"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.
06-01-2016, 02:31 PM (This post was last modified: 06-03-2016, 01:55 PM by Imani.)
Bad luck is like a shadow.
He could feel it, following him, hard on his heels in the deep shadows of night. Overhead is a velvet black sky, the moon's light veiled. He can not even see the branches of trees that arch above. Even in spring the brisk wind blowing from the north holds a chill of winter. It troubles the dreams of sleepers, reminding the primal part of their mind that the cold times are never far away. The smell of ice on the wind is unnerving. His ears lay back against his skull, disappearing into the shaggy mass of his silver and black striped mane. Each slow, careful step is accompanied by the soft rattle of bone beads. Every rattle forces the shadows back. It drives away the spirits that would feed on it and grow strong with ill-will.
He still feels hunted. He cannot run, and yet he has never stopped. The darkness forces caution. His shoulder scrapes a tree, unseen in the dark. He shifts his weight away but does not shy. It would be dangerous to move quickly at such a time. The tree poses no danger besides surprise. The unknown always holds some peril.
Too, the darkness seems quiet. Silence lays like a stifling blanket over the woods. Only his breath and the rattle of beads break the stillness. Imani does not know, precisely, where he is. His flight from Dorobo had been long and largely reckless, driven by fear and guilt and the spirits that dogged him. Lands all unfamiliar.
Now he senses something though. Perhaps a lingering smell. He chooses to believe it is spirits speaking, familiar spirits. There is... something. Here, there are some lingering memories of sun baked grass as tall as his shoulder. Of hot winds and mud flats awash in the rainy season.
A high wind shifts the clouds, pushing aside the dark curtain until a slice of silver moonlight cuts through. The moon itself is low to the horizon, and it's gentle light cuts a path through the trees. Opposite the moon, the horizon begins to lighten as the night slowly turns towards morning.
He breaks out between trees with a gentle rattle of bone. The moonlight, yellow now rather than the silver of poetry, catches the black and ivory striping of his horns. His hooves, similarly striped, still their forward motion. He lifts his head. Mismatched eyes watch the slowly descending orb, wondering if perhaps it is a sign. Somewhere behind him, a bird's song breaks through the sullen silence.
Once, she was the hunter. Syrena has never known what it is like to feel hunted. Even now, without her powers, she is large enough to be formidable, her face a mask of disinterest and somewhere in those hollow eyes, just a bit of a warning. There’s nothing outwardly cruel about her, but rather something just a hair other, that she has not and will not lose. Just a tiny flicker of her personality that will always be siren, even though she no longer wields the power of her sisters.
She is nothing now. Just another face in the masses, gray and slippery, more seal than horse on the outside. But her body is fully horse, some Friesian mix that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Her mane and tail curl just slightly from that heritage, and feathers fan out from her large feet. The siren is no dainty little girl, and she is not beautiful out of the water (not in this drab, gray form). But she is noticeable.
So is he though, the rattle of bones giving away only moments before the yellow eye does as well. Truthfully, Syrena has no idea what she is doing here. She was bored, and so she came, thinking it would be prudent to prove herself useful. But she is not useful. She is good at standing in the sea, the waves lapping at her feet, dreaming of what she used to be.
She is not that mare, anymore. She is this one. The one that recruits, that smiles, that pretends.
He is the first one she’s come across in her attempt to navigate a forest (not a skill those who prefer the water tend to possess). She doesn’t stop to decide if he’s actually worth approaching, or pretend she can read his face and decide if it might suit the Falls. Nuance is not her skill, and she doesn’t really care much anyway. She’s here, he’s here, she might as well.
“Hello,” she says, her voice without much emotion, but at the very least, not unfriendly. She smiles, and it looks easy (a well-practiced thing for the mare), and even reaches her eyes. “I’m Syrena, from the Hidden Falls.” She falls silent then, not actually sure what else to add. She assumes he is new here, but maybe he’s just come back to this hell-hole of a place looking for somewhere new to live.
So she leaves it at that, and lets him do with it as he will.
06-07-2016, 12:27 PM (This post was last modified: 06-07-2016, 12:27 PM by Imani.)
She's not terribly quiet, walking through the night woods. Then, neither was he. The soft, alarmed calls of birds and then sudden silence are telling. The small ones know when a predator walks among them, even if she chooses to wear the body of a horse. Something in her eyes makes his skin twitch, a little shiver. It's like being watched by an old lion. A lion whose bones ache, who knows that death will come for him soon. A lion who can no longer hunt, but still looks at you as though you are prey.
