"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.
Not his chest, not the memories of a cracked, blackened, bleeding hide. The first was locked in icy fear, the latter had left scars in his mind. No, what burned was his right knee. The already large joint was even larger with swelling and a thin line of dried, yellow pus below it belied the infection festering there.
The King had tried to ignore it (stupidly, he now acknowledged). The burning magma had splattered his legs and chest; but here, at his knee, it had burned through the thick skin to the delicate joint capsule. And so, in the quiescence of synovium, bacteria had flourished and given rise to a knee so distended, he could not longer bend it.
The fever and pain spread illness through his veins. Despite the frozen Frostfall air, his buckskin hide was darkened to brown in patches by sweat. An occasional tremor wracked his scarred hide. Though he did not succumb to the infection; he stood tall atop the cliffs. Though, given his occasional sway, perhaps this was no the wisest of places for the Elephant King to stand. He rested the injured leg out in front of him, slightly blurred gaze stared unseeing at the rocks and waves below. He deserved this. Didn’t he?
A soft, chuffing whine of concern came from Mbwene who, despite all her curiosity about the world, did not leave her bonded’s side. Literally. She stayed glued to his good foreleg, trunk gently probing the other, injured knee (thus producing more pus from the wound). She didn’t know what was going on, besides the fact that her big man’s knee was too hot. And billows of what she would learn to call “nausea” came through her bond— it made eating impossible. Her stout form steadied against his limb, trumpeting loudly in fear at a particularly extreme sway of the Elephant King. “Mbwene…” his usual rumble was hoarse, and nearly audible.
03-02-2016, 03:55 PM (This post was last modified: 03-02-2016, 06:00 PM by Alysanne.
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Alysanne
There was a furious lecture brewing in her as she made her way toward Tembovu, the figure easily recognizable where he stood near the cliffs - with half a mind to chase him over the edge. She had lived in herds ruled by tyrants before and she had no intention of doing so again. If that was his desired path, if he intended to burn and bring the Edge down with him, she’d fight him with all that she was. This herd needed strength not whatever had happened back on the Deep Forest. Fortunately they had been close enough to save Mauja, but what happened the next time Tembovu’s rage got out of control? Who would be his victim then?
Alysanne knew very well that she would use her own body to protect anyone else in the herd, even Mauja, from further injury.
She moved with a brisk stride toward him, wrapping her anger around her like a shield (conveniently forgetting her own weaknesses). But, wrathful as she was, it was no match for the sight of the festering, puss-filled mess that was the knee of their king. Stallions. May the Goddess save her from their stupidity. How long had he been letting it fester? Likely since that day in the Deep Forest. And from the look of his skin, fever was starting to settle in as his body fought off the infection.
For once she was without Hemlock perched atop her head - the little owl was snoozing in a tree nearby, which was good as he might have been caught off-balance by the wind that was catching her hair as she came to stand on the cliffs. “Tembovu.” She made no attempts to hide her current contempt for the King but her voice was chiding in the exasperated and gentle way she used with her patients and children. “Why didn’t you find me sooner?” She rustled her wings into a more comfortable position, the muscles in her right one still a little sore from their spar. Not that she used them very much aside from the occasional stretch - but it was always good to have them in good working order.
She wanted nothing more than to throw them up now in exasperation, her eyes moving from the wounded knee to meet his gaze with a pointed stare. “Well, are you going to let me heal it or are you trying to prove a point?”
03-08-2016, 10:43 AM (This post was last modified: 03-08-2016, 10:43 AM by Tembovu.
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His name, sounded sharply on a familiar voice filled with distaste, broke through his tinnitus. A ringing ear flicked backwards, followed by a the slow and unsteady swivel of his drooped head, bleary blue eyes alighting on the rustling wings of Alysanne. Mbwene, bristling at the Doctor’s tone, indignantly trumpeted at the woman, waving her small tusks and flapping her infant ears in warning. Bright blue eyes narrowed as she approached and looked at her bonded’s hot, pus-filled knee.
But she did not feel danger or irritation pulse through their bond— no. She felt overwhelming shame sweep through her elephant calf body. She squeaked in chagrin at the all-encompassing power of this emotion; she had only felt it this strongly when her calm, egg-shell world had cracked open into the light. And those newborn memories were blurry and fading— so reliving it again was like feeling it anew.
