"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 just where are we," he says, but it isn't much of a question; more of a statement, a little piece of hell slipping out like smoke between dark lips. His voice, quiet as it is, is smooth. Silky.
'Who cares,' she whispers back, tail-tip twitching in agitation. She is perched elegantly upon his hindquarters, ears perked, eyes bright; a flash of sharp teeth given in a feral grin. Her weight, her warmth, is a welcome blanket in the mild winter; a little snow pools around his dark hooves, and a few snowflakes drift from an uninspiring gray sky, but the wind is mild. Despite the setting of the sun he knows the night will be—well, he was about to say 'kind', but weather is neither good nor evil. Weather simply is. He snorts. "I suppose none of us does," he simply tells her, sweeping through the mixture of thin underbrush and blanketing white.
They're shadows, both of them—inside out, he's black, she's black; the only thing which isn't black is her molten eyes. They spin and churn, violent and wild, while his are smooth. She is ferocity, he pretends at calm; poise. A slight, wicked, grin curves his lips as he stares at the slim trunks like prison-bars. It is just a trick of the season, but he likes the imagery of it all the same. This place, bound and locked, sealed, with nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.
He snorts, again, a puff of white (life) clouding from his nose. He will not be this place's jailer, nor its executioner, or liberator, or any other fancy word he can dream of; he will simply be, a priest for the lost—
(—a priest who knows that he is God—)
—and he wonders who he will be here, the tempest. A little shudder runs down his spine, feathers rustling in solemn whispers. "I suppose others might, though," and his movements cease like another snowflake drifting to its end; he stands like a shadow in the oncoming twilight, slowly growing lost in thought.
[ This was terrible. I don't know how to write him. I don't know that I want to write him. Forgive me. ]
03-22-2016, 11:59 AM (This post was last modified: 03-22-2016, 12:00 PM by Albrecht.)
A cloud of warmth, white-hot against the perfect transparency of cold, billows out from among the trees and catches old Albrecht’s attention. He’s propped against another of the forests massive trunks, leaning hard and cursing himself for wandering so far from the comforts of the Aurora Basin with its wind breaking peaks and reviving hot springs.
“You there!” He calls blindly to the breaths source, well-mannered and sweet natured as ever. “Buying or selling?” No one ever comes to Helovia’s Threshold with an intent other than to join a herd or to add to one and he doubts that todays new faces will be any different, not that he’s actually seen one yet. Pushing away from the steady support of an old pine and circling toward what he assumes is the strangers front, (based on the direction of the exhalations) he squints into the shadows.
Most of what he can discern is an outline, slightly darker than the shading behind, with bulges of what he can only guess are wings clinging to its sides. Strike one for the Basin, he thinks. There appears to be an odd layering of – more feathers? – sticking up from the strangers poll, but a noticeable lack of any other adornment - Strike two - And as he nears, an olfactory element announces male for all to know. Well shit, he huffs, the air rushing out of his lungs like a torn balloon. More peen, as if the Basin doesn't have enough dick-bags filling out its ranks.
Dropping what little interest he had in recruitment, he stops and stares impassively at the other stallion, one leg tipping up to rest on its toe. He wonders if upsetting the stranger, as is bound to happen, would flare his crest up like the plume of an angry cockatiel. The least he could do is give an old man a good laugh for his troubles.
She would not falter from her duties as a recruiter for her beloved homeland. No matter how frazzled her mind was with all of these new thoughts and expressions, the way her heart began to rapidly thrum in her spotted chest at the thought of the painted man who swept her off her feet. Their meeting had been a disastrous one in the beginning, full of passion and tears that soon came to an end when he had consoled her in her time of need. What she hadn't expected was for it to have ended up like it had, their eyes full of lust and their bodies partaking in the throes of passionate love-making; a first for her indeed. Every since then it has been nothing but questions with no answers, it was no longer about what had happened then, but what would happen next. Did them laying down mean that they were now an item? She supposed traditionally that was how it would work, yet deep down part of her knew this was not how it would turn out.