Then she speaks, and the smile is almost enough to hide the hunter in her eyes. Her voice doesn't seem to quite match the warmth of her expression. He shakes his head, thick mane flipping back and forth over the short arch of his neck, bones rattling. Imani studies her, first from one eye, then from the other. Yellow as the moon, then blue as summer sky. His expression is easy, his body held relaxed.
He does not think she is a spirit. She seems too solid and has not yet offered him harm. Spirits are tricky, but they are also not terribly hard to see through, when you know what to look for. So he smiles, genuinely pleased to have been greeted. She does not fear him that is clear, and why should she? Despite whatever memories seem to cling to this forest it is far from Dorobo. Perhaps another has passed through here- many scattered, after all. That does not mean they are still here, or that he will meet them. Better, he thinks sometimes, that he does not.
"Hello, my name is Imani." Each word is careful chosen and enunciated, but no amount of care disguises his heavy accent. Clearly this common language is not his native tongue. Still, he is fluent. He has had time to practice. "May I ask what manner of creature you are?"
The question is polite. His curiosity is clear. The scales are what prompt him to ask, eager to learn about the place to which he has arrived. Perhaps in this land there are many like her. Even if not, she is something he has not encountered. That alone is enough to make him eager to understand her nature.
And yet he is aware of something in her eyes. He does not approach her more closely. Though he is powerfully built for his size, her height exceeds his and her frame is not exactly delicate. She is different though. There is something, abstractly, very lovely and strange about the slickness of her coat and the drape of her mane and feathers.
OOC:// @Syrena Let me know if any of this is crossing any lines. Imani is supposed to be observant but I don't want to cross into metagaming!
"Talk."
Siren’s don’t need to be quiet. They lure prey through stealth, yes, but not through the kind the requires sneaking up on someone. No, they sing. They are beautiful. They lure and trick and deceive and slowly but surely, you come to them. Lust and desire and need and want all rolled into one roiling pit in your stomach, driving you forward – forward – forward. Toward what? It always depends on the victim. They hear and see different things, after all. But in the end, whatever you see doesn’t matter. You take yourself to your death.
Birds and small creatures don’t interest her, never have. She lured men to their death, nothing more. That was all she needed to live as an immortal, and mostly, they had been easy prey.
She is no longer a siren though. The blood runs in her veins (no, not blood – ocean water), but the powers are long gone. Stolen and striped from her by Helovia and its damn magic barrier that comes without warning. If only she’d known, she would not be here now. But of course, what land does not want more members toiling, more blood and flesh and bones to eventually fertilize the dirt. And so, there is no warning. And so, they come and they come and they do not know until it is too late.
Poor saps, she cannot help but think. Saps like her, stuck in this wretched place now. She wonders if the stallion she’s stumbled across had powers of his own. And if he did, does he know they are gone? She had not known, not right away. Was it better or worse that way? Worse, probably. Wandering around Helovia like a goddess - thinking herself a goddess – when the truth was that she was nothing at all.
But his body language is easy, and he does not look worried (he shouldn’t be, but the thought is grudging). “A pleasure,” she says, the words flat, all pleasantry with no meaning. His accent his heavy, but his words are clear enough. “Where are you from?” she blurts, not really caring if that question might be considered rude.
He’s already asking his own question, anyway. And possibly, it could be rude. But she doesn’t find it that way. After all, she looks like a seal, belly and various points of her body covered in the scales of a fish. She is clearly not equine. Not fully. “Equine, kelpie, and siren. Though without the powers that accompany such bloodlines.” She doesn’t even mask the bitterness in that last bit, doesn’t care. Her words are still mostly deadpan anyway; some might miss the bitter twist that hangs in the vowels. Some, like him, might not.
"words"
@Imani I'm good with it! I'll let you know if something feels like it's overstepping.
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Please tag in all posts Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death Image by Reli
06-10-2016, 01:03 PM (This post was last modified: 06-10-2016, 01:03 PM by Imani.)
It is always pleasant to meet a stranger who isn't hostile. He relishes the moments of conversation, the sound of another voice even with strange accents and words that he used to struggle to understand. Now it is easier, his confidence in the language good enough to carry on most easy conversations.
"Where are you from?"
Such an innocent question. It is not even an uncommon one to be asked. Even so he feels winded, like an elephant's trunk is squeezing his ribs. His breath releases explosively from his nostrils and for a moment his eyes shut, ear laying back against his head. He almost misses her answer as he struggles to push the agony of his estrangement down.