“Alysanne,” his rumble was reduced to a hoarse whisper by the fever that raged in him. Her name was all he could manage, and it faded on his lips as his gaze slowly focused on the contempt on her face. Another shiver swept his thick coat and his massive body swayed once more, but he steadied himself beneath the exasperated words and pointed stare of the lovely Moon Doctor. “Do you want to heal me?” His cracked whisper was swept to her on by the frigid breeze that dried the fever-sweat on his skin.
Dark blue eyes swept to the wing joint he had opened with his teeth. He had been healed by her once before, but her own wound had been left unattended— just as he had neglected to mend his knee. “What point were you proving when you did not heal yourself?” Dull, cobalt gaze left her wing and pinned her bright green eyes, burning with more than just fever, now.
Mbwene was silent, watching the black and white beauty closely.
A loud sigh of exasperation escaped her as he asked whether she wanted to heal him, her eyes rolling sky high in a gesture that had, formerly, been something she’d expect her sister to do - never herself. “Of course I do.” Wasn’t she a doctor? Whatever her current feelings towards him, she wasn’t about to ignore such a severe injury as this. She wondered if the Moon Goddess knew that this was the one price Alysanne could never pay, and that was why it had been a part of her quest. Alysanne would bleed herself dry finding a way to heal everyone that needed it if she could.
“I think you’re reckless, and…” Her voice faltered with the next words, the confession coming as little more than a whisper as her eyes darted away, toward the little elephant by his side. “...you frighten me...” That was where her anger was rooted, after all. In one night she had learned to fear and distrust Tembovu, the kind stallion she knew as a glazier before he became king. In a small way, part of why she would heal him was because she was afraid of him. If she healed him, perhaps she would gain points in her favour and escape any future wrath from him without wounds. As much as she resented that fear, it could be a shield. She had family here, this was her herd and if placating their dangerous king meant keeping them safe she would do it.
That wasn’t all of it, though, wasn’t even most of it. really, it only came down to one thing. The only thing that mattered. “But you’re also in pain.” And her green eyes sought his blue ones then, wanting him to understand how much she meant what she was saying. “And I’ll do whatever I can to alleviate that pain.” The physical and the mental. She wasn’t sure they had ever been truly friends - certainly friendly though whenever they crossed paths - and she wondered what Tembovu had been going through, what was it that was happening in his life that had caused him to let the knee get to this point. Wondered if there was something she could have been doing all this time to help.
His next question shocked her and the wounded wing in question twitched under his dark gaze. She ducked her head, feeling ashamed. Alysanne should know by now that she wasn’t as good at hiding things as she liked to believe she was - she knew Iona could always see right through her but she didn’t know that Tembovu could as well. She had thought she was getting to know him too but that had gone up in smoke, burned away with Mauja’s skin. “It was… I didn’t heal myself so that I would remember my failure. I caused you pain that day, even if it was only temporary, and I never want to forget how terrible that was.” She whispered quietly, wondering if she was confirming his thoughts - if that was why he had not let his knee be healed either. As a reminder, as punishment. So that he would remember what had happened. It didn’t make it alright, of course, didn’t erase what he had done, but it was easier to see through that hazy fog of anger now.
“But I would have healed it if it started to fester.” Alysanne spoke chidingly, a ghost of a smile tugging at her black lips. The scratch and sprain of her wing was nothing compared to the state Tembovu’s knee was in right now.
“You are right to be afraid…” his eyes fell away from hers now, again remorse billowing strongly through his bond and eliciting another squeak from Mbwene, “I did not realize the demon that burying the burned bodies of my mate and son had created— I thought it was only just and right to avenge them— not until here. Here, with so much magic in the earth, enough magic to force this anger— this monster— out of my chest and Mauja— Mauja should not have been there,” this last was said ferociously on his harsh whisper. His words were slightly unstrung by his fever, though the truth in them was apparent by the slight shaking beneath the hoarse rumble.
Dark, dull eyes return to her verdant gaze at the fierce truth that sharpened her next words. He blinked, surprise managing to penetrate the haze of infection in his mind. Either he hadn’t seen or hadn’t fully grasped the depth of which his Moon Doctor felt compassion, and wished to stop others suffering. Ears, which had splayed to the side in his mental dullness of fever, snapped towards her as he listened. Sluggishly, beneath all the festering in his blood, a strong need to know the root of her compulsion to heal arose.
