"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.
As soon as it had risen it had fallen away. The anger and pride in his breast, so sharp and direct, slips, when it sees the rosen back of Hotaru disappear into the shadows. The dainty harks upon his head twist back, hesitantly. Wait…. But his mind was torn too much to move, much less call to her. The dark swelling anger against her demands, hoovers, as that new feeling grabbed chest. The tall iron doors before his heart, at seeing that rosen visitor leave their doorstep, crack open. It reverberates across his skin, and the snow dusted rosen hide covering him shivers. It seems like the door might swing wide open, like there might actually be a key being offered. But then the old fears come back. The fresh air from the cracked iron doors shock his system, and they slam shut again. The heart inside racing fast against his throat to think of what lay beyond the walls, and a fear, darker than night and death rises again. No, he could not. If he admitted what he felt, if he named it, then this would be no different than before. His foe, that tiger in the shadows would gain strength no physical mortal possessed, and surely the golden could not stand against it. He would not give the terror of the rosen that power. He would not let his own shadows of the past cloak this creature, and let it win. The timidness vanishes from that white washed face. The anger, which had been so pointed at her, swings sharply back onto this tiger. He had done such vile things to her pristine rosen hide, and he would pay for it ten fold. Kill him said she? No. That would be far too merciful an act.
So in a peaceful glade, out in the high field stood a most tragic looking damsel. Her coat is marred in cuts and bruises, and one leg hoovers, delicately and jointed. Her face lies blank, and mostly hanging, eyes closed, though her ears are never still. Only occasionally from this position does she move. Her head, lifts and looks to a place in the shadows of the trees. It stares there for a moment, as if holding in a breath, then releases, looking back to the earth or closing its eyes again.
For a while time passes like this, and the mare seems tame, and cowed. But of course, we know the truth behind this illusion. At first he steals looks to the place where she slipped into the trees, but as time passes he looks there less often. The distance and the change of focus easing the strain and worry over the shadows of the past she was bringing forward again, even as she was walking away. The task set before him only built in anticipation during the waited return of the foe. This fowl cretin which soiled the coat of the rose. In all the tumble of emotions and feelings, the strong satisfaction of holding the trick card was winning out again. Fears, deep angers, and that pesky new emotion were being shoved into the corner. As his mind turned over in his head the movements and plans his heart begins to lose its flighty racey, pattering for that strong solid beat. With it came the strength in his limbs again, and the trust in his skill.
Under the sheep’s wool, the wolf breaths slow and deep, holding the dagger close, and feeling its metal against his own skin, while visions of revenge, blood, and release danced through his head.
OOC ::
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
He hurries back, dangling the broken body of a rabbit from his mouth. He crunched through bone and muscle as he thundered over the Fields, teeth tearing and destroying the flesh beneath the fur. He chewed through the gut, feeling the organs slipping towards his tongue. Retaliating by spitting out the carcass, the beast feels a foul storm brew beneath his skin, clawing to be released.
Only a little farther, and then he would find her, he would take his rose gold feast and he would punish her in the foulest ways. He would take her apart again and again, shatter all four of her legs— make it complete. It was always a risk to go hunting while she was there, but he knew well that if she wanted to leave she would have. Her spirit was not so easily crushed.
His pace quickened, legs taking him closer and closer until— he stops. Nostrils flare and a growl bubbles up in his throat. There was another scent, there— but receding, it was a visitor. If he was fast perhaps he could still catch them, he enters the space he had tucked her away in in a series of leaps and bounds, snarling and overwhelmed with fury. As he approaches he notices the way she looks over at the line of trees, rounded ears pressed flat as he jumps towards her at alarming speed.
"WHO." Is all he shouts at her while he approaches, looking at the standing figure. The standing figure. His nose wrinkles in disgust, wondering why it was now she chose to oppose him rather than lay upon the earth in submission. "Who told you you could stand?" He snaps, lingering nearby her with his muscles tense. He knew well of the power that surged behind her magic, but also that he could easily take her dainty figure down with his much larger one. He eyes the trees in the spot she had been glancing towards, and then back at her with pointed teeth on display for her. "Was it whoever came by here? Do you think I can't smell them?"
