"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.
And it dragged at him, like chains, manacles, something hard and heavy attached to his heart—
Mauja the Idiot Queen. For a moment, when Sacre's voice had spilled the name into the air, he had heard a shadow of d'Artagnan in him—the same inflection, the same cadence. It was spoken from fucking memory. There was no other way—no way Sacre could've just made it up on the spot, delivered it in the exact same way as his father would've. Idiot had probably been the Nightshade's favorite nickname for Mauja.
So as he had finally gathered his wits and his courage and nodded, looked Sacre in his blue, blue eyes, it was with mixed feelings that he processed the news that d'Artagnan still cared for him. It hadn't been enough to make him stay, it hadn't been enough to fix him as his daughter had died before his hooves—
(Helpless—)
But Mauja's firstborn daughter had died, too, and he had been just as helpless to save her.
He had wanted to run, too. To leave. To flee from all this heartache scouring him from within. He had thrown his crown, his duties, aside, had been read to simply abandon the Edge, go back to his wandering, roaming ways, waiting for some sunrise down the line to rise and take some of his shadows with it.
But he hadn't. Somehow, he had stuck around, dragging himself along, leaning against Tembovu—so with Sacre in tow now, his treacherous heart whispered, I could've saved you, I could've fixed you, if only you had stayed, if only you had dared, if only you had let me—
Mauja picked his way over the Thistle Meadow, thinking his hooves moved too lightly for the weight in his body. Everyone had a right to make their own choices, live their lives as they pleased, come, go, live, die. d'Artagnan had made his choices, social suicide without the dying part, but leaving the same pain behind as he left. Rugged, Mauja stole a glance at Sacre. He had been able to leave. He had been able to find d'Artagnan. He had—
The envy was a hot hammer striking his core until he thought he would burst with it. Why him, why you, why not me..?
Why not come back, d'Artagnan?
I miss you.
The noon sun had burned the fog from the Edge and its haunted trees, leaving it little else but an evergreen forest rising gently towards a hidden horizon. A blue sky arced overhead, a few lazy cirrus clouds strewn about. The limestone cliffs giving the place its name were hidden behind the forest, out of sight, out of mind, bearing with it the memory of standing upon those cliffs and meeting d'Artagnan for the first time—calling him brother and sounding him out about his opinions on the other species.
It had been a different life, something he couldn't imagine doing anymore. His great head flicked to the side, and "well, here we are," he said, sweeping through lush spring grass and through the ruins of the tumbledown glass wall. Few shards littered the ground next to it anymore; most of it had been cleaned up. Once past it, the Frozen one sidled into the shadows, hiding from the sun rays coming down through the crowns and falling like dapples over the ground. "The World's Edge, where.. where your father and I first met."
I’m standing in front of destiny
That has passed me by again.
---x---
From the moment his eyes had met the imposing figure of Mauja the stained boy had felt an uneasy feeling grow in the pit of his chest and it had lingered as they had travelled to the Worlds Edge. He felt under pressure, withering under an unspoken expectation that he had to somehow fit his own hooves into the prints of his fathers—but Sacre knew he couldn’t. He was not d’Artagnan and with every step he took beside the Frozen Light he felt guiltier that he had returned alone, had he already disappointed the great white unicorn whom his father had spoken to highly of?
Just by being Sacre and not d’Artagnan?
A rueful smile had spread onto his dark lips at that thought and he felt like cursing his own sire for the mess he left behind, cursing his own mother for dying and leaving him so alone. His sister… but what had he done in the end? Left his heart with a moon faced girl who he had never told and abandoned his twin brother to the prejudiced world—and ran. The key to the Dragons Throat still tangled in his mane, his excuse to go back, but he hesitated at the thought and pushed it away.
The landscape changed and the Meadow blended into the Worlds Edge and Sacre’s brilliant blue gaze recognized it instantly. The Edge, where Rishima had taken him captive… was she still here? He stifled a snort and tossed his head to the sky wondering why his life was so marred by thieves, be it chains or death. Yet, he hadn’t come back here to mourn a past, instead he must carve a future, but it was hard to see through the memories that kept clogging up his mind. Even Mauja seemed caught up in recollection and his words brought on that same sickening feeling as before.
“Mauja” he called his name softly as they came to a halt, he lingered in the sun with his two foxes, despite his spotted friend who stood in the shadows. “I am not him” he said, half to himself, thinking that Mauja knew this anyway but Sacre felt like he needed to say it. “He won’t come back… Forget him” he requested, begged, for the Frozen Light deserved to live on without his father’s memory clinging to him, bringing him down.
"Forget" ... "Forget" even his foxes echoed.
After that, the boy looked about himself, noting the odd glass shard and the smell of sea on the wind. “I remember it,” he said, casting his eyes about the familiar surroundings, a place he may now call home—just like he had the Basin and the Throat.
“What’s it like now… The Worlds Edge?” he asked with curiosity, for the last time he had come here it was Mirage who had been Queen.
Sunlight glinted in Sacre's fur, a ripple of red and navy across his black fur, bronze and gold on his crimson markings. In some backwards way, it felt fitting. Mauja's heart had become a dark and lonesome place, a cold, dead thing, and he had grown into more of a ghost than he had ever been before. White-washed, shimmering in the moonlight, he drifted in with the fog, a specter haunting the Edge but never quite coming close enough to touch.