But it was no match for the sepsis that seeped through him. He swayed once again, having to use his right forelimb to catch himself this time. A pained grunt came, unbidden, from his lips as more yellow discharge squeezed out of the wound beneath the sudden weight of the Elephant. A long, low breath blew out of his nostrils as he mentally reeling against the sudden, hot pain that pierced his leg.
Agonized, burning eyes snapped back open, glaring through his pain at the beauteous lines of the onyx face. “Heal yourself, first” the deep, grating words were part command, part challenge, and wholly meant.
There was sympathy in her gaze, softening it, for a moment before that fever-hoarse voice continued. Before he brought up Mauja. In an instant she was steel again, her green eyes narrowing. She hoped that was just the fever talking, that he was delirious. “Are you really blaming Mauja for what you did?! YOU burned him. Anyone could have approached you that night. What if I had found you first? Or my daughter? Would it have been our fault too?” Luck had prevented someone else from being in Mauja’s place, as far as she knew. She didn’t know if the former Queen had provoked Tembovu at all but from his words now, she suspected that the blame laid solely with the one before her. She wasn’t in the habit of blaming victims for what happened to them. “Don’t blame others for not having your demons in control.”
The venom in her mind woke Hemlock from his nap, questions sent through their bond that she ignored so he made his way toward the cliffs, circling around the pair and ready to intervene if required.
She took a step forward instinctively when he wobbled and caught himself - grunting in pain - and she felt her heart restrict at the sight of the yellow pus flowing from the wound at the impact. She was gathering the healing mists, ready to heal him, though they were stalled by his next words.
Heal yourself, first.
She snorted at his command, his challenge, shaking her head as the anger returned. This wasn’t supposed to be a debate. The calm she had felt moments ago had evaporated but far from feeling cold with the absence Alysanne felt that hot wave of anger - an emotion she still didn’t understand. “Why? Why would you ask that? My wounds are NOTHING compared to yours, Tembovu! It doesn’t matter how much pain I am in, it is secondary to yours!” Her voice rose until she was shouting at him, hoping to break through that fever and make him see sense. “You’re two minutes away from collapsing, I could live forever with this sprain. It’s nothing.” Although there was certainly a fair bit of stubbornness going into her refusal she also thought this deal was foolish. She’d have the sprain for no more than another moon cycle and she didn’t even use her wings anyway.
Tembovu’s life was at stake if he let the infection spread. Their injuries were not comparable.
Alysanne wouldn’t be bullied into being told how to do her job, even by her king. She straightened her up, taking another step toward him, her green eyes blazing. He may have a fair bit of height on her but the Moon Doctor did not feel small in that moment. “Let me heal you or I’ll just wait until you pass out from fever and do it then. It shouldn’t be long now.”
An elephantine trumpet echoed distantly in his skull.
“Don’t blame others for not having your demons in control.”
It echoed louder stronger, as the venom in her voice awoke an anger amid the guilt in his skull. Dull eyes hardened, glinting at her accusations and angry snorts. It seemed that their clearing was awash with the hot emotion, it hardening the King and raising the Doctor’s voice. Her shouts brought pinned ears and a clenched jaw— “I am the one to to blame others for my lack of control? I, who sought solitude in my dark hour, who knew my demons were beyond my control— I know the darkness that lives in me,” his voice thundered as an elephant roared in his skull, and he was growing larger, skin rippling between buckskin coat and grayed, wrinkled hide, “And never will I blame those who suffer at my lapse in judgment or at any other injustice.” A powerful, roaring snort shook his nostrils, “I will not stand and—” he cut off his furious words, for they were mounting in anger rather than fizzling out.
And, more importantly, all he heard were elephantine booms in his skull and frantically he internally felt his chest— but it was still locked in coldness; shockingly cold in contrast to the fever of his body. This was different, the only anger radiated in his skull. Either his body was too sick or his fear too great to allow any molten elephants to burst from his chest. But his body— it felt frozen, and his teeth were growing into tusks. Mbwene trumpeted in both alarm and excitement— the change she felt in their bond was so familiar, almost like herself.