To think she would be so stupid— that she had forgotten how well his sense of smell was. It was foolish, utterly idiotic. If you were going to invite someone over at least hide the evidence of it. But here she was, standing around mingled scents, of hers and one unfamiliar but still bearing familiarity. It was pine, the same that clung to her coat, a mark of her residence. It mixed faintly with this new smell, but it was not potent. The smell lingers, not as strong as the sickly sweet smell of her blood, but it was still there, hovering about them. It also makes way off to their side, stronger there but not by much. He swore he could take in the faintest bit of her with that trail of foreign smells, and although he deems it nothing of concern, he does not let it flee his mind yet— who knows what tricks the rose could pull.
He laughs at her while he circles her, laughing his daunting, throaty laugh, a mix between a growl and something disgustingly worse. He lunges at the side opposite to her raised leg, trying to knock her balance and show her where she actually stands. He was sick of this acting up, he would break her other three legs if it meant she would stop fighting against him.
"Talk talk talk"
A twig snaps, a breath labors, and brush rushes from its place. Immediately the heart within the golden jumps, pounding in his throat. But this was not a flighty fleeting patter of fear. No, it was strong, slow and steady. Like a deep war drum echoing in the depths of the darkness. Its hum sliding up and down his spine, shivering all his nerves into awakening. Yet while the wolf breaths deep, the cloak over him does not change. The rosen figure stands still as ever, only now the delicate ears have locked onto the sound of a charging beast coming through the brush.
A shout roars across the small field. The rosen coat flinches, but only as it was told to do. The rest stays still, head down, and eyes closed away. Only ears should any sign of paying attention as they locked on the target. Fear may not be seeping in his blood, but the adrenaline, its cousin was. That beast must be huge. He felt the earth shake, and the booming voice. This surely could not just be a tiger. How desperately he wished for a peak, but he would not do so just yet.
The beast circles, cursing at the standing form. Oh. A rub marks the golden’s plan. When he had come Hotaru had been standing, but only because she looked for him. Damn. Well nothing to correct it now. The golden was not as much of a fool as you might think. He knew something would be suspected. His powers may hold him silent and invisible, but there are still hoofprints and scents. Yet, he had hoped for a calmer opening. It wasn’t that he thought suspicion wouldn’t come, only he had hoped for more time. You see, it wasn’t about a quick end, or a sudden rush. It was about time. Buying Hotaru time.
The still hidden to her beast challenges the rosen figure, which still has not moved, and it took great skill not to let the Cheshire grin rise on the lips of the girl. Great skill indeed to keep it from welling there where it was born to be. Waiting, waiting, the rosen figure stood.
The beast’s dark booming laughter echoes deep within the white washed ears, and the signal was given at last. Two toned eyes awoke. They did so slowly, with a seeming drowsiness, and the head still did not raise or move. Yet those eyes and ears still followed him. What they find, the final image given to this faceless fear of the rosen, does not comfort him. It was a beast. Massive, and built solid it did take effort not to move away. He was not afraid mind you, but his natural instincts cried for more distance from such a predator. No wonder the rosen lady was such a hot mess. He was coming to realize, despite his new strength, trick, and bravado, that he might become one as well.
A thought was born then, that hadn’t occurred before….what called this tiger to the rosen girl’s blood? The creature was moving, and the question was left for another time.
Then it comes, as the echo of a growl. The start of it all. Mood soured, he had hoped for more taunting, more time. He had hoped to avoid having to act out this part, but it helped to feel still the weight of his blade still in his hand. This he must do, and it would make the reveal all the more sweet. Or so he promised himself. Enough though. It was time. Now at last the girl moves. Her head straightens up but only slightly to gain balance. He comes from the ‘good’ side, and the golden within is ready. His mind whirling fast with the calculations and anticipations. Muscles tense in readiness to make the movement.
Impact. And the rosen lets herself take it. The body was already leaning away, the joints already unlocked, so that when the tiger lunged, the figurine was like paper. Giving way without resistance. Shock of the impact his the golden’s shoulder but it was like it was too late. It hit, to be sure, as the pain of muscle on muscle and bone on bone told him, but it was a poke, in what should have been a punch.