The pressure eases and with a concerted effort he forces suddenly tense muscles to relax. His ears lift, slowly, to focus on her, and his odd eyes open, a hint of embarrasment flitting through his expression. Even so many months later it was hard to think of his homeDorobo.
"I am from Dorobo. It is far from here." He's proud of himself. His voice doesn't crack over the word, and he even manages to push his tone into the range of casually pleasant.
"What is 'kelpie'?" The word rolls off his tongue, completely unusual to him. He rolls the syllables in his head, trying to get used to the collection of sounds. 'Siren' is also unfamiliar, though he thinks he has heard it before. Just... not the way she seems to say it. The question perhaps follows too closely on the heels of his answer to her question, but he hopes that it will encourage her to talk about herself. Not only will it sate his curiosity but perhaps it will deflect her attention from his slip of composure. Perhaps she will have the tact to overlook it. He can hope.
His reaction to her question isn’t one she might of expected. Not that Syrena ever really expects much from something, and not that she reads expressions with anything other than a general understanding. But it seems angry and hurt and miserable all in one moment, and that she can understand. Maybe she’s wrong – quite possibly- actually. But she knows what it’s like to no longer belong to the group you should have. Her own fault, of course. Not that she’d known the price of this place.
Oh just stop it. It’s sort of sad how many times she has to tell herself that. It’s time to move on. Time to be something. Time to figure out how to be a normal - ugh, normal - horse.
He seems to recover quickly though. Another thing she’s familiar with. Pretending. Pretending that her heart doesn’t break every time she turns away from the sea. Pretending that a little pool in the recesses of the Falls is enough. It is not enough, but it is all she has. “Ah,” she says, not actually sure where to go with that conversation. She’s never heard of Dorobo, and has no idea what else she could possibly say on the matter.
Instead, he asks a question she knows how to answer, so she turns to that topic of conversation. Her voice betrays nothing, deadpan. Like a teacher reciting a fact. Not like a mare who once used to have the powers of Kelpie and a Siren. Granted, she still wanted to drown a few travelers just for the hell of it. That would not, sadly, get her any particular power in this world though. “Shape shifting water-spirits, though they usually take the form of a horse. My mother was half siren, half kelpie.
She pauses, letting that sink in. It’s probably a strange thing for someone to so casually say their mother is something that most would consider a myth. But Radine had been something amazing, and Syrena should have followed in her footsteps. Knock it off. She shakes her head slightly, like she’s a removing a fly, though she’s in fact removing her unwanted train of thought. “I can offer you a place to stay, if you want one. The Falls is quite lovely, if landscape is your thing.” The promise of water had brought her to the Falls, and now, the promise of power and titles and being something kept her there.
He wasn’t sure why he had returned to the Threshold. He knew he wanted to get away from the Edge. To much guilt and anger were sowed there, for now, as he left his Icebound Queen on the cliffs. Though he would return, always, for his son dwelled within the shattered glass walls. So he understood why he was so far the Edge.
But why was he here? Perhaps it was because he missed the Threshold. He missed witnessing and playing a role in the start of other’s new beginnings in Helovia. And in the Threshold, there was some small chance at giving another happiness. A start at a new life, a new role, forgetting the ghosts of one’s past. Whereas recently, for the Elephant King, he had given others only anguish and dutiful jobs.
He sighed as his massive frame wove through trees he had once, so many moons ago, been stuck between during his own arrival to Helovia. Back then he had been filled with anticipation, but now… Now duty moved his hooves while many distractions caused his navy eyes to unseeingly bounce between the trunks. Oh, how times have changed the man.
“… Dorobo…” The word leapt out at him, the only coherent phrase in all the mumblings he hadn’t been paying attention to between the trees. Pale ears swung forward, suddenly straining as his head raised, eyes sharp and cutting through the shadows of the thick forest. A feminine voice, lilting and beautiful, drifts to him, but he cannot make out many of the words. And the source of the one who had spoken ‘Dorobo’ does not speak again. So, with curiosity reviving the great stallion’s interested in the Threshold, the Elephant’s thick legs move in to a brisk trot between the trees, quickly bringing him to the source of the two voices.
His halt is abrupt, navy eyes first taking in the slick, grey skin of the woman. And she is obviously woman, the source of the lovely voice, as told by the shape of her neck and curve of her hips. There is something alluring about her, keeping his gaze for a moment too long. But the dangerous temptation of the scaled woman is forgotten the moment his dark gaze alights on striped man. The Dorobian.