Navy eyes close, a deep controlled breath passing through his flared, shifting nostrils. Why was he raging? What was it that Alysanne had said that had so thoroughly destroyed his control? Was it her implication that he shifted blame to Mauja, the victim of a burning? Yes. It had struck to close to him. Tembovu, the Elephant King, who had lost everything but justice, had been accused of being unjust. And blaming Mauja for having been burned (blaming Mara and Faxr for dying in the fire).
His ears pinned back as Alysanne snorted and challenged, now shouting at him about his wounds being more important than hers. The thought chilled his anger, slowly bringing his partial elephantine shift under control. His body folded to its smaller (but still massive) size, skin returning to silvered buckskin. Navy eyes open, seeing the Doctor advance on him, stubbornness and anger rolling off of her in waves, as palpable as her refusal to heal herself.
A deep breath, a clenching and unclenching of his jaw, and he slowly mirrors her steps towards him with and awkward, painful, three-legged gait. Only the smallest grimaces crease the corners of his eyes as he brings himself closer, closer, until he must avert his massive horn to the side of her infuriated, lovely face— so near that he can feel the anger of her hot breath on his muzzle. “A King is no more than those he rules. A good and just King sees to those under his reign before himself,” his deep voice rumbles resolutely. “Please allow me that, Alysanne,” only now do imploring undercurrents weave through as the low boom faded.
Angry words were bubbling within her already, her own thunder in response to his own - fueled by the fear that he was sowing in her. Those demons had almost gotten Mauja killed, what else was he hiding? But no matter how afraid she was she wasn’t budging - anger and a growing hatred for the stallion front of her. How dare he assume to be king of her herd with such a volatile temper, with such dangers lurking between his skin? But just as she was ready to cut him off, to throw more angry words at him, something happened she was not expecting.
He was starting to shift right before her eyes. His body bulged, his skin changed, into something so similar to the little creature that was following him around but larger. One of Alysanne’s rear legs started to move but she stilled herself. Willing him, daring him, to hurt her - green eyes rimmed with white terror as she waited for it, waited to be burned.
But he didn’t. Whatever demon this was, Tembovu mastered it - returning to his normal size and appearance as she flung her disgust over his command to heal herself first. The less-elephant like appearance was not exactly an improvement but she wasn’t sure she was ready to meet that particular demon today, whatever she said.
As she had advanced on him, so he had moved toward her. Keeping her black head held high, she let him be the one to move his horn away so it would not touch her, green eyes locked on his deep blue. She hated being this close to him, hated the sensation of his breath being close enough to stir the hairs on her muzzle with each treacherous word he spoke. Hated the not entirely unpleasant chill this proximity sent through her. But hated most of all the fear his presence stirred in her, not only a fear he would harm her - that he would harm others after stepping over her and she would be helpless to stop him.
If only she was as successful at controlling her racing heart as she was at stopping her legs from trembling.
Please allow me that.
“No.” The anger wasn't burning white-hot anymore but it would not leave. She was thankful for it - uncertain as to whether she would have cowered in front of him without it.
Was that what he wanted? For her to be submissive? If so, he has chosen the wrong topic to fight her on. Rooted to her spot as if she was a part of the forest to her back. How could she respect a king that sowed such fear in her? It was a little late for him to concern himself about being a good and just king. “You do not get to decide when and where you place the wellbeing of this herd above yourself. It is always, Tembovu. Whatever your personal demons, whatever the inconvenient timing of a herd member in interrupting your god damn solitude. You don't have the luxury of being weak anymore, you have an entire herd depending on you to protect them - not roast them whenever you are having a bad day! You are our king and you need to act like it!”
Fury subsided into exasperation as she continued, refusing so much to look away from him for even a moment. “I may not be queen but I am no less concerned with the well being of this herd than you are. I am a Doctor, Tembovu. I would not ignore my own wounds if it was not safe to do so.” Well, probably not anyway. Any serious wounds on her own part would only hinder her ability to heal others, after all.
“Let me heal you.” She was determined that he would not win against her today, doing her best to make those four hissed words sound more encouraging than venomous. It would have been more convincing if her green eyes still weren't blazing as she looked up at him... wondering just where this intense stubbornness was coming from. But she had never quite been tested like this before.
Hemlock cheerfully offered the idea that all she needed to do was strike out at Tembovu’s injured leg and he’d likely go down. Tempting as it was, she wasn't to the point where causing more harm was an appropriate solution.