The rosen figure staggers sideways from the hit, and legs jumble in a mess. Face clinches up in pain, and breath gasps tight to her. Yet she stands, wavering, and appearing only barely hanging on, she stays up. The golden lets the breath labor, and the pain and tension ripple across the sheep’s coat. Time, more time. With face tight with pain the rosen girl looks to her attacker. The breath labors, but carries the girl’s sweet yet sour tones. “Jealous?” Then it turns cold, mimicking the dark mood swings that had taken the golden by such surprise before. “Bite me.”
It was a gamble, prolonging this game. Every hit willingly taken bought time, but also took away the edge the golden had. He could not hold it long, yet the moment made his dark heart sizzle and crackle with anticipation, and the hand on the hidden blade gripped tighter.
OOC ::
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
He was no saint, no innocent man. There was blood on his hands, but his conscience was not guilty for the crimes he had committed. He laughed at the idea of wallowing in guilt for the shit that he'd done. He was bringing justice to the world, he was punishing the sinners. He thought it a suitable, justified practice. It was no crime, it was a gift. From him to them. He granted them peace after a life of filth, he set them free from living in this god awful world.
And she— she was a sinner. With her tempting figure and delicious hips, her unwavering pride and confidence, it was no good. His madness, his instability, it shook him to the core and pushed him into a blind panic, a fit of fury and rage that lasted. He wanted to relieve her of her sins so bad, to set loose her wild spirit and let it soar where the body could not take it.
Yet— he couldn't.
He tried, night after night of looming over her with a vicious smile— but oh gods he could not even look at her without remembering her in her youth, where she was carefree and spirited. Where, oh where had she gone? How had he lost little Ru, the innocent, the pure, what mistakes had he made to lose her? So he would stand, taking in her broken figure and knowing oh so well the way each and every wound had come to exist, how the crunch of her leg beneath his weight sounded— how it felt. He knew the taste of her flesh, that she was lean and muscular, and tasted bitter sweet on his tongue.
Why had he done this, why had he fallen so far from who he had been, from who he wanted to be? What had he done to turn into something so cruel and engrossed in petty torture? He mourned the loss of his empathy, trembled with the idea of going beyond just this empty husk, scared of the idea of feeling again. For so long he'd lived like this— callous and content with his silence, with his husky voice and sickening grin. But somewhere inside he could not bring himself to look at his reflection, at the scarred hide thrown over his body, at the matted blood along his fur.
Yet here he was, threateningly close to bringing her down again. He was driven with the need to hear her beg, to earn more than just some starved rabbit's flesh, to get hers. It had taken years of unfortunate hatred to get her flesh to taste this sweet, and now he couldn't get enough. Tonight in particular, he craved it.
Smacking together his toothy black maw, a malicious grin sprawls across his features. With a deep, hungering snarl rising in his throat, he chuckles quietly. "Guess who's hungry," he sings into her ear as their bodies collide, leaning in in an attempt to lap at her hide, to taste her sweat, her fear. She does not crumble so easily, his frustrations rising, his muscles tensing and jaw clenching at her rebellion. How dare she.
He throws back his head in unrestrained laughter, boiling with hidden disgust at her words. "I need no invitation," he breathes out, stepping closer and closer to her blossom pink body. He moves quickly, silently, reaching out ivory canines for the dip of her back, seeking to peel away flesh from the ribs and feed himself as he'd done before. "Whoring yourself out again, hm?" He can discern a fresh smell as he gets closer, an unfamiliar smell that is not her. His stomach boils and knots, his teeth grinding together. He stalks to her front, gazing into her eyes with his brows knit. "Who would even want damaged goods like you?" Spitting at her face, he raises his forelegs to strike out, seeking to rake his leg over her left eye. He seeks to punish her, to take this recent sin from her heaving shoulders.
"Talk talk talk"
The hand holding the dagger begins to sweat and grow tenser. The temperature under that sheep’s skin grows hotter. As the hiss of a whisper slithers into his ear the mask cracks, and the hark slides away. The monster was so close. So blind. Yet the golden holds. He has to.
Swaying to the side the rosen girl looks to the laughing beast. Her weariness and confused looks mingling with pain. It was not quite right, he should have adapted it more, but the golden’s powers were slipping. The frustrations in his breast was growing, and getting harder to contain. It was well for someone injured to surrender to insults, fear, and pain, but the strong youthful golden chaffed at it. To not return a throw, or taunt back was like grinding glass into his blood. He might hold the final trick card, but he was still the vain golden son.