Despite this, a smile was still on her complexion as she wandered through the trees in the beautiful moonshine, it giving her speckled coat a beautiful glow. With hazel eyes full of life; it took her some time before she realized there were others in her presence. Slowing her pace the damsel took pause to assess the situation before her, scanning ahead in what she could see of the darkness to find two figures ahead of her. It seemed that there were indeed two, and both of them were men. Putting on her most cheerful complexion she finally approached, kind in her motions as her butterfly wings fluttered oh so delicately upon her withers. When she thought there was a long enough silence she kindly interjected, voice filled with politeness and warmth all the same," Good evening gentleman. It seems to be quite the lovely night."
The night was perfect for flying, mischief and new encounters, and what place could better serve as scene for these varied urges than the Threshold. A glorious stage to receive her restlessness, a neutral playground full of unsuspecting strangers to receive her twisted affections. Erthë was full to the brim with a desire to laugh out loud as she danced through the heavens on soundless wings, swooping with reckless abandon just above the treetops - so close that she had but to reach out a hoof to knock down the snow that coated every bowed twig and branch.
Being a good child and remaining at home had only worked out for so long. With no actual chores to do and no catastrophes to save the world from she was left to her own devices, a dangerous thing indeed; if only the peace-drunk, flabby-bottomed adults knew what kind of trouble she could get herself into, they would have pinned her down with work a long time ago. They ought to know by now - but apparently they learned slow.
The night was still and quiet for the most part. For the longest time Erthë had encountered nothing but a hunting owl, a drowsy raven on a branch and a couple of squirrels startled from their nests by some horrible (probably imagined) threat. It was quite boring on the whole, so when the sound of voices rose up through the canopy they drew her in like a moth to flames. Without pausing to even consider leaving the poor unsuspecting bastards alone Erthë dipped a wing and turned, drawing a graceful pirouette in the sky as she flew off towards them. An impish grin played on her rosebud lips as she peered down towards the ground and noticed the figures that strolled around down there-. There were three of them, from what she could make out; two large dark ones she had never seen before, heavy and set and moving with that egoistical, brain-dead confidence she associated with stallions, and a smaller, paler figure that gleamed in the spotty moonlight and walked as though drifting on a nightly breeze...
Something about that last figure made Erthë pause, brows furrowed in thought. It was familiar, nostalgic somehow, but for the life of her she couldn't place where she had seen such a doll before. Not recently, not more than once, and yet the brightness of the voice, blurred and wordless from this distance made her heart ache...
Ah well, never mind - she could figure that out later. Now for some fun!
Quivering with pent up excitement the slender, airborne filly pushed her wings down in quiet, steady beats until she gained sufficient height and distance from the snowy canopy, and when she judged the angle to be just right she folded the pale feathers partly to the sides and dropped, falling downwards in a curving arc right above where the scattered horses ought to be.
At the last minute before she crashed into the treetops Erthë spread the wings again and set her feet down, scraping the branches so that snow cascaded down towards the ground in clumps, piles and fine glittering powder, a vertical avalanche that threatened to cover the souls below in icy cold. The rattle and rumble of snow and wood was accompanied by the sound of her laughter, bright and jubilant, triumphant even - and rather than flee the scene before she could be spotted the young snowdrop stretched her wings wide to circle back, almost eager to accept their wrath and complaints if it meant getting to see the looks on their faces.
Erthë
and my knees are shaking - - and my dreams are breaking - - but i know i live today
Peace—the temple for your thoughts—cannot last. He knows this, a certainty as deep as the bones of the world, and yet, it fills his heart with dark anger and vicious flame when the serenity is shattered. The veil across his black gaze draws back.
But his head does not lower; not yet. Pitiful gray clouds ghost across a distant sky, felling their burdens like soft, white tears, and the black, bony fingers of the crown-less trees arc across his vision. No one has spoken yet, but they are there: he can sense them, heartbeats in the darkness, like a presence touching the edges of his awareness.
Their existence is a blemish on this peaceful evening.
The first one to reveal itself is tall, undoubtedly hairy, with twin horns rising like cruel peaks from a thin skull. He reeks of male, of cold winds and bitter northlands, his voice a cruel, disrespectful memory lodged deeply in His mind. He had seemed to assume Hellsparkle knew anything of what was going on here, for he had pitched a question obviously relating to whatever happened here in this forest, but the myriad of scents tell him nothing. Is the stranger here to claim his loyalty?