The Doctor had not been not wrong— he was moments away from succumbing to the fever. His great haunches ached to fold, massive muscles exhausted from their fight against this infection. So he stumbled backwards a few steps; partly to move himself away from the hatred and fear that billowed from her gaze but mostly to remain standing. Unfortunately, it seemed they were futile steps on both accounts, for he did not think Alysanne’s contempt would abate with this meager distance, nor did he remain upright. It was his front leg that gave way beneath the consumption of sepsis. His good, left knee trembled once, twice— before buckling and crashing to the ground; his injured right leg stretched straight before his genuflecting body as Alysanne stood rooted and proud before him, spewing furious words and denying his plea request. Putrid pus burst from his knee as it extended before him, widening the wound and eliciting a wince from his now-impassive face.
Navy eyes stare up, finally clearing in the brief moments his body surrendered to the infection, as the black and white beauty called him “weak”— accused him of not acting like a King. “I may not be queen but I am no less concerned with the well being of this herd than you are. I am a Doctor, Tembovu.” He was, for once, below the mare, no longer at his proud height above her. It mirrored the condescension and exasperation in her tone. A labored breath (it was hard to breath in his bowing state, let alone while ravaged with fever) blasted from his nostrils, and then hoarse words resounded from his barrel, “I might mistake you for an Executioner rather than a Doctor, so quick are you to judge.”
“Let me heal you.” The edges of his vision clouded for a moment, before a harsh, roaring short forced the blackness away. Cobalt eyes, which had never left the mare’s burning green, finally fell to the injured knee stretched out before him. His massive horn, edges and tip so sharp, were close to the seeping suppuration— his great neck bowed once in a shallow nod, pale muzzle and dark lips brushing against the snow as his mighty head lost dignity. But, on a quiet and feverish rumble, he was not robbed of his kingly right to know, “Why are you healing me, Alysanne? Why, if you think so little of me?” Though he wished to know the answer, speaking is was kept his fevered mind here, in the present, rather than drifting into blackness. Dull, navy eyes raise once more to her burning green; a King bowed before a Doctor.
Her anger and resolve waivered in time with Tembovu’s body. She had only wanted him to go down so that it would be easier to heal him - forgetting how painful it would be for the great stallion to come crashing down into a bowing position. She took a step forward, already calling on the mists and they pooled around her hooves - to be silenced by shock a moment later as he said he might mistake her for an Executioner. The mists, the anger, they both evaporated in an instant as she took that blow. Never had she been described with such harsh words before and she did not understand why. Was it not reasonable for her to be angry over this? Over the near-murder of a herd mate because their king was having a bad day?
Although he was the one kneeling, the one actually injured, Alysanne’s blazing gaze faded to cold hurt and her body deflated in the process. “I wasn’t aware that I wasn’t allowed to have opinions.” Would that she were Executioner! At least then she could order him about, instead of having to stand there and listen while he did that to her.
No, not even for that. But the word, that title, was worming its way into Alysanne’s mind and would not leave. Excecutioner.
She waited then, either for him to pass out completely or give his approval, and her heart did not stop racing. She shouldn’t have been waiting, she should have healed him as soon as she came up to him. But that was what second-rate doctors did - they hesitated.
A nod was all she needed and she closed the gap between them again - bringing with her the magic of her post, the windy darkness that would cool the fever and remove the infection. Her attention focused on the injury instead of his face as the cool darkness collided with the injury. The puss from it reeked and it had widened as he had fallen but it was not a lost cause. His feverish, quiet words drew her attention to his face once more as her magic began the work. “Just because I’m angry with you, doesn’t mean I want you to die, Tembovu. Don’t be so dramatic.” A ghost of a smile flickered through her green eyes then - well aware that their entire exchange today had been quite dramatic. But it faded just as soon as it had arrived and she lowered her head toward the injured knee, guiding the shadowy mists so that they would wrap around it. She focused most of her attention there but also sent tendrils towards Tembovu’s head to relieve the fever.
After a moment of concentration, she continued. “I thought we were friends...” She whispered quietly, her gaze intently focused on the injury and away from his face - unwilling for him to see all of the uncertainty and pain that had been hidden behind her anger before. She didn’t yell at her friends like this - she didn’t even yell at Iona like she had with Tembovu. What was it about him that drew this wrath from her? “I don’t trust you but you can trust me. I’ll always heal you.” She knew it was true as she whispered it, secretly hating that it was. Whatever reckless stunt he pulled, she'd always come and try to stitch him back together again. Perhaps, eventually, their fractured friendship would receive the same treatment.