And that was why he stood in the shadows, as if they could swallow him, take him away now that his duty was fulfilled: he had been the guide, he had led Sacre home, into the light. What more would he need of him?
But his name, softly spoken, was a spell to keep him in place, a tether to keep him from running somewhere with his heavy heart and aching mind. Blue eyes spun in their sockets, focusing upon the dark child. Sunlight suited him. “I am not him.” The muscles in his jaws clenched, black-rimmed ears flicking backwards once. I know, he wanted to say, but the words lodged painfully in his throat, and he found that he couldn't spit them out.
He knew that—as much as his eyes knew that d'Artagnan had been a cherry bay and this young stallion was definitely black almost all over. He knew that, because d'Artagnan had a hound, and this one was followed by two foxes. He knew that, because d'Artagnan had been a grumpy old codger, a poison-brewing master who liked to be mean. Sacre .. Sacre was a dreamy-eyed youth lost in the red eyes of a young mare, an exuberant colt watching his first egg hatch, welcoming a fox kit into the world.
Beyond that, he didn't know Sacre, but there was something unrefined to him, from the way words seemed to be blurted out to the way he watched the world, as if he simply said what came to his mind. In a way, it was ..refreshing.
But then he asked him to forget d'Artagnan, and Mauja's heart grew dark and angry, and his ears fell all the way back into his white mane. Forget him? No. Never. How could he forget him? How could Sacre ask him to erase so many years of his life, just for his own comfort? It wasn't just stupid to think Mauja could ever forget the Nightshade, but it was cruel and selfish to ask, as well. What would he say, if Mauja asked him to forget Kou? Or Roux? Or Aviya?
Fury blazed in his pale eyes as he looked away, listening to Sacre's innocent question of what the herd had become. "I know you are not him," he finally said, voice dispassionate, flat, and cold. "And I expect nothing of you. But do not ever again ask me to forget him," and it was, perhaps, the first time in a long, long time that a growl marred his light voice as he spoke.
He let it hang in the air for a while, staring into the distance—or as much of a "distance" as you ever get in the Edge, because there's trees blocking your view. He couldn't even put a name on what he was feeling, but all he wanted to do was to bite Sacre and run away. Which, would not be very nice, so after a moment he heaved a heavy sigh. The rigid line of his neck grew softer, and behind him, his long white tail flicked once.
"The Edge is ruled by King Tembovu and Queen Elsa. It is a place of acceptance and peace, or some such shit. I don't know. I haven't spoken to anyone in a while."
06-27-2016, 04:15 PM (This post was last modified: 06-27-2016, 04:16 PM by Alysanne.)
Together, Alysanne and Hemlock were making the journey back to the Edge. She had flown part of the way but landed just south of the Secret Grove - not wanting to risk running into any of her herd members while in flight and especially not while doing the tricky task of landing. Although she was improving, she felt as though it would be incredibly obvious that she was still a novice flier - and she didn’t want any of the chattier members to spill the secret to Iona before she was ready.
So it was that she spotted Mauja and a black and red stranger as she was also walking into the Edge. A new recruit, perhaps? Or a friend of the Frozen Light’s? They lingered on the border and appeared to be waiting for something so she suspected the former.
But the idea of being trapped in a conversation with Tembovu and Mauja was enough to cause Alysanne to drift away from what looked like the beginning of a welcoming party. Whenever she tried to do her job to welcome newcomers into the herd their ever-present king was always right there, always with the nerve to act like she was a snake ready to spring at any moment. Perhaps he should try giving her space if he worried so much about what might happen? But that was expecting an awful lot, she supposed. They say common sense takes a hit whenever you become royalty.
But, just as she was passing by, Mauja’s words were caught by her black ears - which flick back in annoyance. No, no - it simply would not do for a new member of the herd to be introduced to this herd in such a way! Deciding to take the risk - and fully prepared to flee if Tembovu showed up - she changed her direction and approached the black and white pair.
“Oh Mauja, that is no way to welcome someone to our herd.” She made a ‘tsk’ sound at the back of her through. Despite the fact that she did not think that a proper greeting at all, the admonishment was lightened by the bright smile in her green eyes. Her attention then turned to the young newcomer and she dipped her head slightly in a greeting before continuing in a warm voice. “The Edge is a place of acceptance and peace, I hope.” If she had eyebrows, one might have raised as her gaze shifted quickly back to Mauja - as if to see if he would contest that claim. Certainly not always but generally that was an accurate way to describe their herd? “I’m Aly, one of the Moon Doctors. Are you here to join?”
I’m standing in front of destiny
That has passed me by again.
---x---
In his wish, his pleading, he had angered the Frozen Light by asking him to forget the old shade who would never come back—who should never come back. A murdering madman whose only joy came from the poisons he found and the blood he spilt so… why was Mauja so attached to him? d’Artagnan was a monster who took joy in the pain of others, who contradicted the term healer and did nothing to save his own family from demise. “Why” Sacre demanded, intense confusion filling his young voice as he ignored the stallion’s growl along with his own brilliant blue eyes blazing back. He searched and searched the face of Mauja, thinking back to his own sire and trying to pin point a part of him that was worth remembering. Sacre would always remember d’Artagnan, but only for the reason that he was his father and Sacre could never not love him, despite that he hated the atrocities he’d committed.
