietly, I slip up to my Dad's side. Gently I press my nose against his side, he doesn't even turn to greet me. Instead he is focused on some other stallion. It's Alanna who sees me and comes over. She licks my face before going back to stand at Dad's front hooves. I figured he knows i'm there, but something big must be going on. I look from one adult to the other, and the sad song seems to be coming from something gold on top of.... A sleeping mare? Why are we all gathered to watch someone sleep?
[ Sorry for the slight delay, still struggling with exhaustion. ]
"Kiba burned you."
Kiba. He had almost forgotten the name of that unfortunate soul, of that brown, valiant dragon who had only wished to defend the one he loved the most—and for that love, and the fear it inspired, they had both died, and taken a little piece of Mauja's soul with them. For was that not how it was? Each and every death he had caused had taken from him, a little soul-light to guide them down the dark river, a piece of guilt torn from his consciousness, a memory carved into the lining of his skull—
He did not want to count them, those deaths. He did not want to think of the screams and the tears and the pleading he had witnessed with a dead and deaf heart—of all the good he could've done, all the mercy he could've had. Instead, he had been cold.
Torasin's death should've been a murder. It should've been glorious retribution, pay-back for what Mirage had done, but it hadn't—he had wanted to make amends, but he hadn't known how, and instead he had killed him. "Yes," he said ever so softly, staring at the peacefully closed eye. It should've been murder, but what did it matter when they all died in the end? Would it have made anything better, if he had wanted life to end? That he had even been able to think that, that he should've done it intentionally, that he.. that he ought to have hated .. as if hate could justify anything .. and he trembled there in the darkness of his past, trembled, as Aaron's voice floated through his consciousness—cold, as if frozen, disbelieving, struggling with some idea, some concept, and failing to simply understand it. Suddenly (asking? begging? demanding?) that understanding from Mauja, who struggled too, with the burden of what he had said, and what he was saying, staring into the golden eyes of the dragon-child.
And someone was—not exactly chanting but there was a rhythm, a lilt and a cadence to his voice, a sort of ritualistic flow that demanded attention without comprehension. The words were a tide, a rise and a fall, soft and gentle like the current of water around rocks in a shallow brook—and something in the voice spoke of that very same water, of the murmur as it swirled in hidden pockets. It was a soothing voice, but he heard no words, trapped in the gaze of a creature belonging not wholly to either world. She was warm—her eyes were warm, something to hold on to as the darkness threatened to sweep him away.
Because he was afraid, again; death had torn one of the last foundations of his life out from under him, robbed him of the one he could pin and build his hatred upon, stolen that last refuge with the cold, sharp blade of truth (—and he was afraid, because he stood there in the Edge, speaking the truth at long, long last).
But first, something else had to burn.
Warm air caressed his face, a touch as soothing as that barely-known voice had been as it had slipped through his ears, and Mauja closed his eyes. "I need you to help me," but did she really? Did she really need Mauja? Regardless—it felt better. The warmth of her breath, the presence of her scaled muzzle hovering so close to his, anchored him, stroked his frizzled nerves, and an almost tangible wave of relaxation swept through him.
He could do this. They could do this. The smallest, most fragile of smiles curved his dark lips, and the plush tip of his muzzle bumped tentatively against hers. The distinction between scale and velvet skin was strange, but not unpleasant.
Mirage had always seemed larger than her relatively nondescript body—she had commanded loyalty and armies, had stood up against her demons and for what she believed in, and hunted for justice, even though Mauja could not believe in the concept of it. And so, it seemed only fitting that she burn as something huge.
Slowly he backed away, from both Amaris and corpse, trusting the dragon-child to either move herself or to be fire-proof if she stayed put—but there, he hesitated for a moment, casting a wary glance at the forest around them, and the child standing by Aaron's side now. There was one last thing.. and his gaze, calmer now, but still somehow so detached from everything he ought to know, and ought to be, settled on Amaris again. "Do not let the rest of the forest burn," he pleaded with her quietly, not sure what he himself could do if the fire tried to spread.
Then, it spawned before his chest; fire crackled into life in an impressive wingspan stretching to nearly 11 feet, with a deceptively small body suspended between the beating, flaming wings. It hung there for a moment, staining Mauja's chest and mane soot-black with its heat, scorching the topmost layer of skin in a way that felt nearly sweet—but his magic was not meant to be held, and the albatross struggled a second more against its bonds before breaking free, colliding with the black body in a shower of sparks and flame. Not even a second later the much-hotter dragonfire blasted through the air, and Mauja winced, backing up further.
And so it was that Mirage burned, at long last—surrounded by those who had loved her, those who had hated her, and those who had not known her.
Slowly, Mauja melted further back. His work here was nearly done. He had found Mirage; he had .. spoken with her, as much as one can speak to the dead, and in his own way, he had honored her as he could. With her death, she had stolen another piece of his life, and with all that he thought he knew—all that he thought he wanted—turned to ashes on the wind.. he was a broken man struggling to find enough pieces to fit together, and he was unsure of what would come out once something finally clicked.
He wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows, to walk with the company of the mist-creatures and wonder who he had been all this time, and who he was becoming, and how many more wrongs he had pinned on someone else simply because that was easier than the harrowing of introspection—but there were more ghosts lingering here, and his gaze shifted briefly to Aaron as he waited for the fire to rage, to consume, and to, finally, cease.