It was so strange though. Had he not just suffered and wasted under the prolonged restraint in the mountains? Was his escape from there not celebrated and cherished. Then why did it empower him to stop into the very act he did now which only returned that feeling? What was this which drove him to so readily accept another burden? Was it the same which caused him to nearly call back to the rosen figure? Yet in all that, here he was, holding himself on the cliff edge, letting fate foolish believe she had him in her grasp.
His shield of invincibility was about to be shattered though. A loosen stone was to fall under his feet into the abyss and remind him of the danger walking on the edge could bring.
The monster surges forward and it takes his whole will to steel himself against it. He was expecting another shove, but the tiger was not playing nicely. Teeth cut into his flesh, scraping and sinking in deep. Body shivers, freezing, and breath hitches in the rosen’s throat. The pain this time did not have to be faked, but the anger glaring cold in those earthen eyes was hard to hide. The skin at his withers trembles and shakes as it feels the hot blood run down the lines of his shoulders. The golden wolf was so absorbed by contolling himself, and keeping submissive, that he nearly missed the tiger’s words….
Whoring yourself out again, hm?
Whoring? Again? The golden was lost in his mind for a moment…Hotaru had a child. It did not look like this creature, but did it need to? His thoughts were racing, her voice cutting in. You will come back The monster is moving about him, but the golden’s mind was racing to make connections. She was a whore? Well all around here had a little fun, but if he was feeling….and she was still….You’re mine. An anger rushed in his breast again, and at last the cold calm flame roars to life, bursting into a full blaze. He was not hers. He was not a whore’s. A whisper behind the iron doors to his heart struggles in the blaze to speak. That is the monster talking. He is trying to get you, her. He lies. They are lies. She loves you. But the anger was too deep. Too hot.
Perhaps it was his anger at bowing before the blows which had built. Perhaps it was the tension of the moment. Yet more than likely it was his final realization that something was happening inside him which hadn’t happened in many a years. Something was awakening in him uncalled. Something stirring in the darkness of his soul. And it was happening for a whore. A tramp who took no value in it. He was falling for someone who knew no bounds, no loyalties. Making him nothing more than a common fool. Teeth grind together.
Rosen head rises slightly, the tissue papers of the mask falling away as the monster spits in her face. The fire rising in those hot eyes. He was done with this. Done with playing her fool. The golden was free, and powerful. He would not yield to her whims. He would see this deed done, and then he would remind her that he was not to be toyed with. Not another customer for her whims. He was the golden son, the thief, and those feelings she awoke, that she called on, he would prove in this moment to be dead as this tiger. The monster rises to strike, and the golden thief could no longer hold back. Who would want her? “Your nightmare.” Breath slips, and illusion falls away under the tiger’s very nose. But the golden was not waiting. Hinds shove him forward, head low tilts up as horns reappear, ready to rip into the underside of the beast. A paw falls heavy on his neck, cutting deep and hot, but the anger of the golden was hotter and he surged on forward. Shoving and digging in the soft earth.
He might be rallying against the rosen figurine, but this bastard had dared call her whore, and damaged. Whatever might be going on between the gold and the rosen, he would ensure this bastard had no further say in it. It made no sense how the anger burned in hatred of the rosen, yet attacked the beast with vengeance. It made no sense that he would now lock himself in combat to secure her safety, while wanting to destroy his connections with her. It made no sense. But then again, love rarely does.
OOC ::
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
03-23-2016, 08:45 PM (This post was last modified: 03-26-2016, 12:31 PM by Tingal.)
The feast begins.
The damned is granted the pleasure of swallowing meat, stripped clean from her body. He pauses at the taste— suddenly trembling with unrestrained fury. "YOU! IMPOSTOR!" It rips from his bloodied maw, accusatory and undeniably terrifying. His gut quivered, knowing well this was not her sweet flesh— the savory ambrosia he had indulged in for weeks past. This was sour, this was bitter and bland. He knew this was not her, that this was some foul accomplice who allowed her escape.
Fool!
He had been a blasphemous idiot, passing off the smell of someone foreign as a desperate man in need of a quick fuck. He spits the blood from his mouth, towards the coward who dares use the harlot as a guise, to wear the hide of a sinner. "WHERE IS SHE?" He bellows, teeth exposed and tail lashing violently at his rear, predatory gaze focused on the creature whose foolish mind has brought him to the belly of the beast.