Yet Mauja… he paused, gathering his scattered thoughts and re-considered his words. He had wanted to try help Mauja, but his help had turned into the exact opposite it.
“That was wrong, I’ve angered you… I’m sorry,” he said with a gentler, apologetic voice. Sacre didn’t come back to pick fights with friends, he came back to stand by their side and not push them away. “I just—“ how did he put it into words? These feelings, his heart that only wished Mauja goodwill, but he felt uneasy beside him.
Like he was something of a burden.
“My family must have caused you pain, I don’t want to cause you anymore” he said as his foxes bowed their heads and Sacre’s face fell in sadness as the pressure of responsibility weighed down on his youthful shoulders. He had handled it badly so far, but he hoped Mauja would at least forgive him for his cruel words and see the boy who only wanted to make things better.
He listened to his nonchalant sounding words about the Worlds Edge and its reigning Monarchs, Sacre had never heard of them. Perhaps Helovia was completely different even in the few seasons he had been missing. He had, however, lived in the Dragons Throat for a long time, it was easy for the big news to slip by him.
Before he could reply, however, there was another voice and another scent he didn’t recognise. Sacre turned to see a pretty pegasus mare who berated Mauja and Sacre couldn’t help but laugh with his joyful and, albeit, slightly apologetic sound. “I think I’ve put him in a bad mood” he gingerly conceded, pushing his earlier sour thoughts aside to greet the good Doctor “you can blame me” he winked at her and smiled his great boyish smile.
The Worlds Edge appeared to be very different from how he remembered it so far.
“Nice to meet you Aly” he returned the head dip as his foxes echoed ”Aly!”, ”Aly” and jumped out from behind Sacre’s forelegs to greet her.
“If you will have me, I would like to stay here” he replied brightly and remembered the rank she had put next to her name earlier. He gave Mauja a side glance to check his expression before continuing “my father used to be a Moon Doctor, a long time ago” he smiled, giving away that he wasn’t a complete stranger. Sacre had been born after d’Artagnan had moved to the newly formed Aurora Basin and had never witnessed his sire in his Doctor’s role.
“I’m Sacre… the red one is Inari and the pale one is Ríona” he introduced himself and each fox, they both yapped a greeting—“they think you’re pretty” Sacre complimented, ignoring the pointed looks from the two.
Part of him was still reeling from the sudden, unexpected blow: to be asked to forget.. not forgive, not let go, not move on, but forget. Of all the things he could've been begged, of all the things he wanted to do, he was asked the one he couldn't—wouldn't, even if he had a choice.
You just didn't forget about that kind of thing. You couldn't just erase the eye-to-heart connection, the rapid warmth and joy firing when you caught sight of something—you couldn't just forget all of that. Just as little as you could take away that kind of memory (instinct) you could take away a history drenched in blood, two souls twined together by the atrocities they had committed. Aramis and d'Artagnan had been the cause of death of that spying mare—but hadn't Mauja been there to sanction it? Hadn't he watched, thinking it a pity, but a necessary evil? Unicorn she had been, but she had seen, she had heard, and she was going to tell.
So, she had had to die. And die she had. And—“Why”—
"BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!" he snapped, shouted, pale head thrown high and blue eyes burning—
(But it's just pain behind all those flames.)
“That was wrong, I’ve angered you… I’m sorry,” stop stop stop, shut up shut up SHUT UP—
But no words made it past his dark lips. He just stood there, frozen in the anger and the hurt and the truth he had just flung at Sacre—poor, innocent Sacre. (It's not his fault, I know it's not his fault, but it hurts all the same.) Air made it in through quivering nostrils, let out again in a shaking snort, and—everything—he wanted to say sorry, to apologize, to say it was alright, everything would be alright, it wasn't Sacre's fault, but then there was that whole episode of his lackadaisical explanation of the herd because he was hurting. And he hadn't spoken to anyone in a while. He had no clue what was going on. He was sad, he was angry, he wanted to hide. Run away and leap off a cliff and scream as he fell, just to feel anything.
But he couldn't, because he had a duty to do to Sacre. To induct him into the herd. So he was bracing for a question, or many, or anything, when Alysanne happened.
“Oh Mauja, that is no way to welcome someone to our herd.” Oh Mauja. How do you know I’m not a fool?
Oh Mauja.
Oh Mauja.
OH MAUJA—
Maybe it fucking wasn't 'a way' to welcome into the herd, but he was tired, he was angry, he was hurt, he was upset, and it didn't matter that she smiled in her eyes because it still stung (—I can't shut down anymore). “I think I’ve put him in a bad mood.”
Like he wasn't there. Like he was just another bush in the shadows, a bit of an oddity, a curiosity, not very sentient. An outsider. He wished he could clench his jaws together harder, because he was doing it for all he was worth, but it wasn't hard enough, despite the ache going through half his skull.
And he wished his ears could merge fully with his neck, just to show them how it hurt—how invalidated he felt.
Like, stop having emotions already, Mauja. Nobody cares about them anyway.
Alysanne had matters well in hand, anyway. She certainly didn't curse in front of strangers, or .. gloss over details or .. not present things in the best light... And she could talk at least, he couldn't, not with the fucking lump burning in his throat and the saltwater threatening to start spilling from his eyes at any moment—
He gave Alysanne one last, odd look before attempting to melt away into the shadows and disappear.