“I don’t think I could stop you having opinions, even if I tried,” the smallest of humorous rumbles colored his quiet, rolling alto voice as the mists gather around his knee. They are dark— and for a fleeting moment a dark, dreadful feeling curled in his barrel as he recalled being trapped within those very mists by his crafting magic— but Alysanne was speaking agin as the magic seeped into his wound. The coldness slipped beneath the infection’s fever, as ominously powerful as the Moon herself, easily uprooting the heat and replacing it with calm and cool health. A relieved sigh, long and low, blew out of his bowed nostrils.
An echo of a grin flickered across his lips, mirroring the ghost of one in Alysanne’s green eyes, as she accused him of being dramatic. Though it faded as he slowly heaved back to his feet, still favoring his right forelimb as the healing was not entirely completed, yet. Only the fever was gone from his veins, the infection in his knee was still being calmed and eradicated by the swirling mists. “I thought we were friends…”
His head cocked slightly, ears tilting backwards somewhat, at those words, “As did I, Alysanne.” His low reply came on the heels of a muted groan as he too soon tried to place weight on his injured leg. But he could feel it heal, he could feel his knee slowly being able to accept his weight once again. Dark gaze, which had drifted to the mists around his legs, rose to meet the Doctor’s. But hers was intensely averted, focused wholly on his injury.
Gone was the anger from her voice, gone was the bristling fury radiating from her form. Now that she was healing him, now that his mind was no longer clouded by sepsis, he felt a new guilt rise in him— and along with it, more anger. The guilt stemmed from his lack of control, for his spewing of meaningful memories as if they were worthless— those who knew of Mara and Faxr deserved to know, their names were not meant to be cast about as excuses or explanations. And the anger that simmered was at both himself and Alysanne— their actions here had been childish.
But he kept impassivity in his face as he intently studied his head Doctor with a newly-cleared mind. “Thank you for healing me, Alysanne,” he paused his deep rumble, contemplating his next words, “But if you do not trust me, then I cannot lead you. I hope to earn your trust back, as I know that I cannot demand it. But, while I value your trust, I more value your loyalty. Do I, at least, have that?” He paused a moment, closely watching the creases in her ebon brow and ivory star, the flicker of her lashes around brilliant eyes, the telling curve of her cheek.
And, continuing his close study of the lovely woman in such close quarters, he continued, “In matters of healing, I defer to your opinion, as your knowledge and experience is far greater than mine. But, as you stated, you are no Queen— you are not a ruler of the Edge. There are times when leaders ask things of those they lead, and at those times we expect those directives to be followed. I’ll not as you to submit,” the word sounds unpleasant on his low roll, “to me. But I ask you to follow the few orders I give.”
His gaze drifted to the slightly drooping wing he injuring in their spar, held onto like a battle prize by the Doctor. “Now, please, heal yourself, my Doctor,” this time the request was said as such. It was not a demand, a command, or a challenge. It was simply a King asking a healing of his Doctor.
Sooner than he should have, Tembovu was getting back on his feet (earning a grim smile from Alysanne out of a complete lack in surprise as he winced as he put too much pressure on the healing joint) and that meant he was closer to her again. “Flex it please.” She asked quietly as she flipped the switch to call the mists back. The knee was looking much better and she watched him carefully to see if he could put weight on it and move it with ease. There might be a little stiffness from letting it fester for so long but it was healed and his body could take care of what little there was left.
His deep voice was without the feverish edge to it now, drawing her attention with more ease than their heated words had. No, Tembovu could not lead her as they were now but the wound between them was not so great that it would not heal in time. “The Edge has my loyalty. You never need to doubt that.” Is all that she can think to say in response, her voice and eyes calm now. There may very well be a day when she can trust Tembovu, when he personally has her loyalty, but for now it was the herd that held her loyalty - not the king before her or the ghost of a queen she barely knew. She had seen enough kings come and go to believe it foolish to devote her loyalty to any of them. She felt comfortable in the idea that she would eventually see Tembovu go as well - their present civility not entirely erasing the thought that someone so volatile had no place on any throne. In three years in Helovia enough had happened for her to understand that things were never left peaceful for long. But the Edge, this herd remained and she had long ago tied herself to it. Perhaps one day they would finally have a monarch that did the same.