It is obvious, to the Elephant, that this man is from the Great Plains. The stripes on his coat and sweep of his impressive horns give it away. But there is something more the Plains gives another. Something… wild, untamed, and tribal. It lurks in the carriage of one’s body and the tick of one’s eyes; forever searching for dangers that gave strength to those who could survive Dorobo.
And the King found this in the smaller stallion. But, as his eyes arrested on the other’s gaze, he also found two-colored eyes. His own widen, surprised to find evil’s mark on a Dorobian. It was so rare on the plains, now, that finding it was thought to surely be the mark of fate. And he is also surprised at his own reaction to it— for hadn’t he already encountered other Helovians with bi-colored eyes? And they had not harbored misfortune.
But seeing it on a Dorobian was different. It revived his primal, instinctive urges to judge and condemn— even to fight, as he felt the broad sweep of muscle on his neck and shoulder grow rigid. Yet they were just eyes, simple yellow and blue. Hadn’t life thus far taught him that far worse and more powerful things existed than duo-hued gazes?
He sighed, willing himself to relax. Dipping his massive horn slightly in greeting, his navy eyes broke their stare of the plainsman, sweeping between the pair. “Hello, I am Tembovu, also of Dorobo and now King of the World’s Edge,” his deep voice is rich in greeting, “I welcome you to Helovia, and offer you residence in the Edge. A few others from the plains and plateaus call it their home, as well.” His attention, which had been focused on the hyena-marked, shifted to the seal-skinned woman, “I haven’t seen you in the Threshold before. Are you new to Helovia, as well?” Although it had been a long while since he had frequented the Helovia’s entrance, he still wondered if this woman was new.
Imani understands spirits, but in his world spirits are not physical things that breed. Not unless they are possessing some poor host. That had always been one of the rumors that followed him, that his father (some stranger his mother had met away from the heard, Mwenye said) had been such a one.
His thoughts stumble to a halt at her next words though.
Never before had he been presented with such an offer. A place to stay? Not just staying on sufference, allowed to tag along on the outskirts because he was useful. He had never held illusions that his people had cared for him. It was better to have an unlucky shaman than no shaman at all, they had though. He supposed they had been wrong. Still, Imani was not one to live alone. A full year of travel, and he still didn't know how to deal with the isolation and solitude.
Before he could say anything, something rumbled in the ground. The other stallion was massive and Imani met his eyes only briefly. It was not fear that made him look away after noting the sudden tension that siezed the bulging muscles. It was shame. So his hopesfears were answered. There were Dorobians here. They would know, as others did not, what kind of creature he was. He steps back from the golden stallion, lowering his head and turning it somewhat so he watches from his one yellow eye, the other turned away from both the strangers. About to make his apologies and slip from the scene, despite the yearning, the kinship he feels towards one from his own home, he is instead frozen in place as the other begins to speak. The accent of Dorobo still flavors the words and it is like music. He can't bring himself to leave.
The meaning of the words almost escapes him. When he understands that this is a second offer, he lifts his head in a brief, startled jerk. The bones in his mane clatter against eachother and rattle against his shoulder. The gentle percussion against his skin is almost soothing.
"You would invite one such as I into your home, Mfalme? Plain's spirits may not recognize her kind but they certainly will recognize you." Though the words are calm and even, there is a hint of a challenge in them. His head dips slightly towards Syrena, and he speaks in their common tongue. It would be rude to do otherwise, since he does not think she knows the plain's tongue. It is not they who are strangers here, he realizes again. He is the stranger here. He has no purpose here, no role to play. This is talk of spirits however. He may be denied Dorobo, but he will never be denied his knowledge of it's spirit-workings.
06-17-2016, 08:25 AM (This post was last modified: 06-17-2016, 08:25 AM by Syrena.)
Syrena
let the water take me
It’s not long before another joins them. This one is massive, towering over even her (and she’s far from small). His motives are far more altruistic than hers, looking to help someone start over. Not that she knows this. She only knows she’s here to further her own herd, which in turn, furthers her own standing. Titles were not that much, really, compared to what she had. But it would be a start. It would be something.
She notices how his gaze lingers on her just slightly, and suspects that he might have been one of the easy ones to lure away. Men were never that hard, really, but he seems to have an eye willing to wander. Once, she would have brought him to the sea. Once, his soul would have been a beautiful thing. Now, she has no such powers, no reason to lure him away, and therefore no real interest in him. Men have never really caught her eye that way, and they likely never would. Sometimes, she can’t stop thinking of them as food.