[ @Alysanne@Sacre | He's not running off or anything, just walking away. ]
stone cold, man or machine, the end of our dreams.
Alysanne wasn’t sure what to expect from the stranger but found herself to be a little surprised by the laugh and the smiles that followed it soon after. Certainly a welcome surprise, however - she knew how to interact with those that smiled. It made it easy for her to pretend that she found smiles easy lately, that she was still the mare that wanted to spend every moment of her day talking and laughing with new friends. So the boyish smile and wink from the dark stallion inspired a smile in Alysanne too, his demeanour seemed so opposite of what she had come to expect from Mauja. Were they friends? Or had they just met? “Is that so?” Her attention shifted to Mauja then, encouraging him to join the conversation. “Perhaps we can find a way to cheer you up?” The words were spoken lightly but with genuine concern in there. She told (or warned) him that she cared about everyone, didn't she?
Only they were moving on soon from it and her attention inevitably was pulled back toward the new face as he introduced himself and his companions.
The compliment from Sacre - or from his foxes - was accepted with a quick, light laugh from the mare. It felt had been a while since anyone, fox or not, had called her such and she appreciated it. In good spirits, she lowered her head down to the level of the small companions to greet them, her wings shuffling slightly with the movement. “Well thank you very much, I think you’re pretty too.” She whispered like a conspirator to the foxes, but her green eyes were bright with a smile when she looked up to Sacre before raising her head. “You’re most welcome here, Sacre. Welcome to the Edge. Do you…” But her train of thought was halted by the odd look that she received from Mauja before he started to just walk away. Bewildered, Aly searched her mind for what her offense had been - her jest? Her mere presence? She had spent so long riddled with distaste for him based on a few small facts that she hadn’t considered that maybe the Frozen Light didn’t care for her continuous pestering of him lately.
Well continuous being one or two run-ins with one actual conversation. But perhaps that had been too much. She was quick to shoulder the blame for causing him to depart - that he did so just after she arrived left no room for her to interpret it otherwise.
And she hated that she could have that effect on someone. Hated the idea that his distress could rise from her.
She trotted a few paces after him but stopped, looking back to Sacre and seeing what the younger stallion thought for she felt at a loss, almost hollow in the absence of the smiles just a few moments ago. Should they follow him? Or leave him alone? Either way, the one thing that Alysanne could not do was stay quiet. So those now-sad green eyes turned back to Mauja and she called after him, her voice genuine and thick with sorrow. “Mauja, please don’t leave. I’m sorry.”
07-01-2016, 06:00 AM (This post was last modified: 07-01-2016, 06:01 AM by Sacre.
Edit Reason: what is punctuation
)
I’m standing in front of destiny
That has passed me by again.
---x---
Sacre blinked in surprise at Mauja’s sudden admission of love, it wasn’t the answer he had been expecting, he didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but a confession of the heart wasn’t one. More and more he wanted to apologise, he hadn’t known how cruel his words sounded. How cruel—to ask him to forget love and move on, to ask him why to reveal a part of him that that Frozen Light may not have wanted to reveal. Did he fall to his knees and beg? Did he offer to leave? This was Mauja’s home before it was Sacre’s after all.
The fox lad was struck answerless to the burning of his icy eyes and he wondered if ever there had been a time that his father knew. Death follows a madman. His sister, lover, daughter… d’Artagnan would think his love only led to the ultimate end and his love of Mauja would only drag his friend into the arms of death faster… Even if he knew, he would not come back for love, even if he wanted to, that much Sacre understood.
When he looked to Aly, his foxes yapping their gentle replies as she whispered sweet words, Sacre saw her catch a look and he turned back to his escort with a flash of concern. The welcoming would have to wait, the introductions, and the pleasantries...
"Mauja! Wait! I didn’t know" you love him. He should’ve known, with the fondness that d’Artagnan expressed whenever he spoke about him, their friendship always sounded closer, very much for his father, who rarely expressed fondness.
"I’m sorry! I’m so sorry… don’t walk away" the last part was pleading, his voice cracking as a feeling of déjà vu crept up on him. How many backs would he have to watch disappear? It was he, if any, who should leave. Who was Sacre to make Mauja feel uncomfortable in his own home? He felt the guilt wrap around his heart and catch in his voice, his legs started to move after him, Mauja couldn’t leave. Not like this, how could Sacre possibly face him later? He should have bottled his feelings, he shouldn’t have just blurted out what he thought was right because now he had hurt someone. Again. Even Aly shouted her own apology, he’d not even been in the Edge a day and already he’d caused a problem. What had Aly done—
He tried to stop between him and Aly, not wanting to rudely leave the mare, but not wanting to watch Mauja disappear. ”Mauja!” “Mauja!” his foxes echoed sadly in his mind as they too shouted for him. "Don't disappear" not like this, with the sting of Sacre's earlier words following him, without giving him a chance to amend his words and the opportunity to ask him to forgive his ignorance. The fox boy felt his breath leave him as he too began to wonder whether he should continue to run after him... Sacre didn't know an awful lot about Mauja's personality, if he appreciated being bothered, if it would work if he kept pestering him. If he kept walking should Sacre let him go? It didn't feel right, they shouldn't part company like this, but by chasing him would Sacre only make it worse?
If he kept calling would he come back?