Or his body?
Perhaps he has strolled into the grove of prostitutes.
His inner smirk doesn't touch his face, but it offers him a certain amount of dark glee to imagine this brusque stranger ridden for coin. A dirty thought pleasantly at odds with the purity of snow.
"Buying," he offers with a white breath, a purr trembling just beneath his smooth voice. Upon his haunches, his little pet rolls her molten eyes and her mouth splits into a wide, feral grin. Hot paw-pads knead his black back. She's laughing, silently.
Alas, for the good of all, he is not left alone with his conquest. A mare, spotted black and with wings he has never seen on a horse before, is coming up out of the shadows; she's young, he can tell. Give her a year or two and she'll have shed the last telltale gangliness of youth. She looks like she'll always be nimble, but it's just that disproportionate slimness of her chest and hips—his dark gaze sweeps over her once, satisfied but uninterested. And her greeting is almost as peculiar as the old one's, and one dark 'brow arches. "And, pray tell, am I or he the gentle one?" But the smile touching his dark lips is rather kind, while the feline on his back sinks to her belly with a sigh, furry tail drooping down his haunch along with her splayed wings.
To think, that just five minutes ago, he had stood alone, undisturbed, this new corner of the world laid out before him: and now he was the center of his own little crowd. He isn't sure whether to be pleased or not.
Perhaps his little moment of tranquility was nothing but fate's preparation for tonight: cold snow, crystalline and pure and dry with chill, falls thickly from the boughs above, cascading to cover them. Hellsparkle's ears flatten for a moment, and something dark courses through his eyes as he spits on fate and searches the sky.
She could've been nothing but a dream, floating lithely on pale, wide wings. She could've been a sprite, but she's laughing, and his pet swipes angrily at the fallen snow heaped upon his back; it melts at the touch of her hot pads.
What was it he had thought earlier? She is ferocity, and he pretends at calm—so with a hiss carrying his annoyance too she launches from his back, black form speeding up through the confines of branches with ease. He soars with her, unclenching his ears, offering his company a sympathetic glance from dark eyes while his hellion chases the pearly wraith, spitting gouts of flame after her pretty tail.
"I suppose she was not the gentleman," he observes with composed amusement, ruffling his folded wings a little to shed snow.
[ While I do believe that "gentleman" instead of "gentlemen" was a typo, I capitalized on it. Shamelessly. @Albrecht@Erthë!@Myrrine ]
04-06-2016, 08:59 AM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2016, 06:56 AM by Albrecht.
Edit Reason: Tags, why you no work?
)
The stranger rumbles an answer, dark humor swelling from the syllables and eliciting a flash of toothy grin from his cat-like companions face, but before the old man has a chance to take this opening for filthy banter and run with it, (metaphorically of course, no one need witness the knock-kneed bastardization of agility he calls running these days) two more pegasi appear. The first is a welcome addition with her sweet expression and delicate fairy's wings. The second, not so much. She bursts onto the scene in a flurry of snow and laughter, wholly delighted by her own devilish antics.
Albrecht flinches and shudders away from the touch of ice on his back, his loins, his fucking face, you cretin. The wrap of thick fleece around his neck spares a small portion of his top line from distress, but it's not enough to spare the group and anyone else nearby from his backlash of temper.
"What the actual fuck?!" He bellows at the sky, unable to pick the perpetrators unblemished white from the equally white backdrop of cloud cover above. As if in agreement, the stranger's companion bristles and leaps away from its stoic perch in a spitting, flaming display of anger that draws a surge of absolute approval from the elder. His pained expression lifts slightly and his ears tilt upward in anticipation of the yelp and pungent scent of burning feathers to come.
Go for the soft bits, he mentally urges, vigorously shaking himself to dislodge any last half melted clumps of snow from his coat and catching the softened gaze of the stranger. He seems unfazed by the incident, but if his placid facade hides any of the same fire his companion exhibits he might be worth recruiting for the Basin after all. With memories of the recent (and disastrous) herd meeting still fresh in the bearded mans mind, a few more moderate temperaments to balance the extremists would seem to be a particularly helpful development... even if he does have a penis.
