"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.
This is what I'd have you see, and I'd have you see it very well. For while this is only an ending, and not the end, endings should still be given the attention they deserve. And so I'd have you see, and be here for this, if you would.
The sun rises like on any other day. There is nothing remarkable about today, nor about the evening that proceeded it. The Throat stands like it has on a thousand other mornings, and like it will for a thousand more. The sun sweeps over the bloody sands where stories and legends have transpired and faded away. The legacy of the Throat succeeds each of its members. There is no problem of philosophical identity here: the Throat will forever be the Throat regardless of who is at its helm, who heals its inhabitants, who guards its borders.
And that is why, as the Wildfire collapses onto the red sands, it is not wholly remarkable. For he is merely following in hoof-prints of all those who have ruled these lands before him, in that his reign must end, and he must die.
Madness as many of you likely know, has taken the Wildfire's mind. It is the one aspect of Gaucho's character not formidably protected by muscle, and so unsurprisingly is the first to fail him. And, because this is no fairy tale, the Wildfire is given no respite from his malady, even if only temporarily.
The dun experiences no moments of blissful clarity before he dies.
He has no time to reflect on the years that he has spent in Helovia, to recall the brutish stallion he had been when he had first entered the Threshold so many seasons ago, barely able to speak Helovia's common tongue and without a single victory beneath his belt. No time to offer thoughtful appreciation and thanks to those who had made his rise to glory possible: Midas and Kri, or to remember the battles they fought together. Both the victories, and the losses. To turn his blue-gray eyes upwards and give praise to the Sun God who called him Ascended, and placed the Throat under his protection time and time again.
He has no time to think of Sohalia, his first love. No time to realize what a hypocrite he had been in the days since madness had taken hold of his mind, and, if he were being truly introspective, the days before too. No time to justify his actions, to regret not searching the whole world for her when she disappeared, and not for being quicker to forgive her transgressions. No time to wish that he had told her that he loved her one more time.
No time for Ampere either, to think that he should have told her that she saved him just as many times as he saved her. That they were cut from the same cloth, and that he would have followed her to the black depths of the oceans that night in the Veins if that was what it had taken. That she made his heart race and his blood boil, and that he wouldn't have traded their tension and maddening chemistry for the complacency of a normal courtship for anything in the world, for their love defied convention.
Nor were there thoughts of his children - his impressive line of twins, with only three singletons sprinkled throughout. The final degradation of his brain left no room for thoughts of pride in their accomplishments, wishes and hopes for their futures, nor love for their individuality. He couldn't even recall their faces, despite having memorized every detail of them (despite the fact that many of them thought he hadn't noticed them at all).
The parasite in his brain, now obviously gorged on the gray matter of his mind, allowed the dun no lingering thoughts of his herd: how he had served them faithfully and with all that he had, for as long as he could. How he had been there for them through their dissent, and how he had protected them despite their occasional lack of faith in him. And how he had loved them.
No - there was none of that. For not all stories are awarded closure, and not all heroes die a hero's death. Some just die without company or fanfare. Some, like Gaucho, merely find themselves piloting a sinking ship, diverting their course away from their loved ones so that when they inevitably capsize and sink, their wake does not disturb those they care about most.
If you are still watching, you will see Gaucho's knees buckle. You will see his flaming body drop to the sands whose bloody granules dampen the sound. You will see Mara and Vorsa, Gaucho's ever faithful companions just as equally broken by the malady that will ultimately claim the Wildfire's life. You will see them where they have always been: in his antlers. You will see where their small bodies ultimately come to rest on the sands as well, pulled regrettably downwards, tethered to Gaucho's drowning mind. Perhaps it will comfort you to know that they wouldn't be anywhere else, that they are forever grateful for the lives Gaucho has given them, and that they happily give their lives to go down with this sinking ship.