He tossed a forlorn look to Aly wondering if Mauja's herd mate knew anymore than he did.
Have you ever noticed how every hurricane gets its name from a girl like this?
You're gonna wish you had a storm warning; you're gonna wish you had a sign.
</style>
Silver sparks watched in silence from the shadows. Tin had covered the pair in the depths of the brush when they had ran across a small sounding argument. The young boy demanded a reason for Mauja to not forget someone. Her pale head tilted slightly listening to the conversation. The moon doctor soon chimed into the conversation and just like that the frozen man started to melt into the shadows. His crowned skull almost was face to face with the hidden mare as he others started to beg from him to come back. Tin watched shaking his head Boy mean to him... Raeden nodded her head agreeing with the deer as she stepped from the shadows. The pale gold specter stood almost nose to nose with the Frozen light and she tried to smile softly to him. Her voice whispered to the spotted stallion just loud enough for them to hear. No one can ever force you to forget someone you love. Do not let anyone rip those memories away from you. They are yours, and no one else can tell you to forget or remember any of them. Teal orbs tried to look deep withing his icy eyes. They were filled with warmth and compassion for what he was feeling. Her sweet calming voice came to a halt as the black stallion tried walking after Mauja.
In a flick of a switch her head turned sharply with a slight narrowing of her eyes. The warm feeling dissipated into a burning cold fire as she looked at the red and black boy. What an entrance to our home you have made. Sometimes it is better to hold your tongue, even when it is hard to do. Especially when it comes to something that someone hold dear to their heart. Her words were not rude nor angry towards the black stallion. They were firm and diplomatic, the last thing she needed was another argument. Her pale gold skull looked the the painted mare and she dipped her head. Hello Alysanne. Raeden turned her attention to the newcomer that stirred up the frozen light. I am Raeden a Specter. She started to pull her emotions back together. Her head nodded slightly to the boy in a greeting as Tin wondered closer to her side watching the foxes.
words words
OOC:: I hope you dont mind but I had a wonderful little bit of muse for this !!
And it had just gone on, the cold, heartless freakshow—like they were just watching him through a lens, discussing him in a sterile, scientific way. What happens if we poke him here? Will that make him happy? What if we look at him and ask him, as if that's somehow going to make it better? But it wouldn't—didn't, as the roaring black tide of isolation rose in the back of his throat.
Were they paying that little attention to him? Or did so little of his emotions transfer to the surface? Couldn't they see what was happening to him?
Maybe he was just whispering in a storm.
Drowned out by the roar.
So maybe, him walking away was like shouting.
For who is Mauja, to be anything less than rational? Less than polite? Distracted, yes, a bit lost in himself, yes, but always dutiful, always—rational, cold. He, who was known as the Frostheart, for winter reigned in his heart. He, who froze his own emotions until there was nothing left but arrogance and dreams and sharp, frigid logic.
"Mauja! Wait! I didn’t know," but how could you have?
"I’m sorry! I’m so sorry… don’t walk away." He paused, back still turned to them. “Mauja, please don’t leave. I’m sorry.” I'm sorry too.
"Don't disappear." But where would I go?
And he hated them for making his hooves freeze to the ground, he hated them for blowing life into the wavering threads of guilt and shame—how dare he let his emotions cause others harm?
How dare he be this irrational? How dare he feel at all?
Why were they begging him to stay? What did it matter to them where he was? Was he somehow the sun, robbing them of warmth and joy, when all he did was try to skulk away with his pessimism and hurt?
Couldn't he be fucking allowed to be in pain without upsetting others?
Jaws clenched together, he turned his white head around, staring at them with a pale, burning gaze. Tears darkened the fur around his eyes, glittered in the offhand sunshine as they tracked down his cheeks. He didn't even know what he wanted—from them, from him, from the world. To be left alone? To be given time and space so that each intake of breath wasn't quite so sharp anymore? So that he could ruthlessly, brutally batter his feelings with arguments based on nothing but logic, until he was once more cold and pristine—untouched, unsullied by the grimy hands of something as base as emotions?
But there was something in his heart—something blossoming in the spaces between his breaths, a slow, seeping poison. A faint, long-buried yearning, for—
—comfort?
And as he stood there, crying softly in the sunlight, he thought that, maybe, if they were wrong about me, I could be wrong about them, too.
Then all that changed.
The voice came out of nowhere. "No one can ever force you to forget someone you love." His head whipped back forward, black muzzle nearly colliding with the soft, silky one of—Raeden, her silver-gold pelt glimmering in the light. "They are yours, and no one else can tell you to forget or remember any of them." And his eyes, pale ice and still burning with the pain of loss, met hers—teal, warm, sympathetic.
He felt violated in a way he never had before—who was she to show up here? Who was she to stare into his eyes as he cried? Who was she to try and comfort him? His grief was his and his alone. She was not invited. She was not part of the equation. He had not chosen to stop for her, to show his tears to her.
Who was she to take the liberty of witnessing his sorrow?
Vulture. Thief. His eyes grew clearer, colder, as if sheer willpower could freeze the tears to ice upon his lashes, and his breath was a harsh, angry thing as he felt himself pull upon his magic—upon that crystalline darkness, the glacial cold, the depth of his madness.
He didn't even know what to do with it, with the mounting pressure in his soul. "What an entrance to our home you have made." She was berating Sacre. But hadn't she listened, the bastard? Hadn't she heard—?