His next words caused a frown to darken her eyes as she gazed back at him - particularly at the word ‘submit’ (though she is thankful for his own apparent distaste at the word) - but it was quick to pass. “That is fair request, Tembovu. And I will do so as long as your orders don’t conflict with my conscience. The first time I saw war was with the orders of Kings that ruled here in the Edge before you - and I will not stay quiet if my herd, my family, is forced into a similar situation.” She had been brainwashed into believing that it had been for the benefit of the herd last time and it still made her skin crawl to think of how foolish she had been. “If I do not follow your order, it will be for a reason, and I promise to explain if you will listen.” Alysanne had once been the kind to follow orders without question, without considering their effects, and she was still dealing with the aftermath of what the Invasion had done to her mind. She hoped Tembovu would understand with that explanation that it wasn’t entirely personal, her desire to keep her own mind about orders was one she held with anyone. And, with luck, she would be better at explaining her mind than she had been today if such a day when she refused him came.
Though she still did not think he had any right to give ultimatums, especially concerning her own body. That very much felt like submitting. King or not, whether she cut off a wing or left a simple sprain to heal naturally it was no one’s business but her own. Well, and Iona’s - her sister would see to that.
This time, it is a request that she heal herself and her head turned to follow his gaze to the sprained wing. It felt like defeat, agreeing to this, but it also was the easiest way for this time together to end. So she called on the magic again - taking a quick step backward as a wave of fatigue hit her. Healing the mess that had been Tembovu’s knee had been no simple task and she felt the drain on her energy.
Unfortunately, although she intended to do no more than pretend she was healing herself for his sake - the mists surrounded the limb and eased the strain before she cut them off. There was still some pain, but she flexed it without wincing and folded it back up - holding it where it should sit properly - showing off what looked like a perfectly healed wing. She was glad that the wing she had pulled had been on that side so she would not reveal the mess of scar tissue that was her joint on the other side - a carefully guarded secret by the wings she never used. The wounds there had long since healed but even magic had been unable to remove every sign. Let there be some part of her that she did not put on display for the feral king now that he had seen the crazed passion and anger in her heart.
“Is that all, my King?” She was eager to be away from him now, green eyes finally turning back to meet his gaze with her best attempt at impassivity.
With surprising obedience, the Elephant bent his knee at the request of the Moon Doctor. He was a soldier at heart, and soldiers obeyed the orders of healers, if they wished to stay alive. The knee felt infinitely better— still mildly stiff, but he could now easily place all of his great weight on it. Relief crossed his face, from both the extent of the healing and from hearing Aly voice aloud that the Edge still had her loyalty. He took note that it was the land that held her, neither himself nor Elsa; though, still, it was what he asked for. Allegiance to the herd meant her efforts would be for the betterment of it.
Navy eyes left his flexing knee, catching the calm giving way to a frown as she spoke again. Though he listened to all of her words— many of them resonating deeply within him, for he held a unique hatred for greedy and powerful leaderships that led naive citizens into war— a specific sentence echoed on her lovely voice in his mind, “As long as your orders don’t conflict with my conscience.” The impassive facade on his face faltered, passionate vehemence flaring for a moment in his words, “I am a King, not a tyrant, Alysanne,” the sharpness of his voice softened, “I endeavor not to be a Leader who would ask you to act against your nature.”
And, with that said, his face fell impassive once again (pierced once by satisfaction as mists gathered around her slightly drooping wing). He silently watched the cool fog condense, saw her flex her wing as a nonverbal explanation that it was, in fact, healed. His gaze drifted to hers, green finally meeting blue. Both were uncomfortable, despite the stolid expressions on their faces. There was more to say, more to be discussed— but enough had been done today.
He had nearly shifted into an elephant.
The realization of this new magic hit him hard; the exhaustion that followed hit him even harder. Being ravaged with fever, having new magic course through his veins, taking on an enraged Alysanne— they all were daunting endeavors by themselves. But, together… the Elephant King’s strength was sapped. He nodded once, deeply, towards Alysanne, Mbwene yawning her calf-mouth as the tiredness seeped through their bond (though she did not take her suspicious gaze off the monochrome beauty), “That is all. Thank you.”
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