Then, if you have not covered your eyes or turned away, you will see a rush of fire. A last explosion of magical energy within the Wildfire. All the power blessed to him by the Sun God, racing upwards towards the rising sigul of the deity Gaucho served with unwavering loyalty, one last time: a pillar of fire, circled by three flaming eagles.
And then, when the fire dissipates, it finally happens.
The Wildfire stops burning.
Open to all.
Anyone can take a feather from him or from Vorsa if they want :)
I've posted in the updates thread, but the following items go to:
GRUSHA
:: [ Item: Enchanted Elk Antlers | Offensive. Magically attached to head ]
:: [ Item: Trinket | Bone nose piercing. ]
:: [ Item: Dagger | Offensive. Hollow bone dagger. ]
AMPERE
:: [ Item: Enchanted Bone collar | Offensive. Worn as a thick band of leather just above the shoulders; pressing a button in the center causes bone-spikes 2 inches in length to uncoil and protrude. ]
-- all amulets.
SIKEAX (as the new leader)
:: [ Item: Dragon's Throat Key | A small, metal charm allowing access to the bridge to the Dragon's throat. ]
08-29-2016, 03:39 PM (This post was last modified: 08-30-2016, 11:44 AM by Sohalia.
Edit Reason: forgot to mention taking a feather.
)
Sohalia
It was as average a day as any, though the hours to come would not be so lucky.
The morning dawned, as it often did, in a myriad of reds and oranges and yellows, the brilliant Sun rising in the east to coax the mortals below into the new day. Sohalia - barely the Transcended, no longer a Forger, almost a forgotten Sultana - blinked sleepily in the growing light. Even her dust-covered pelt seemed to shimmer in the Sun's rays as she shifted from her nightly position beneath the palms of the oasis, shaking her head to clear the night's mental cobwebs away. A long drink from their little lake was next, as it was every morning, and then she was off with her youngest daughter whining beside her. The scrapyard was her intended destination. Her pace was leisurely, for she knew that the day to follow this morning's beauty would be long and hot amongst the piled metal.
A sudden flash interrupted the pair's morning walk, alarm flaring to life in the mare's mind. Her head snapped around, her ears pricked and her eyes scanning for trouble on the horizon. Much to her confusion, she saw nothing - nothing save for a column of flame and three circling fire-birds. With a bemused tilt of her head and a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, the dove changed course. Her trot covered ground quickly, as she had long since grown accustomed to the way her weight shifted with the sands. It no longer bogged her down as it would those unfamiliar with the terrain. She might have flown, had it not been for Vinati, who was leaping and bounding in her effort to keep up. Somehow she knew that she could not leave her daughter behind. Not for this.
The column of fire was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, and yet Sohalia pressed on. She crested a dune, and then another, searching suspiciously for whatever had caused the strange appearance. She half-expected to find the Sun God roaming the sands, almost thought that perhaps a child of Gaucho's might have been practicing with some inherited fire magic. Whatever she had expected, whatever thoughts she had conjured, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.
She found herself at the top of a final dune. Below her, Gaucho the WildFire was splayed out upon the sands. For the first time in years, there were no flames upon his body, no movement in his limbs. She ordered Vinati, who was some distance behind her, in the valley between this dune and the last, to stay put - and then her legs were carrying her forward of their own volition. Oddly, there was no feeling, not yet - there was only Gaucho and Sohalia and her various rationalizations, her unfinished prayers: - he's only sleeping - please let him stand up - this is a dream - please don't leave me -
And then she was beside him, and he wasn't moving, and there was no more flame, and Vorsa and Mara were tangled in his antlers, and there was nothing except Gaucho and Sohalia and pain -
And then she was collapsing to her knees in the sand beside him, her muzzle exploring the masculine lines of his head, resting against his motionless maw, hoping that perhaps she would feel a breath of air -
And then there was nothing, no wavering breath, no stirring of limb, and suddenly she was crying - "No," was the first whisper, the next denial a scream: "NO!"