He takes control, mouth a gaping abyss of flesh-tearing ivory— hungering for this foul flesh of a liar— seeking to take what was his. He wanted her hide, he was driven mad by the possibility that perhaps that would be the last he could have of her. The beast stretches his neck, desperate to tear a chunk of tissue from the faux whore. "BRING HER BACK!" He roars, thunderous hooves crushing earth beneath him as his teeth come back to seek more. This second strike is aimed for the neck, the so sweet jugular that will end him.
He watches as away melts the facade, cascading down is the lie, pastel pink peeling away to reveal stark gold. No, this was not the whore— this was a man far worse. With ebony markings and twisted horns, he was exactly what the mongrel did not want to see. He is furious, snorting and growling, trivial rage engulfing what little rationality he'd had.
Horns strike up, a solid skull colliding with his underbelly as a hoof catches the golden's shoulder. This man was a fool, if he thought that he could save her and win over her heart, if he could slip beneath her skirt where so many more had been. "You are not the first— and certainly not the last." He barks, huffing as a horn rips open a jagged wound on his underside. "SHE IS A SINNER, A HARLOT." Madness, swallowing whole the thread of sanity he'd clung so desperately to.
He lunges, seeking out the face of this golden knight with bared canines, investing on bringing down the idiot who has sacrificed himself in the name of the conniving queen. He would fall prey to her lies, just as the mongrel had. Whatever reason he had for leaping to her aid, it would be forgotten in his demise. He would make it no farther, only if he was a coward would he flee.
"Talk talk talk"
Chaos descends. Shouts, and claws. Yet this was not the masquerading golden any more. This was the wolf revealed, and his agility and energy did not have to be contained any longer. No longer was his golden hide an easy target. The two first attacks are missed. Then he dove under the beast for his tender underside. The claws striking down on his skin unavoidable. As his hinds shoved, pushing ahead of him his weight and the other’s red blood began to roll freely down his shoulders and legs. Pain seared his vision, but the burning hatred and bloodlust of battle were brighter. The agonizing moments of waiting, and the built of tension unleashed a lethal level of adrenaline. Mountains would not have stopped the golden now.
It was a good thing too, for the cat weighed a literal mountain. Knees gave way, unable to hold up as his horns cut through. Only for the saving grace of momentum did his body emerge on the other side. Stumbling the gold comes from under the beast, and he moves to round again. The tiger attacked first, only not with daggers. Something far worse.
Not the first, not the last. Teeth grind, but the diseased voice of the beast would not leave him. Was this the power of the tiger over the rosen girl? Horned head shook, rallying his drive, yet the words continue. Sinner. Harlot. The self damnation descends upon him again. How could he be such a fool! Of course mares were nothing more than idiots or whores. None in his trade ever came with a clean record, yet that is what he had sought. That is what he had believed. She had a child for god’s sake! How could he have been blind, so stupid!
The anger though turns itself not on him, but the tiger. Bastard! Stealing, torturing, unholy brute. Who was he to question the girl? Who was he to question the gold? He was not Hotaru’s oh no. If he was to have a whore, she would be his. She was his. He was not the customer of this brothel, no he was the owner. It was about time he cleared house. Bouncer? “ENOUGH!”
Golden body lunged forward, head tucking, barring the long horns. Yet it was almost like bringing a knife to a gun fight. Teeth sank into the side of his neck, cutting through with unnerving easy. Pain kicked his instincts awake, and he pulled back his attack to rise away. Cloven hooves lashing out. Only he had magic on his side as well. He grabbed at it, hoping the flames of his anger would blow up their smoke into their other’s eyes.
Was the rosen girl a whore? Did he wish to even own a whore? For once the mechanical drive, and blinding pain of battle was a blessing, and those questions could run loose and away like his blood.
OOC ::Since even I'm getting a bit confused.
-lunges forward with horns
-strikes out low-ish with hooves
-attempts to use smoke magic
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
The righteous lets out a hollow laugh, crackling vocals shuddering within his throat as he lunges his gaping maw for the golden's own throat, mad with the need to end him. Here is a mind brimming with sin, sinful possibilities that spawn from the sight of the bosom of the manipulator, the pink whore. This diseased golden could not be here, not before the mongrel. He must repent, or his flesh will sour and rot under the climate of his unholy sins. The beast will not allow something so foul to taint his sweet prize, will not let those cloven hooves muddy his trophy.
