"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.
08-08-2016, 03:31 AM (This post was last modified: 08-08-2016, 03:33 AM by Manon.)
M A N O N,
She was a great many things, Manon. She was the fierce and raging ocean, the salt dried on tanned skin: the friend turned lover that you just can't bear to tell your mother about. She was a woman born for something unidentifiable, the pure simplicity of living being too mundane, too commonplace and banal for her multi-coloured eyes to appreciate. She could not be defined by one word, nor ten thousand - but she could be felt in the same way that you could feel the current, the breeze, that ominous knowledge that a storm was brewing. A storm was brewing. Manon herself could feel it as she took the first steps over and into the Threshold. The skies were seething, hot, heavy and gloriously wild. But the earth and the air around her were torpid, calm and sweltering - too quiet to be innocent, and too open to be much shelter. She knew many horses traversed the Threshold, if not by her own smarts but by the signs of others - a discarded cloak, fallen jewels, footprints in the moist earth.
Her lungs expanded, diaphanous, deep and well-practiced in the art of breath-holding. Today she did not hold her breath, but took in the surrounding scents with something like ease as her eyes flicked casually around the forest. She started to log every detail, her mind sharp and careful, listening for the slightest breath, the most minuscule temperature change - even the scent of anyone that could be close. Her senses were vibrant and humming, honed to notify her of any changes in her atmosphere. Manon paused in her investigation, a sigh slipping from between her velveteen lips silently. She found a small pleasure in the emptiness of the forest, the ethereal calm that emanated from the ancient trees and even in the heavy silence that promised havoc from the oncoming storm. Manon felt her skin relax a little, though her eyes were still narrow as if assessing what might happen.
There was grace in her step, always, and today was no different - she moved through the forest, a little more relaxed now and brimming with fluidity. Muscles rolled over bone in luxury, her silver braid knocking loosely against her dainty shoulder as she stepped. There were few that matched Manon in gracefulness, and fewer still that could claim her own particular brand of deadly beauty. Certainly, many were beautiful, stunning, divine - but they were not Manon, and did not possess that eerie quality that made her so malignant. Perhaps it was her desire to always be moving forward, the complete and utter certainty in her goals, the way she knew what she wanted and would stop at nothing to gain it. Of course, her skin was satin, her hair spun silver and every line of her body enticing and resplendent - though sharp. A noise sounded and Manon froze, head thrown up and her long lashed eyes wary, watching, waiting:
If the forest was a dream the first time, what is it now?
Caught in its death throes, the sweltering season kisses deep bruises into a swollen sky. No sunlight anymore; just the the false twilight of an impending storm, the teasing scent of rain hanging pregnant in the clouds above, and the strange hush of anticipation. When last Hé witnessed lightning, when last rain lashed his flanks in a misguided attempt at teaching him humility, he had been at the top of a mountain a hundred worlds away from the Threshold. Remembering, he still tastes the water on his lips, and the music of his own laughter.
The freckled stallion skips between the trees, his rhythmic gait not quite a trot. Every now and then, dark eyes flash skyward again, praying in silence for the first tongues of lightning, the celestial voice of thunder and the downpour, the curtains of rain to sweep this sticky heat away. Teasingly, the clouds keep their secrets locked above, and so Hé surveys the forest around him with a little less open curiosity. He's been here before — twice, in fact. The third trip robs the trees of mystery, and Hé thinks of everything he is yet to see in the Helovia's other lands. He travels deeper, though, rather than turning around. He isn't in the forest for its trees, after all.
He's paused to leap to the top of a gnarled route in his path when he glimpses it: color between the trees ahead. She's a deer at first, a flash of pale hair, something not-quite-real and out of place with the mundane hue of bark at her back, the ceiling of needles crowding out the shades of the impending storm. Hé pauses atop the tree root and his ears snap forward to the sound of her voice. And she isn't lightning, but he leaps down to greet her anyway.
"Not to worry, it's only me!" And he's not exactly imposing, a short and short-coupled creature with mud on his legs and knots in his tail. The lost prince possesses none of his formal splendor and only a hint of his bearing, though he carries himself with more poise than a vagabond should possess. "I'm called Hé. Seems I'm the first to welcome you to Helovia." It's not entirely sincere, the way he bows his head, but it's not mocking either. "So, welcome! May I have your name?"
well someday soon when the spring brings the sun
i'll sleep, i'll finally
feel better when the winter's gone
sikeax
She tells herself that she is a very proud, diligent mother, and takes the utmost pride in her son. With Zhu’s absence, she clings to him, offers him as much of her time and company as she can possibly stand and hopes that he cherishes and loves the attention she gives him.