Not that they are, anymore. But still.
His gaze moves away though to the stallion, and whatever goes on in that look and the conversation the follows in beyond her. It is clear, even from the way they both look, that they come from the same place. She doesn’t need Tembovu to say it, and when he does, she finds herself rather unsurprised. His greeting is directed at both of them, and she offers a silent nod, sure that she’s supposed to at least do that much. Good manners, or something.
He does, briefly, turn his attention back to her. She would have been perfectly fine being left out of the conversation. Offending her is rather hard, at least so far as pleasantries go, because she has so little patience for pleasantries. “Not particularly,” she says. It’s been a few years now, many of which were spent wandering around mopping. “Just somewhat new to the Falls.” Which was close enough to true. Yes, she’d live there one briefly, but she’d hardly done a thing. So she just doesn’t count it.
Imani’s response, however, has nothing to do with her. And it’s rather clear there’s more here than meets the eye. But she doesn’t really care, or ask. Instead, she cocks a back hoof and just waits to see what will happen. Assuming that blood calls to blood. If another siren found her and invited her to their home, wouldn’t she go in the heartbeat? Of course. Even without those powers, blood always calls to blood.
But she’s pretty sure it would be rude to just up and leave, and she’s trying not to be rude. So instead, she waits.
06-20-2016, 09:55 PM (This post was last modified: 06-20-2016, 09:56 PM by Tembovu.)
Tembovu the Elephant King
Perhaps the Elephant King should have expected some kind of challenge in response to his own, sudden rigidity at seeing the man’s eyes. But, alas, the giant is still surprised by the clatter of bones and even, daring words that spewed out of the striped one’s mouth. Onyx brows raise once again, though subtle lines crease the skin around his navy eyes in subtle, uncertain censure of the hyena’s voice. But his attention swings to woman of sealskin as she answers his question. Her own words are simple, reserved, and disinterested. She does not even offer her name—and neither has the Dorobian, the King realizes.
So, with a soft shake of his head to rid himself of any lingering uneasiness, a lopsided grin replaces the shadows of a frown that clung to his ivory, black-masked face. “I would offer any Doroboian who denounced the Makutano a home in my herd. Provided that they give me their name,” his tone was open and genuine, even as he gently prodded the other for manners and introductions. But there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his words; a promise that any who had supported the tyrants of Dorobo would meet the sharp and colossal monstrosity of his horn.
“As for spirits, I think you’ll find that Helovia has far more powerful forces that work through it’s soil and inhabitants. Magic still lives here, much of it,” his voice grew warmly amused as Mbwene, who had tottered behind him investigating the different flora of the Threshold, suddenly burst out from the trees. Not to be superseded by magic, the small elephant trumpeted a greeting to both seal-skinned and striped equines. Though, naturally, she was drawn to the one of the plains, echoes of instinct luring her towards the one of odd-eyes.
“Companions, as well, exist here. This is Mbwene,” his great horn dipped towards his elephant, just as her ears flapped and trunk raised up in greeting.
Imani finds himself torn over the king's words. He has been chided like a child, but with good reason- he still should have manners. Long, lonely stints of travel should not change that. He shifts his weight and his ears flick back, embarrassed. Though his embarrasment is at his forefront, in the back of his mind he weighs the rest of Tembovu's words. There is a threat there, he thinks. More, it makes him feel as if he has heard this name before.
"I am Imani, taught by Mwenye, of Red Rocks. Formerly." It is habit once he begins. The place he names is far south in the plains, close to the Debwani forests. His ties are not impressive, but that are what shaped him and he would be loathe to leave them out. He is not impressed be Tembovu's talk of magic. Rather, his attention is taken by the tiny matriarch who comes out of the woods. His odd eyes fill with wonder at the sight of the calf and he bows his head to her in greeting when she is introduced- after all, she well be a matriarch one day and he has nothing but respect for the grey giants.
Now though, he feels his suspicions are likely true. He looks to Syrena, his frown changing to a slight smile.
"Thank you for your offer, but I believe I will accompany Tembovu." The nae seems strange on his tongue now that he suspects the King's nature. Do the people he rule know what he did? Do they know that he left? It is hard for Imani to thrust the judgement aside. It is not his place to make such. It is his to know, not to assume. He turns back to the World's Edge King.
"I would like to see the place where other Dorobians have made their home, General."
OOC:// Gah, no table, rushed, but I wanted to get this out there. @Syrena@Tembovu
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