He hadn't know. He hadn't known. He hadn't known. Did she think he still didn't know? Did she somehow think this was going to make things better?
His face contorted into a snarl, blue eyes blazing as the fury grew within. "And who the hell asked for your opinion?" he spat at her, voice savage. His heart was hammering, pulse roaring, and he wanted to get away—to run far, far away, erase this moment from the memories of everyone. Steal back what had been taken from him.
He was losing control. He was trembling, shaking, quivering with the rage threatening to sever every tether, every leash, every boundary. The ground trembled, too, as their corner of the world erupted in ice—little nubs of it forcing their way up through the moss and grass, a glittering, sharp carpet. A little blood slid down one of them where it had grazed his pastern coming up, but he didn't even feel it. All he had eyes for—all he had attention for—was the silver-and-gold witch and her Cerndyr, and all he could feel was a deep, hammering need to hurt her—
To take from her, what she had taken from him, an unbidden glance of the heart.
"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he roared (voice laced with fear) at her, sides heaving, lungs thick, blood screaming (—singing) for a fight—
To destroy—
To let go of the beast shrieking up from its lonely pit at the bottom of his soul, to strike, for love, for fear, for anger, for revenge, to raise the ice deep, deep into her heart—
In a hushed whisper and a puff of darkness, the scythe's blade appeared.
[ @Alysanne | Angry Mau needed cold, dark table. He's still got the staff jammed in beneath the satchel and laying across his back, but the scythe's blade has materialized on the end that lays along his neck. ]
07-05-2016, 12:01 PM (This post was last modified: 07-05-2016, 12:05 PM by Alysanne.)
He stopped and Aly could feel her heart doing the same when he turned. She was surprised to see the tears and although she could not look away from them, she felt as though they were something private that she was not meant to see. She had never seen him like this. This was a part of Mauja laid bare before them, before her and Sacre, and for a brief moment she furiously believed they would be able to help.
But before she could go to him (because that was everything her body was telling her to do), this moment - whatever it was - came crashing all around them when Raeden showed up. Jealousy stabbed at her as she walked right up to Mauja as if it was nothing to whisper comforting words to him but a quite different emotion raged through her a moment later when the spy focused on Sacre. How easily she dealt out her opinions on matters!
Whatever Alysanne was immediately going to say in reaction to those rude comments - masked with diplomacy, perhaps, but they were still rude and misplaced - was choked in her throat when Mauja changed from sorrow and pain to anger and fire.
The desire to go to him, to comfort him, did not fade.
Not when the ground beneath them erupted in ice - shards of it sticking out in a beautiful but dangerous display radiating from Mauja. Alysanne danced away from it at first - she was farthest and it just reached her front hooves - but of course she couldn’t (wouldn’t) leave as he roared at Raeden, demanding her to leave.
Later she may wonder what the difference between Mauja’s rage and Tembovu’s was, how it inspired such different reactions in her. Was it because there had been something raw in his expression just before, that this seemed to be born out of self-defense?
Her heart ached for Sacre and for Mauja, for the accusations placed on one and the exposure of another. She quickly took a step, the ice crunching beneath her hooves as she did so, and then more to bring her to Sacre’s side - reaching out with a muzzle with the intention to touch his dark shoulder lightly. Don’t leave, it would say for her. This isn’t your fault. And another step to place her just ahead of him, a clearly protective stance.
She hadn’t been eavesdropping so she didn’t know what part of the conversation Raeden was focusing on, it had happened before she arrived, but even the snippets she was receiving now made it quite obvious that it was between the two stallions and no one else.
In the wake of Mauja’s anger, her smaller voice might have meant nothing but her green eyes focused on the Sleuth all the same. She needed to speak quickly before anything else happened, before this got out of control.
Or had it already? As she spoke it was like Mauja's outburst hadn't even happened. Like they were just having a conversation, like the ground wasn't covered with small barbs of ice giving the scene a deadly appearance.
It was easy for her, right now, to pretend to be calm in the face of someone else's anger because she believed that anger was justified. “Speaking of holding your tongue, Raeden,” Her voice was calm but laced with her own anger, giving it an edge. “Assumptions made as you eavesdrop are hardly grounds for insulting our newest member. Much as I appreciate you keeping watch, perhaps your skills as a spy would be better focused outside of this herd.” The hint for Raeden to follow Mauja’s "suggestion" to leave was, Alysanne hoped, strong. She felt fiercely protective of the two stallions, though she didn’t really have any right to, but also of Raeden and getting the young, brash mare out of the area was the quickest way to ensure her safety as well as everyone else’s.
She couldn’t forget the tears falling just moments ago, they swam against a pale face in the front of her mind, deepening her resolve to fix… anything and everything. As though this situation would be as easy to heal as burnt skin.
07-15-2016, 05:39 AM (This post was last modified: 07-15-2016, 05:39 AM by Sacre.)
I’m standing in front of destiny
That has passed me by again.