And with his age, she hesitantly reminds herself that Tyrath will not be young and small forever. He’d previously followed her into the Threshold, specifically lacking her company or permission, but seemed to have faired well. Through Hobgoblin’s encouragement and what one can only say was Tyrath’s bravery and maturity as he aged, she’d swept him under her invisible wing and asked him to be her company as she traveled to the eastern woods. Hobgoblin made little good for conversation when hunting and wanted little to do with those that they came across in the gates, and Tyrath would need to learn the importance of recruiting if he was to bring some effort into the Throat other than sleeping in the shade and swimming in the oasis, and on occasion, being roped into aiding her as she went to gather herbs in the desert.
Today was a bad choice. They’d taken time in trying to look nice, bathing in the Throat and slithering the blood of vera over her honey coat, flaking a few withering mint leaves into their manes and tails for the sake of smelling decent despite the pungency of aloe vera wafting from her. Yet against all of their efforts, the weather has very different ideas.
Lightning squealed a long, expressive screech as of its body leaps into announcement. They are too far from the island to flee homeward, as much as she wants to tell him that maybe it’s best they do go back. She doesn’t want him to become ill or wounded by storm damage, with exclusions to the violent ruffling of their previously groomed manes. “Tyrath, whatever you do, please don’t leave my side.”
Hobgoblin is panicking and even that is an understatement. Images of flames and vicious memories of burning pain are striking like shards of hail that have yet to fall. She can’t do a thing to hide her scar from the memory that is plaguing him currently, leading him to believe that he is going to be burned and short-term crippled again. When he does see it in his flurry, it only furthers him. “STORM. FIRE. NO HURT.”
It’ll be fine. There are no dragons to hurt you.
“HOBGOBLIN NOT GOOD.”
His legs are leaping beneath him at every cackle, her own ears sinking as she presses her son’s wing into her barrel, assuring herself that Hobgoblin will stay put and that the winds won’t take her last baby away.
In the time that she focuses her attention to Tyrath, turning muzzle to glaze it over his black mane that smells faintly of his father(how long has it been since you saw him?), Hobgoblin is but a fleeting glimpse as he finally gets something to place his panic towards. “Hobgoblin find people. People bad.”
How do you even know?
“They bad. Hurt us.”
She sighs, drawing in a long breath as she swings her head in the direction that he has told them to go, motioning for him to follow. “Hobgoblin found someone.” is all that she can tell him. Their gate increases, chasing images captured through the trees and Hobgoblin’s blazen eyes.
A male and a female. Both equine. The man reminds her of Adrixaura in his colouring, twisting up her insides as she studies him, remembering the harsh paleness of her coat with the dark contrast of her dark spots and hair, monotone colouring broken by just a pair of pale blue eyes that she herself know owns. The female, high in height but elegant in bulk, is a renaissance painting, beautiful, and simple yet complex at the same time.
Even for a moment, she envies her. She wishes that both of her parents, painted with such uniqueness, had been kind enough to offer her a dash of their style, but none had been given. She was doomed to plainness, fair skinned and tired eyed, easily burned by the Sun that she is told to worship by her few superiors and many family members.
A nod meant only in silent greeting is ushered out to the man. She’s never really had much for words when it came to the people already centered in Helovia, and there is a faint hope that Tyrath does the same.
Behind them, Hobgoblin’s claws fit well into the mass of the tree trunk he’s found, swinging upwards in a way to try and export his pent up stress. “Sikeax, the Sun Physician for the Dragon’s Throat, and this is my son.” A motion is done to hand any attention set on her to him now, having previously agreed that he should do his greeting. “Is there anything we can do for you today?” “You help Hobgoblin LEAVE.”
It’s just a storm. It’ll be okay.
“Fire come back. Fire want Hobgoblin.”
I promise you, it doesn’t.
Her reassurances are weak, and it is for the better mind that she doesn’t offer him physical comfort, lest she is looking for the swiping of honed claws into her skin.
OOC: bleh.
Permission from Nova to PP Tyrath alongside Sikeax, so please wait for them to post before carrying on.
Hobgoblin is in his serval form and having a terrible panic attack so if you'd like to write out him doing something due to the storm freaking out, be my guest!
And last thing, please just tag me when it is my turn to post so my inbox won't get clogged up. thank you!