He would not leave until it was out. He owed this one last vigil to Mirage, for she had borne the weight of his misdirected hatred through all of these years, and now, she had finally opened his eyes and set him free.
"I don't think I ever hated you," he murmured into the hissing of the pyre.
[ @Aaron@Amaris@Alune || feel free to approach him about Torasin again while he's watching the fire. just didn't find any good way to tie it into my post :/ ]
The single word that fell from his lips confirmed the conclusion she had come to, and the dragonmare wondered if he remembered that she was there, that day he was healed, she saw his burns, she knew only dragonfire could do that, and she told, she had to tell her mother, the very same mare who was laying before them in silence and stillness only death could bring. It was Amaris' fault he was ever found out - but not your fault that he did the act, a voice cut through her mind, one of the dragon-souls she had summoned. They were at the mercy of her thoughts when they entered this world, and not all accepted them all easily - some spoke back. The words set her mind to pause for a moment, to refocus, to shuffle the priority of thoughts back to what needed to be done now.
Aaron's questions still rung in her ears, though it had been many moments since they were spoken. Amaris turned her molten gaze upon him, her façade apologetic and sad, weary, and pleading forgiveness - for now was not the time to talk of such things, and she hoped the words she proffered him would be enough until a better time came. "It was an accident, Aaron. Torasin's death was an accident."
It was time to carry on, then - but another arrived. She could sense him from a mile away. He burned, a sun in his own right, the son that should have been, the brother who could have been. He stood far away, and yet he was burning, his mane and tail and eyes alight - Amaris remembered the gems that dangled from chains around his neck, she wondered if another had broken, she remembered the fear that had ripped through him when one of them broke as they entered the Dragon's Throat - he was magnificent and yet -
he was over there, while she was here, crying over her mother's dead body.
His presence faded as he wandered away, and it wasn't until he was almost completely gone from her golden view that she remembered the words Mauja had said again. Lace, and her crown snapped back to the spotted one, though her eyes were still brimming with tears and her façade was unreadable in all its grief and wearisome ways. A smaller equine arrived - Amaris could see the similarities between he and Aaron. Amaris wanted to tell him to go away, he was too young, too young to see this, to watch a corpse burn, her mother's corpse, Mirage was dead, Lace is dead too -
Mauja was looking at her again then, signalling her that he was about to release whatever he held within him. It re-anchored the dragonmare to the moment once more, and she clutched to its security for all she was worth - because if she didn't, she would fall apart right there, next to her mother's corpse.
Fire spilled forth then, and understanding dawned even as her dragon-souls added their own flames to the pyre. Amaris had stepped back (when? She did not know-) though she was closer than most, for dragons did not fear the fire nor the uncomfortably high temperatures it brought with it. Desperately, she remembered the young colt that had arrived, and she moved to his side, to murmur gently to him, to explain all that was going on - but how could she explain this to someone so young, someone who didn't even know her, or her mother. Idly she wondered if he was the get of Aaron and Kimber's friendship, though that thought, like the millions of others scattered through her mind right now, was soon forgotten.
"She lived a long life, and now she sleeps, to never rise again. Please understand," the words faded into silence as the mare's gaze wandered from each of those who were present and lingering - she had to wonder why each of them did stay, especially those who did not even know Mirage, who did not care or understand or appreciate everything the DragonHeart had done. Without her, would any of you even be standing here, this close to the Edge? Without her, would any of you have ever seen a battle? and with those thoughts, came the chaser; maybe that's just why they are here, even if they don't know her or understand what she did, they know that she did something, she means something to someone at least, and she deserves this vigil, this respect, even in death, especially in death.
Don't let the rest of the forest burn, she wasn't sure when he had said it, but she nodded now anyway, and did just as he asked. Any flames that spread too far from the body she quelled with a stomp of her hard hooves or the sweep of her tail. Singed hair mattered little to her, as she swept her elongated appendage across the loam to ensure the flames had nothing to spread to. Orangemoon presented a risk with its dried, falling leaves, and while the flames burned hot and high, they seemed to stay in control - on her mother's corpse.
Amaris didn't know how long it had been, but at some stage she had stopped walking, stopped moving. She was standing as close as the heat would allow her to her mother's head again, watching the embers crackle and pop through the body, watching it eat equine and dragon alike, without discrimination. Golden eyes watched the golden flames, their acrid scent bringing more tears to her eyes - what did it matter at this stage, whether she was weeping from the flames or from the loss of her mother? The dragongirl wept, and waited for the DragonHeart to depart this earth one final time, as ashes on the wind.
@Aaron@Brendan
Probably Amaris' last post for this thread.
Anyone is still welcome to attend! If anyone wants to talk to Amaris please just feel free to tag me in a new thread :)
Amaris
drákos istoría
theartlex | larfsalot on deviantart
No need to mirror my post length - I have a horrible case of the rambly writer syndrome!
I like being tagged!
You are always welcome to 'try' and use force/magic on Amaris, but similar to spar posts, leave it to me to decide how the damage is taken please~
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![[Image: QsJIY4g.png]](http://i.imgur.com/QsJIY4g.png)