"You got a name, stranger? Before we decide what it is you're buying." He hasn't forgotten that hint of cynicism from earlier, but if these are the kinds of interruptions he should expect from Threshold interactions he'd prefer that they be as brief as possible. "The Aurora Basin can offer you shelter and purpose at least. It's in the north."
04-07-2016, 04:54 PM (This post was last modified: 04-25-2016, 05:41 PM by Jen.)
{Anaan:} Grandfather, is this really... your strong suit?
{Zekiah:} Shut up! Shut up!
{Zsoka:} Shut uuuuuuuuup Ananana.
A silence as the hunter pauses, standing tall and white at the edge of a scene that is not his.
{Cem:} Everything is my strong suit, you fool.
The evening feels cold to him. His clouds are the sort of gray that he cannot stand. Cem can stand little, Knox even less these days. He cannot stand the cold of this evening. But is it cold? He isn't sure if it is. Knox isn't sure of much, these days. Under an ancient white mask he hides a new wound, still freshly healing. But Cem is unhindered. He moves through it with the gentility of a shark's fin. His hooves are old. His shoulders sag and strike up like wings all at the same time.
There is nothing to stop Cem from doing whatever he wants to do, certainly not the snow that falls thick by some trick, except maybe Knox's grief at his loss. The sort of loss that aches forever, the loss of half a heart... none of that can be forgotten.
Whatever words those around him say go unnoticed. He becomes aware, vaguely, of the wordplay of the central stallion. He is buying--but from whom? Certainly not this pair of weakling fillies. Certainly this screeching wretch.
No, this seems to be a dark shadow that should buy sin from its ancient creator bathed in white. Cem believes he knows exactly what the stallion wants.
"I am Cem," he says with a stern snort, an unbroken gaze. He has hoped to stand mere inches from the dark stallion's face. He is bold.
{Huric:} Cem...
{Cem:} SILENCE!
{Anaan:} Listen to him...
{Cem:} I AM THE BEST AT THIS!
It isn't as if he lacks tact, really, he simply knows that the others here aren't worth his time. They likely aren't worth the time of ones as smart with words as the shadow and his feline-esque company. "They are all trifling things, aren't they... shall we depart?"
There was too much going on. Too many questions being thrown her way, and others coming into the mix. Then someone yelled in evident distaste of the snow being thrown about by her fellow herd mate. She vaguely remembered the filly, being much smaller the firs time they had met and covered with blood. She had been worried about her, wanted to make sure she was okay, and in the end she had been. Yet she couldn't give her a friendly greeting now, couldn't really respond to much of anything, because there were just more people coming and she felt like it wouldn't stop. Too many voices and too much commotion, all of it made her grow anxious and confused, causing her to fidget restlessly and to look around with wide, nearly whited eyes.
After the man who introduced himself as Cem spoke, seeming to simply try and take the newcomer home without even greeting anyone else, Myrrine decided that she simply wasn't even going to bother anymore. With an irritated swish of her tail and a light, nearly inaudible huff, she looked over to the new gentleman, obviously enjoying something that she couldn't see. She dipped her head to him kindly, smiling a strained yet still kind smile and speaking softly," My apologies for my improper wording. I was referring to both of you. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I warmly welcome you to Helovia on behalf of... all of us." With a final dip of her head, she turned away from the group and simply walked away, leaving the trees with ease and breaking into the sky once finding an opening. She didn't have time for any of that today.
OOC: I'm so sorry but Myrrine isn't in the best state to be able to handle such overwhelming things xD
It was a bulls-eye hit, a slam dunk, right on target. In short, success. Her stealthy efforts were rewarded by the sounds of dismay rising from below, angry bellows and startled stepping about and a general sense of havoc being wreaked. It was glorious and her jubilant laughter continued to ring out across the snow-laden woodland reaches, bouncing between dark green canopies and the distant twinkle of stars as she kept circling above the heads of the strangers.