Tyrath practically blossomed with Sikeax's love and devotion, each second spent with her is precious, as the sand in the glass of time ticked, her presence and warmth chased away the bitterness and anger to the far corners of his mind. The tempest would abate with her words and her care, the sullen abandoned child she had found that day near the oasis had all but vanished, as he grew from a babe to an energetic colt with a mind which expanded every day. It was natural for him to one day wake up and see his mother leave, and want to know what she was getting up to. She often went far and while he'd wait patiently or entertained himself with visits to the mainland to see his father or roam the southern shores for trinkets and other things which snagged his interest.
He trotted next to his mother, ears pressed forward as he picked his way through the dense forest. They had come to hopefully pick up the new strays which had wandered into Helovia, though admittedly, he still felt it was a little stupid so many ended up lost in the forest. For the sake of Sikeax, he had put his best hoof forward and gone along with the bath, and allowed her to spruce up his appearance. It had gotten even more tedious when all their effort had gone to waste with the turn of the weather, the wind whipped and the sky screamed, and forced the colt to keep his wings pressed firmly against his sides and his tail coiled close to his body. More than ever, he wished he'd let Sia braid his mane, it's unruly, rapidly growing strands battered his face in annoying strokes.
"I'm not goin' anywhere ma." He reassured her with a smile, crimson eyes flicked upwards to rest on her face. He tried his best to sound confident, though there is a small beat in his voice which sounded unassured. It's getting harsh, and the roots of the old tree's suddenly don't look so sturdy. The canopy became a prison which he couldn't escape with a beat of his growning wings, he stayed close, using the wing pressed against his mothers barrel as a source of comfort and grounded to her. If he focused on her, the lightning and harsh wind wouldn't seem so bad, and when her muzzle pressed into his mane, he moved to curl his own against her neck, with the hope that it might comfort her as well.
The tender moment is broken by announcement that Goblin has found someone, his head is forced forward with a shake as he followed her gaze. "In this weather?" He's surprised, he'd imagined they'd all run away and hide. "Shouldn't we find somewhere safe?" His muttered words are swallowed by the turbulent weather as he kept up with Sikeax's increased pace. He just hoped whoever Goblin had found wasn't up for sitting around and making conversation, that they too wanted to get out of here as fast as possible and to safer pastures. Preferably the sandy pasture of the throat.
Eventually, they're faced with two strangers, and his eyes snapped to sweep over them both in a critical manner. Though his eyes as ever, remain blank as their pupilless gaze goes back and forth. The welcome from his ma is short and too soon the spotlight is passed on to him and he offered them a small flick of his wing, a polite little wave to hopefully endear the two to them. "My name is Tyrath." He offered simply, seeing as Sikeax had asked if they needed any assistance from them both."Maybe we can help you get out of here? The throat is a hundred times nicer than this."
"Talk."
Life is not a song, sweetling.
Someday you may learn that, to your sorrow.
08-12-2016, 01:21 PM (This post was last modified: 08-12-2016, 01:23 PM by Tilney.)
The countdown was on; Each day was torn between crooning over plants in the greenhouse or preparing his homely space under the tree for that wondrous new arrival who would be due in the coming weeks. How excited Tilney was to be a father. Each night he whispered his words of thanks and praise to father earth and his brother the sun and asked them to keep their darling child safe in their world until it's care was passed onto he and Arah in this world.
Not a day went by that the bronze lad did not dream of what their babe would look like, who they would most resemble and who they would become. All they were were guesses and kiss-like wishes now. For the time being the golden patriarch would just have to wait.
If he found himself with nothing to do however; no work in the gardens or greenhouse and the nurses all out scavenging any herbs they'd need, left him agitated and itching for his love. Arah he would sigh, sometimes turning hi verdant gaze to the sky in the hopes of seeing Wynter. The ivory doe too had her own way of keeping herself busy and patient for their bairn.
Peatree glided from his perch on a nearby sapling to find his place on one of the many tines Tilneys Antlers posessed. Hanging upside down and hugging his full belly the young bat smiled peafully, closing his gigantuan eyes. Perhaps the young marsupial thought it was home time? That they would follow the usually routine of a morning and continue through the woods to settle at Tilneys home tree for the afternoon.
Of course not! Days like this when the flaxen lad had nought to do were for one thing and one thing only - recruiting.
Threshold bound Tilney and an alarmed Peatree took flight. The unicorns cloven hooves clapped the ground until it hardly felt there any longer. Kissing the grass with each step, Filling his lungs with every stride.
The trek across the thistle meadow took a lot less time then usual. he now had a regual, worn path he took with checkpoints and land marks to keep as his compass - with Peatree overhead for parts of the journey he has a scout for any dangers ahead also. The thread of wildfire did not detour this stag - he was a prince of the sun, an apostle for the golden father. He wouldn't fear a distant blaze.