And then Astraeus was slipping away, darting to the air above to oasis and raining lightning and sparks, calling for help while his bonded could not -
And she couldn't breathe and she couldn't think because she had never gotten to apologize, because he had never told her what he had decided about them after he had gone off to think -
And she had never gotten to tell him -
"Anha zhilak yera norethaan, shekh ma shieraki anni," she whispered, for the last time.
08-29-2016, 04:25 PM (This post was last modified: 08-30-2016, 11:50 AM by Verro.)
Verro
Once Upon a Time
I had a love affair with fire
It had been a normal trip beyond the realms of her mother's watchful gaze, Nephele had soon learned that there was nothing she could do to keep Verro from roaming, if the little filly wanted to go. In the safety of the Throat? It wasn't much of an issue, there would be plenty of watchful eyes, and already, her leggy little daughter displayed a wisdom she had lacked at such a tender age.
The spirit flamed filly floated across the sands in a gait filled with grace and purpose, the curls of stark cream hair billowing like short ribbons in the wind. She had been searching high and low, searching every nook and cranny her small body could reach to hopefully glimpse a sign of her mysterious father whom she pestered and begged her mother to tell stories of. She looked like him in her dun markings, her mother would say, and in the fires which burned upon her feathered wings and then she would describe tales that she herself had heard from other throat members. Her large lilac eyes would grow in size and the fires upon her wings would flare and grow with each exciting detail.
Oh how she wished she could meet him.
Oh how she didn't want it to be this way.
She never expected the day she would finally lay eyes upon her father, would be the very same day she would have to say goodbye, instead of hello.
She's upon the tops of the very dunes when she spies him, the antlers, the primitive markings and finally the great roaring flames which crackle and flicker from his wings. Elation flares within her small breast. At least! It's punctuated with an all too gleeful nicker which escapes her delicate, painted maw.
Then, he dropped and the nicker is silenced from her chest with a bleat of alarm. It is not the way a horse goes down to roll or nap, that she knows, and the happiness in her breast suddenly skews and becomes panic. There is something wrong and her limbs are already carrying her forward, skidding and tripping over her own hooves down the too big dune as the sands of time slip away.
The only thing which stopped her approach is the furious pillar of fire which exploded and rocket skywards.
Her eyes are filled with the magnificent shades of red, orange and yellow, consuming the glittering orbs. Part of her wants to shield her eyes with her wings, to make it all go away, to make the fire rush back into his body and bring him back. This is not how she wanted her meeting with her father to go, for her to approach his body and sob. She watched the eagles ascend, their flaming bodies go higher and higher until there is nothing left.
Nothing but the howling tallsun winds, the scorching red sands and the body of her father.
It's spurned her back into action, her body thrown into a stumbled gallop. She ignored the white mare which came running, who collapsed next to Gaucho and began to run her muzzle over his still face. Eventually, she is close enough that her running becomes a trot, and eventually a sullen walk which brings her to the Dun's still warm side. She felt the tears which began to well in her eyes, and she lets them flow, fat crystalline drops roll down her cheeks as her muzzle touches his side. Her wings dropped, outstretched to gently nudge her mottled feathers against him.
"I finally found you pa." She whispered, what would Tassy think? Would she come running too, she would have seen the fires coming from the direction in which her bigger sister had run off in. If she didn't, how would she tell her that he was gone. Tear filled eyes eventually move to the mare sobbing beside Gaucho, filled with fear, hurt and confusion.
08-29-2016, 07:07 PM (This post was last modified: 08-30-2016, 11:46 AM by Vinati.)
The sun, as always, rose far too early for one of the youngest princesses of the sands. Despite her protestations, it seemed, the brilliant orb was determined to rise, and so Vinati followed her mother from the thicket of palms in which they spent their evenings with a yawn and a glare, whining grumbling quietly to herself in the after-dawn glow. The girl mirrored her mother's long draft from the clear, calm waters of the oasis lake. The liquid was cool and smooth on her tongue, quenching a thirst that the girl hadn't really known that she had. She should be used to it by now - even this early, the desert day was hot and arid, seeming to draw her body's moisture away until she had nothing left.