---x---
Sacre watched the back of Mauja at a loss for what to do next. Like the lash of an unrelenting whip his words must have sounded heartless in the context he saw them now, but couldn’t Mauja forgive his cruelty and ignorance? Did the former Queen not possess a side of benevolence that he could appeal to? No matter what he did he couldn’t take it back, reverse time and erase it, he could only apologise and apologise again. The more time ticked the more the distance, that had suddenly opened up between them, drove a knife through his heart. If the Light walked away did he follow or would that make it worse? Did Mauja not know the longer he stood there, back turned, the more Sacre worried about him? Could he not recognise the affection that coloured his voice? The affection that drove the desperate plea’s of don’t leave and I’m sorry, the lines of worry that creased the boys face and his startling blue eyes that were made dull by distress.
Then he turned—finally—but only for the Fox Boy to meet a tearful gaze which moulded Sacre’s face into deeper concern.
After his earlier blunder, Sacre wasn’t sure at all about how much he knew about Mauja and, with considered respect for the emotions that lay bare on white cheeks, Sacre turned his head away from the tall Still Light and began walking towards him without looking. He said nothing, hoping he could get close enough that Mauja might let him gently touch his snowy chest to console him for the words the Fox Boy should never have said, but the opportunity never came as another robbed him of his moment.
Surprised by her sudden intrusion, his ears snapped back against his skull as her scathing words stung like the licking of fire and he returned her stare with a look of mixed anger and guilt. Did she even know who that something was? Instead of asking what was wrong she jumped straight in and her cold judgment of him was enough that Sacre could feel the heat of irritation rise within him. Did she not see the hypocrisy in her conviction? Even his foxes had jumped in front of him as if in his defence, but the first words were from Mauja himself and Sacre looked at him in apprehension once again. The ground shook, the boy cursed and the spikes drove up through the earth.
As one spike glanced a slice into his coronet and he watched the blood begin to spill onto his hoof, he couldn't help but wonder why always the world fell apart around him. He felt numb, as if the ensuing chaos was nothing but background noise to a fate that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Sacre had once thought it coincidence, all the bad events in his life, but wasn't fate just coincidence in hindsight?
He laughed.
It was wrong, no one should laugh at the flames of anger, but Sacre didn't know what else to do but laugh at the ridiculousness of his fortune. His boyish outburst tittered though his lips, but his own black cheeks were wet with tears as his conquered gaze fell on Raeden. Even as Alysanne placed her nose on his side and berated the spy for her own failure to hold back the tongue, Sacre couldn't help but think he deserved the cold words the Specter had dealt him. The air felt static, like their little gathering might descend further into madness, but first the Fox Boy wanted to say his own peace.
"She is not wrong" he proclaimed over the calamitous developments, even as his gaze shifted to notice a blade forming on the end of something strapped onto his father's bag "my words were said with ignorance" Sacre would much rather admit his own faults than incite any violence. He dipped his head to the spy "I'm sorry to you too, if I said something that upset you" besides, it wasn't the Fox Boy's place to berate the girl. Perhaps the moment for them all to get along had gone with his oblivious plea that Mauja might forget the Nightshade and his legacy. A comment he had only made out of fondness for the Frozen Light, that it might still bother him, but all the same, he shouldn't have said it.
"Don't" he then quietly pleaded Mauja, looking at his blade and the ice scattered around before he noted the blood on the white stallion and the boy began moving towards him again. Raeden may have instigated the escalation, but Sacre made a point of ignoring her—his main concern was still Mauja. After all this he didn't want his father's friend to do something he may later regret.
Gently, he tried to brush his dark shoulder against Mauja's, choosing not to say anything as his words were doing nothing so far and he was more concerned for what might happen next. The Fox Boy then tried to position himself to push, forcefully if need be, Raeden away from him—to place his body between the two, his gaze still at Mauja's spotted chest rather than his eyes, as his foxes went to try wrap themselves around the Light's two, feathery fore feet. Inari reaching out with his tongue with the intention of licking the wound on his pastern.
"This much, is enough" Sacre appealed to the entirety of the gathered.
lmao such a lively welcoming party ... o____o xD
Sorry I took so long! <3
Have you ever noticed how every hurricane gets its name from a girl like this?
You're gonna wish you had a storm warning; you're gonna wish you had a sign.
</style>
Silence before the storm. His cold eyes looked into her silver fleck's that were warm. She was trying to help him, she only said very few words. He was the one who looked back into her own eyes. He was the one who could have not looked at all, or just walked past the pale specter. The backlash came upon her as he tried to cut her hide with knife like words. Pale gold ears pinned flat to her skull and the sharpened horn pointed towards the snow beast's neck. He screamed at her and her teeth bared at the white stag. Her heart raced as she wanted to mangle the creature in front of her. Ice spikes rose from the earth and her legs slit open bleeding on the ground. Crimson liquid dripped from deep wounds on each leg. Tin almost lunged forward towards the frozen man, then he was stopped. Teal eyes looked to the small bleeding beast and she shook her head no. Cries from hell rose for the white beast's chest. Mauja screamed in the specters face to leave, to get out of his sight. A cold glare looked upon him and silver sparks filled her once calm warm eyes. I only tried to give you some type of comfort, but you know, I would not expect you to understand. A stranger does not have to know your life story to just say sorry. You act like no one else has had to deal with loved ones leaving or dying. Well guess what that is Life and life goes on. You have a black hole where your heart is, and you will always live in pain and suffering; if you do not get your head out of the past. All you can do is cherish memories, and smile on the good time. That is all i tried telling you but fuck it! Go suffer and linger in your own self pitty because you push away anyone who tries to help you. You are just a heathen in that empty shell.