Those same cloven stoned soon reached the threshold, easily recognizing the crowding firs. One could very easily tell when they were free of the threshold or had wondered into its clutches. It was a dark landscape, it always took time for his night blind sight givers to adjust.
Slipping through thick, choking foliage, Tilney found his way back to his usual path which he seemed to have lost during his partial blind stage. Not even a few hundred yards away he could detect voices and another's treading - ah, newcomers perhaps!?
Peatree clung tightly to a lofty tine on his bondeds antlers with his skinny forefingers, hanging on as tilney wandered swiftly between each fir and approached the growing crowd. There was one he recognises immediately; Sikeax of the Dragons Throat. She was a sun physician who he had spent sometime with on his trip to the south. It seemed she had a foal at foot, his memory on the grey colt was vague fierce as he was. He did not recall a meeting at the throat with this youngster, but Tilney didn't have the greatest memory. Also present were who spotted individuals, one a charming lad and the other quite a striking mare. She reminded him of his close friend and apprentice Ultima - the way she held herself. He also wondered if se was full of questions like that wonderful swan was.
Finally though, he had completely approached. He took his place beside the spotted mare and sent a charming smile around to each present "Salutations!" was his cheer "Sikeax! What a pleasure it is to see you again my friend, have you trekked north trying to beat the heat?" "But oh my dear Sikeax, I have the most wonderful news!" was Tilneys next explamation, moving form his spot beside the newcomer who he had not greeted yet (how quite unlike him). "My Arah is expecting! We will be boasting a bundle of joy within the fortnight!"
The fortnight - that may of been an exaggeration. The bairn might not come for a month yet.
But how rude. There was a weary traveller amongst them! He would assume the spotted lad was not the traveller; upon his approach Tilney had seen him introduce himself to the lone lass, so he would assume that it was she in need of rest. "oh golly, how rude of me" Tilney turned his body once again to face the painted doe, shaking his head in disgust as his behaviour "Madame you must be ever so weary! are you injured? do you need healing? I am a doctor!" he almost spoke all his questions in one breath of air, his unlit lantern crooning over the subject with curiosity. "There is room at the Edge for travellers my friend. It's quite cosy this time of year - the seaspray and our glorious forests gives us the ultimate relief from Tallsuns heat!"
As if her voice had called them from the woodwork, they arrived in ones and twos, these indigenous Helovians - but with what agenda? Manon eyed each one as they arrived, carefully neutral, a sharpness hovering around her lips all that spoke of her wariness. She watched them with no more than tolerance, a look that spoke of studiousness, a scholarly willingness to learn: despite her predisposition toward silence, toward loneliness (though it could be argued that this was a facade). Here, she was the outsider, the invader - and she was being greeted with warmth. She would start with the first: the man that bounced on his toes and held himself with regal intent. An ex-soldier? Disgraced royal? A man that could not quite hide his past, she surmised. He was certainly charming, with the wildness in his hair and the stoic grace of his muddied legs, the pleasant gleam of his intelligent eyes. When he bows he reminds her of Saker: not completely sincere, though she could appreciate the effort. A wry smile twists her velveteen lips and she answers with something like simple gratitude; "Thank you for your welcome." But she does not give her name.
The mother and son come next - and instantly Manon feels a kindred spirit in the woman, more so than she does for any man, no matter how charming. She can appreciate the softness of her skin, the tired eyes and the strength that kept her moving, even the mothers worry etched into her lips. And while Sikeax might have thought of herself as plain, Manon could only adore the simplicity of her soft skin or the intensity of her ice blue eyes. She saw only beauty, in all forms. She'd have been more than happy to stroke Sikeax's soft brown hair, kiss her weary shoulders and promise her she wasn't unnoticed. Her kaleidoscope eyes were all that spoke of her thoughts, and as such they lingered upon Sikeax for longer than any of the newcomers, before flicking to her adolescent son. She pauses, then begins to speak; "The Dragons Throat?" Her voice is lower than would be expected, but melodic. Her gaze switches again between Hé and Sikeax before continuing "I'm -".
"Salutations!" Her mouth snaps shut and her head follows the sound to the forest for the entrance of a final participant. He's handsome, in a country-boy kind of way. While he chattered to Sikeax, Manon examined him with interest. Not for his looks - she wasn't interested in him for that, and besides, if it came to it, Hé would have been a more exciting counterpart. This man looked as if he belonged to a comfortable home, his hair brushed and his belly full. Manon remained silent, for she was a quiet woman, and spoke only when she thought necessary - something she thought the antlered man could have benefited from. Attention turned once again to her, and again her mouth twitched into an amused smile. She waits for the tirade of words to finish, breathing quietly until "-seaspray?" It comes out almost desperately, desire for the salt and sea rising underneath her soft skin. A real smile begins, and Manon introduces herself properly, fluidly. "Hé, Sikeax, Tyrath.." she looks suddenly to the newcomer, all those words and no name! ".. I am Manon." As an afterthought she adds, "Congratulations on your child."