No wonder she was so tired all the time.
Vinati yawned again as she trailed after her mother sleepily. Perhaps while her mother worked among the heaps of metal, the princess could take a power nap. She nodded to herself, pleased by the idea. That was exactly what she needed. If she could just snooze a little longer, linger in the depths of her dreams a tiny bit more, then she was sure that she would be ready to face the day. As you can see, the little sand princess was not a morning person.
The same flash that caught Sohalia's attention had the filly squinting irritably up at the sky; however, her exasperation turned to curiosity as she noticed that there was a column of flame in the sky surrounded by three fiery eagles. Suddenly the girl was wide awake. What a beautiful sight! Oh, what she wouldn't give to be able to take a moment to appreciate the fire, to sculpt its likeness into a pretty crystalline trinket. Ave would love it, she was sure of it! But then the flame was gone, extinguished, as though it had never even been there in the first place.
Belatedly, the girl realized that her mother was leaving without her, and her scrawny, knobby legs flailed about in a vain attempt to catch up. Where Sohalia's strides were long and sure, even in the deep, shifting sand, Vinati still struggled to travel through the softer soil outside the oasis. She might have called out to her mother, but the Transcended seemed as though she was almost in a trance. Besides, the girl realized that it was not only her mother's form that she was seeing. The girl was used to the ghosts that lingered around her mother's petite frame: there were older pegasi that Sohalia had named as her parents. There was a tiny, just-born foal who had been identified as Diniel, and an older filly, almost an adult, named Skysong. They lingered around Sohalia constantly, so much so that Vinati had grown used to their presence. Now, though - now there was another form, bigger and broader and darker.
That's odd, she thought to herself.
Sohalia's voice, suddenly too high and too sharp, carried over the sands in a stern order for Vinati to stay put. For a moment, the girl hesitated; but when she saw the familiar form of Verro climbing the dune that her mother had disappeared behind, she couldn't help her curiosity any longer. Within a few moments, she was at the top of the dune, just in time to hear a broken scream - "NO!" - pierce the air. A thrill of fear filled the girl, for that was her mother's voice, and she had never heard such a sound leave the gentle mare before. When she crested the dune, when she dared to look, she saw her mother crumpled in a snowy heap upon the sand; she saw Verro approaching the Transcended sadly; she saw a dark, broken form splayed upon the sands between them.
But that wasn't all she saw.
He was there, like always, standing strong between his former mate and his daughter. A small, sad smile split the girl's face as she noticed that in the other world - the spirit world - he was just as brilliant, just as strong, as he had been in hers. And though a part of her broke at the knowledge that she would never again see him splashing in the oasis, would never again feel his flaming wings encompass her when she was sad, would never again see him patrolling the skies above their home, she suddenly understood what he had been trying to tell her, those many weeks ago. He would never leave her - he would never leave any of them. He would live on in their hearts and their memories, and that would have to be enough.
Besides, they would see him again one day.
The girl approached at a silent walk, not stopping until she stood alongside her mother's shaking frame. "Mai," she said softly, earnestly, "don't cry. Ave isn't hurting anymore. He's at peace. He's still here with us, and he wouldn't want you to cry." She nudged her mother's neck, and Sohalia's sobs quieted to sniffles as she realized that her daughter had not listened to her request to stay behind the dunes, where she wouldn't have to see her father like this. What the Transcended didn't realize was that Vinati would always see him as he was - brilliant, strong, protective.
And as she watched, his ghost looked up into the sky. A gentle, warm light fell over him, and then he was ascending, lifting slowly and regally into the sky until he was gone.
A single tear fell from the filly's eye as she watched him go, but a faint smile lingered upon her lips.
Talk.
OOC :: Vinati will be taking one of Gaucho's and Vorsa's feathers, as well as the rose left to her as Odd stated.