She wanted to say so much more to the beast, but her cream tail turned to him quickly as she walked away from him. Her ears had heard what the doctor had said, but she did not comprehend until she turned towards them. I am sorry I was just trying to help, but what ever. The a smaller voice was heard from the black stallion he was agreeing with her? The pale gold mare walked over to the black laced boy and she stood in front of him. Bloody hooves walked over the ice spikes. They crumbled and cracked under her weight, leaving shards in her once traveled path. Her eyes burned with the words she just told the Frozen Light. She knew it was probably wrong, but she could not help the storm brewing inside of her. Crimson pooled on the ground in front on them. Cream legs were stained making their normal color not even visible. You should not be sorry about anything. I am sorry to bring a storm to a calm ocean. Welcome to Edge Sacre, if you ever see anything you need or want please come see me. I will try my best to get it for you. I will be on my way now. Pale gold dipped to the Moon Doctor as she started walking away.
Raeden was a tornado that was leaving a path of destruction behind her. Teal orbs looked back at the white beast and he cream tresses shook. Then the gaze fell back to Aly. Her eyes said she was sorry, the mare had no intention of this happening. Tin stayed by her side not looking at a single person. His deep legs glistened with deeper wet tones. The specter had no intention of speaking to the Frozen light again. She would not run from him, nor would she hide. The mare would simply just stare blankly at him from now on. Not a single word would pass from her honey maw, only the cold stare of hate that he gave everyone else.
words words
OOC:: Well then.... haha so feel free to have Mauja cut her or draw more blood from her body. It would just be a scar to remind her what happens what you show emotion, or try to help a stranger. Haha
Anger is a slippery, exhausting beast; it's a fire burning you up, devouring everything. It licks the inside of your skin until you're raw and bleeding and broken but no one can see it—
He doesn't know who he hates the more in that moment; her, or himself?
She's caught in the crossfire, caught in the crosshairs of the unholy spawn of grief and fury and fear, but the question which begins to echo in the void is whether or not she deserves his wrath.
It's too late for that, though. It's too late for everything. (Most things, but it doesn't quite make it up to the surface; it drowns slowly in the black waters of his soul.) It's too late to take back the ice littering the ground, too late to call the blood back into split veins and rub pale skin clean of the red stains.
It's too late to say sorry. It's too late to—
Wide, black nostrils shudder with air. Blue eyes burn with the last vestiges of anger. She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead.
(You can always say sorry to those who are still alive.)
You can apologize to corpses frozen stiff in a blood-churned battlefield, but they won't hear you, and it will not do anything to ease your guilt.
They're past the point of forgiving you.
And if the frigidity of his soul isn't enough to freeze the tears upon his cheek, I don't know what is.
Undying he is, but still warm, so the tears do not freeze. They linger like sinful stains on his flat cheeks, and briefly, he wonders if they will ever dry; it only seems fitting they'll remain there forever, proof of all his folly, all his shame, and all the things he has ever caused, done wrong. Nothing he can achieve in this unnatural lifespan can ever make up for all he has already done, and he listens in haughty silence, quivering behind the shield of his frozen fury. He is a lost, broken thing, and that is why he lashes out—he's as much afraid of what's unfurling within him as he is angry with her for having intruded upon his grief.
He wants to be smoke. He wants to be intangible, to drift upon the breeze, to escape these mortal coils and foibles, to be beneath the notice of others. (He wonders why he will live forever, when he does not enjoy living.) He doesn't want to be here, the muscles around his eyes straining to keep him from crying again, a dry ache burning his corneas. He doesn't want to stand here, listening to what he knows is truth, allowing her words to be the salty, stinging whiplash herding his errant emotions back into their pen where he lets them starve until, he hopes, they die.
It's been twelve years, and they're still not dead.
It's been nine years since he should've died. And he still hasn't moved on, because no one ever taught him how.
(But the truth is this: he never allowed anyone to teach him how.)
The more time which passed, the more he thinks about it, until it is a dead weight attached to his soul and he's sinking, always sinking, struggling against it but never managing to shake it off.
"I know," he spits at her back, the voice, the words, somehow the embodiment of defeat; dispirited, he concedes, breaks, folds in upon himself and stands just as what he is: a heathen in an empty shell.
She could say more. He could say more. But neither of them do; she knows and he knows that she knows, because he just admitted it to her, and it doesn't matter that Sacre is next to him, trying to comfort him, or that his foxes are licking the blood from his pastern, or that the ground is stained with her blood or that Alysanne took his side (—you shouldn't have, you shouldn't have, I'm the monster here), or anything. He's as lost as he's ever been as the conversations swells and ebbs around him.
Is that the sound of peace being made? Is it the faint nuances of forgiveness, between the piebald, the black, and the silvered gold? Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not, but what he knows is that he is not a part of that. He is in the blizzard, the storm howling around hallowed tombs, left out alone in the cold he had brought with him.
Defeated, Mauja's head droops, and amidst the rubble of ice his left hind hoof rests upon its frosted tip.
He has known this truth for years and years and years, and yet he is just the same as he was when he first realized it.
It would've been a blessing to die that night nine years ago.
[ @Alysanne@Sacre@Raeden I'm sorry for taking forever. I feel very bad for Raeden. :/ Poor thing. ]
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