It isn't hard to tell, usually. There's a point in the exchange of pleasantries where Hé gauges the potential outcome of a meeting. Now he does so, and though polite may describe the stranger's manner toward him, that is all. Not a hint of disappointment flutters across his face, but slows the vibrant rhythm of his pulse just a fraction. Ah. Hé doubts he will leave victorious a second time. A nod answers the mare's gratitude, but then they both find distraction in the greeting party quick to assemble around them: first a mare, a mother, with a spine upon her brow. Second a miniature version of wings and horns, face painted the vivid white of a skull. Hé studies them in amicable silence, his spirits tenacious enough to survive the absolute lack of respect they show for him. Remember, though, he does: Sikeax and Tyrath, of the Dragon's Throat. Subpar diplomats, at best.
The dark brilliance of the spotted stallion's gaze rests with interest upon the third member of Sikeax's party. Sense tells him it's a creature like Ashamin's stags, though the relationship between this new pair and those three is.... different, to say the least. The bitter taste of repulsion fills his mouth almost as entirely as intrigue seems to grab the spotted mare; Hé wonders how rude it would be to leave. His adoration of company extends only so far; yet with a flick of his tail, an eye cocked toward the sky, he commands himself, settle. One can hardly give up at the first glimpse of failure. Things can still be learned, here. Impressions made. Settle.
Hé is about to open his mouth, to make his best argument for the Unbound, when they are joined by yet another: a creature of antlers and dead trees, of light and liveliness, childish in a sense Hé hasn't experienced in a long time. His head jerks; he blinks, malcontent to be ignored yet again by, apparently, the most ill-mannered collection of creatures Helovia has to offer. Were he a more bitter, or a more presumptive creature, he might be tempted to make his distaste for their behavior known — but he is not yet so old. He's merely irritated, his usual cheer fading by degrees until he wears something like mild frown, devoid of amusement. Quiet still, he redirects his attention when Manon again speaks, some of the light returning to his features.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Manon," he says with less exuberance than usual. The solemn side of Hé is very narrow, but it does exist; he pulls it on now in order to keep his anger at bay. "And the rest of you," Hé forces himself to add, though it is certainly not a pleasure, in any respect. "Always interesting to see new faces here." An ear twitches. "I've come representing not a herd but a band, the Unbound. We cannot offer any sanctuary in the form of a private kingdom, but we are protected by our bonds to each other. We roam freely, beholden to no king." It's a speech warmly given, evidence of his continuing affection (for Ashamin, at least) prevalent in the cadence of Hé's voice. He directs the next words to Manon, though the invitation stands open to any who might wish to take it. "You'd be welcome among us, if you find the conventions of herd life.... limiting."
Her thoughts swirl provocatively within her silent mind, and Manon can't fathom why each horse here would want her, a stranger, within their ranks - for surely this was what they were here for, after Hé's speech about the Unbound. Her opal eyes did not leave him, the spotted, delightful Hé - digesting his words and finding them both pleasing and concerning. She did dislike rules, and there was often room for ascension in the ranks of outlaws... but. Her eyes slowly drifted to the bookish, enthusiastic man once more - for she adored the ocean, and while freedom spoke to her and to her soul, to join a group of outlaws and to live off the land... it was not for her. Not now, at least. She turned to Hé, a gracious and pleasant smile upon her velveteen lips, a rare occurrence for a stranger.
"Hé, I must admit your offer tempts me -" her mind lingered once more on a life without restraint, though her logic adamantly told her she would not be without restraint under the rule of anyone but herself. "- but I cannot take it." She said no further, shifting with endless grace so that she stood nearly parallel to the antlered soul. Her eyes moved to Sikeax's, though she spoke to the man next to her. "Would you take me to the Edge?" She paused again, staring into the abyss of Sikeax's gaze. This time her voice was a private murmur, sensual and sincere: "We will meet again."
ooc; since this is taking a little while to get off the ground I've asked Tamme for permission to skip ahead so that I can move on with Manon, who will be joining the Edge. Thanks to darling Hé, Sikeax & Tyrath whom I will be plotting with in the future!! xx
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