ENOUGH.
The bellow from the guised fool makes him cackle sadistically, horns piercing his side and scraping along his flesh, too caught up in the untamed mess of fur along the beast's body to create anything but shallow wounds. WEAK. He wants to shout, too busy focusing in on what the fool would do next to formulate words. Cloven hoof clashes against a thick ankle, promising a faint swelling but not enough to deter the mongrel from ramming a shattered horn in the direction of the golden's cheek, mouth gaping in a war cry.
Smoke pillages the crisp sight he's so familiar with, massive body swinging around in an attempt to knock the golden off his hooves, desperate to take the upperhand. "You idiot! She will never accept your affections!" He screeches triumphantly, head swinging wildly through the air as he desires to bash in the brains of that aureate bastard. "You are WEAK!!" The twitching lips and bloody ivory canines are an intimidating sight as he bellows out his fury, great chest rising and falling with his frustrations overwhelming him.
His sight returns, emerald eyes blinking in a desperate attempt to clear away the sickening smoke that still burned in the corners of his eyes. There was so much to feel, so much untamed rage that threatens to burn away the shreds of rationality keeping the tiger mongrel from tearing apart the bitter flesh of the crowned man, his conscious begging for the sweet release of his temper. With his next cry he brings that rationality crumbling away, animalistic instincts urging him to leap head on towards the golden to try and crush him beneath his weight, to dig sharpened ivory into the meaty metallic neck and feast upon the unsatisfactory flesh. He will consume only in his glory, a triumphant roar to finalize the golden's fate.
"Talk talk talk"
tries to get at thrans throat,
later tries to jab his cheek w his horn tip
(cant see bc magic) swings his body around in an attempt to body slam thran
(cant see bc magic) tries to headbutt thran
lunges head on (from where thran was standing prior to being blinded) and tries to bite at his neck
It wasn’t exactly going well. For all the golden’s bravado, the tiger was had the advantage. Horns are slowed by a thick coat and hoof catches a mere ankle, while his own eyes swim with orange, black, and pain as a horn catches his cheek. Mind races, spinning. He needed something. Another weapon, another….Heart jumps and he inhales, gears clicking quickly.
Golden body pulls back, leaning away from the thrashing horns, teeth and claws. He misses then the wild thrashings of the beast, but only just. He’s speaking again. The words, poisonous, coming still clear through. Only this time, from insanity or madness of battle, the golden rallies against them better. He exhales as he speaks, his form shimmering. “She’s the weak fool. She’s surrendered-” It was the boost he needed. Yes…yes that rosen woman had a fallen. Already the deadly three words had left her lips, and still been unreturned. Yet he didn’t finish as horns ram into him, sacking his shoulder. Only, it wasn’t some slender light boned board. It was time you see, to fight fire with fire, and fang with fang. A grimace of fangs smiles down to feel the difference, and the purring growl rolls from his lips with satisfaction even as the breath lapses short from the hit.
A mirror of the tiger beast stares with a smirk back at the other who’s sight slowly returned. Now this was more like it. As Tingal surges the mimic copies, yet he attempts to rise higher. Claws lash out, swirling, as his own teeth reach for the top of the other’s neck or head. The battle was turning more serious. This wasn’t to wound or bleed to unconsciousness. This was to snap bones and body. His teeth reached out to grab, gain leverage, and pull, with the now equal strength, down the towering brute. It came at a cost. Teeth sank into his shoulder and the bright burning eyes shut as they attack. Staining to gain the advantage, the mimic changes tactics. He lashes and reaches with his fearsome teeth, yet now his whole body surges forward. Throwing in everything. The burning, debilitating doubt of the rosen girl being lost in pride, blood, and reminders of morality.
OOC ::
-hit in the cheek lightly, misses the first thrash, medium hit in the chest, teeth sink in his shoulder
-Changes into tingal
-rears up lashing out with claws (since his right shoulder was bitten, only his left really does lash out)
-teeth reach for poll
-surges his whole weight forward
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
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