08-29-2016, 09:03 PM (This post was last modified: 08-29-2016, 09:23 PM by Sikeax.)
Sikeax,
She is failing. Hobgoblin has long given up on telling her that Gaucho is no longer a cause to believe in, that she should let go and let him go. It’s not even like they don’t have the means to do it. Death’s fruit lingers everywhere, even in his jaws. Everything is a mean's to an end as far as he is concerned.
Yet in the last days, time spent near Gaucho when Sikeax is trying to aid him in his final days, Bella taken away with her father, he comes to feel some sort of pity for the man. No one deserves it, and yet there was Sikeax, desperate to give him some sort of length in this world.
In this time, it is that they become distant, pushed far from each other, only coming together and sharing one another's happiness when Bella, Cera and Ilaria are with them, smiling, playing, enjoying that sweet feeling of being a family.
During the night, together at last, they take short moments to swim and dive, to leave the pain of the Dragon's Throat in a silent truce between the two of them to relieve each other of pain. Their garden grows in the slow, harsh way that it does for two soul like themselves.
By morning, they are the property of the desert again, herbs clutched tight in her lips and silence in his. Food warms their stomaches. Heat is making them desire sleep, and without words, it can be said that they share a joint-agreeance in sleeping in the shade together, for the first time in a long time.
This morning is not the one that they want it to be. She is expecting Gaucho to be sleeping in the shade, Hobgoblin expecting him to be degrading futher and further into the zombie that he had recently grown accustomed to addressing him as.
Instead, upon entering the oasis, they are welcomed with a plume of rising fire, leaping into the air in only a way that reminds of her when she had so many tears in her eyes and was running away for sanctuary, looking for somewhere that will overlook the horrors she and her family had been stamped with without having done any of them.
Or maybe she was just blind to them, too young to know.
Life ignites in her joints. What was once sleep and fatigue is now replaced by energy and panic, driving her forward, leaving a heap and scattered, short trail of herbs behind her. Hobgoblin is closely beside.
At first sight, it would have been rude but typical of Hobgoblin to bring claim to the fact that all along he was right about Gaucho's coming death, but this is not the typical moment. Sikeax is crushing him. She is so quiet that one cannot hear the breathing still manages to carry on despite her held breath, still like she is made of stone. A thousand thoughts rush through her head. I failed.
"Zombie dying. Not fault."
I couldn't do anything for him.
"Too far gone."
She can't bare to stare anymore. Something inside of her is ripping to shreds, screaming, wailing, begging for redemption.
There is only one way. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him." is all that she can offer them as they weep over Gaucho's now corpse, lying in the sand and no longer burning, the final statement that he is not with them anymore. The last words she'll ever say as the Dragon's Throat's Sun Physician, savior of the weak and dying, rescuer of newborn foals, the one who couldn't keep the Wildfire that burned so vibrantly within the throat of the southern dragon going.
OOC: Goblin is actually going to steal a few of Vorsa's feathers after Sia takes off running. She's just standing off to the side watching all of it. talk
Gaucho had chosen to bless his progeny rather than himself when the God of the Sun gave him the choice, and so while it was not the duty of the deity to protect Gaucho from mortality or to cure his ailments, the God would grieve with the rest of them. Gaucho had been the first one the God had ascended, and the former Sultan had led the Dragon's Throat well for many, many seasons. But, as Gaucho himself would have known, for those who lead, their time for grief is often compressed. In the wake of Megaera's disappearance from her post and with the death of the Wildfire, the Sun God's mind was forced to think of the future of his herd, rather than to dwell on the past.
In a pillar of fire, the Sun God appeared next to the un-burning body of Gaucho. His molten eyes surveyed those who had come to say their goodbyes to the dun, and he offered each of them a sad smile. He too would miss Gaucho, for the dun had served him dutifully since his time arriving in Helovia.