As far as pranks went it was a rather petty one, harmless and more annoying than amusing, yet still the filly felt satisfaction fill her from within, where she peered down at the earthbound souls under her feet. But the sensation was short lived. Suddenly she was not alone in the sky anymore; a black little something she hadn't registered before was darting up towards her, swift as the shadow of one of her magical arrows and bent on revenge. Erthë beat her wings frantically to gain more height, tail thrashing as if it too could aid the acceleration; she was small and lithe by nature but her wings were designed for endurance rather than speed, and compared to the black she was slow.
The teasing laughter became a startled yelp as fire erupted from below, the heat intense as it singed the silky white hairs on her tail. It didn't hurt, the only thing that burned was hair - but the acrid stench of the burning material made her stomach turn, because it was way too close a call. The dove veered in the air and flapped her wings furiously as she shot upwards into the sky, a reversed comet with smoke trailing behind the smoldering tail. When she got high enough to maneuver properly she dared a glance over her shoulder to see what it was that attacked her, if it was intending to pursue her, if she could even make out anything in the gathering gloom of the evening.
Maybe she would recognize the critter for the dragon it was, maybe not. Perhaps she would be as thrilled at the sight of it as she was annoyed, offended, startled by the aggressive retaliation; regardless, the lasting impression was that of a shadow imp, a creature of coal and hellfire and vengeance that had her skin crawling with reverent awe. A fire to her ice - what a shame that she didn't feel like melting tonight. Perhaps they would get a chance to play again some other time - but then again, perhaps not.
Tucking the graceless mess of singed hair and injured pride close to the rump Erthë banked and started away from the scene of her crimes, a departure slightly too hurried to be graceful. Though her laughter had been cut short, she still felt excitement bubble within, humor at the sudden reversal of situation glittering in pale eyes as she let the dragon chase her away from the victims on the ground.
Erthë
and my knees are shaking - - and my dreams are breaking - - but i know i live today
He's used to mortal sins and folly. He has lived long enough to learn of these things, greed, love, lust, kindness. He knows what gritty darkness can lurk behind radiance. He knows he can't trust anyone—but himself.
So it doesn't surprise him, not really, that it turns to chaos. Subtle, social mayhem, as the old lanky man cries out in foul language, and the pearly wraith on her wide wings laugh even as hell chases after her, and a stranger marches onto the scene with a kind of confidence and dedication that is, in a world such as this, admirable. In the gentle snowfall he seems nearly white, and he doesn't stop until he is face-to-face with the beast itself; Hellsparkle stares evenly into those eyes of pale blues, refusing to be cowed. "I am Cem," he says as dragonfire scorches the little sprite's pristine tail and sends her away.
And thus, it has been laid in his lap, a choice he did not expect but now has to make; the lanky girl makes her way away from them, leaving the men alone, and his black eyes roll over the stallions present. They are tall, both of them. Is that a perquisite here? White smoke plunges from his nostrils. Surely this Cem, bold and brazen, represents another nation.
Aurora Basin, or a land of courage?
He does not want to make this choice, not with his bones gnawed clean in such a way. The blunt offer is appealing, it calls wickedly to the darker sides of his soul—come, come away, and it is almost as if Cem knows that He is God.
But to give that game away, or not?
His pet settles back onto his snow-laden haunches, giving her fur a shake and the tall, pale Cem a disconcerting grin. He stalls; she knows. He tries for caution, for tempering, for not tipping his hand so soon—she is a beast, her heart yelling for the hunt, her senses roaring out her conviction.
It is like a black storm rising inside of him, brought into life from bloodstained pages, a hymn bleeding out from the slit throats he has left behind. Black wings ruffle against his sides as he grapples with himself; does he dare to whisper an oath of allegiance so soon? Does he dare to follow one who sets his blood running in such a wicked, wicked way? He doesn't know this land; he has no plans, not yet, but...
"Yes," he responds, mere inches from Cem's face that he is. His voice is white smoke and bleeding little drops of arrogance, and black lips curve into the ghost of a wicked smile—he is trying, oh how he is trying, to contain that which bubbles deep in his prideful soul. "Let us go."
[ I'm sorry this is very late, my life really, really hated on me for a long time and I chose to prioritize Mauja. Sorry if this throws some weird kinks in a timeline. @Albrecht@Knox ]