"We have lost a great warrior and leader today." The God began, his voice strong yet sombre as he regarded those who had gathered around him on the reddish sands. "Today Gaucho takes his place in the sky, where he will look upon this herd forever, and where we may look to remember him." The God's antelope horned skull lowered for a moment as he took a composed breath. Raising his eyes, he looked at those around him, searching for the one. For her.
"Megaera the Sunspear has been absent too long, as some of you have noticed. With Gaucho's passing it is time for a new leader to take charge of these sands. For years the Dragon's Throat has been commanded by warriors-" He thought of Kri and Leander, Midas, and Gaucho. Even Ampere and Sohalia's brief reigns were not wholly diplomatic, for both mares had been tested amply in battle. "-I ask for your trust now, for I have cared for these sands longer than even the longest memories can recall. Today I break the chain of warrior leads, and raise before you one who is no less strong than those who have proceeded her. She has lived on these sands longer than many of you, and has dutifully served her herd time and time again."
The God's burning but kindly gaze sought out the glowing-horned healer. "Sikeax. I call upon you now to forgo the healing arts that you have mastered, and instead to rule these lands." It was not a question, nor an offer. It was a commandment from the Sun God himself. But he was confident in her abilities, and his tone and posture revealed that.
08-29-2016, 09:35 PM (This post was last modified: 08-29-2016, 09:41 PM by Hector.
Edit Reason: Got post-sniped by Sun God xD Had to add in stuffs
)
Come ride with me through the veins of history.
I'll show you how God falls asleep on the job.
The stallion was napping in the shade after a patrol around the borders of the Throat, just to keep out of the heat. Veri hovered nearby, relaxing like his bonded next to him. It wasn't often that the mischievous boggart was quiet, but today was one of those rare days. The stallion's eyes had opened slightly just in time to see the flame pillar and the birds circling it. Fiery orange eyes widened and the stallion took off at a gallop, flapping large wings frantically. What was going on? Was it something with the Sun God? Either way, he felt he needed to be there. Finally taking to the air, he soared relatively low over the ground. Sikeax was racing ahead of him, and he continued to fly quickly after her towards the source of the fiery pillar.
What the stallion saw nearly caused him to fall out of the sky. As it was, he dropped a few feet in altitude. No... It couldn't be.. Not Gaucho. Not his friend. The massive stallion managed a wobbly landing, one that he should've been able to land steadily with his experience. His legs were barely able to support him as he slowly moved closer to the fallen body of the great stallion. The dun stallion's body no longer flamed, no longer moved with the stirrings of life. Gaucho was... dead. Wanting something to remember both Gaucho and his companion Vorsa by, he moved towards the fallen duo. Grabbing two of Gaucho's largest feathers from the edge of his left wing, the liver stallion gently tugged them out. He needed something to remember the great leader by, even when his body had gone. Looking towards Vorsa, he tucked Gaucho's feathers in his thick mane before reaching towards Vorsa's flame-colored wings intending to take two feathers from her as well. After tucking both sets of feathers securely in his mane, he watched Sikeax take off.
Dropping his head to touch Gaucho's neck one last time while closing his own eyes in a moment a silence, the stallion said a quick prayer for him to live on and watch over the Throat from above. Moving away from the fallen leader, Hector intended to take off after Sikeax when the Sun God suddenly appeared. The stallion stopped in his tracks before the God and bowed deep. His large wings were spread slightly as he bowed to the God he dutifully served. Ears flickered at the words that left the SUn God's mouth last. "I will support Sikeax's reign. Long Live Sikeax, Sultana of the Dragon's Throat!" He said, raising his voice loudly into the sky as he pulled himself from his bow. At his words, the stallion reared up and spread his wings wide, eyes looking towards his horned friend. He would support his friend always. He would back up any decree she made, be her loyal warrior that she could call on at any moment to aid her with something.
OOC: Had to edit xD Sun God post--sniped me xD
"blah blah"
• Dragon's Throat Rank Experience: Fortify | Level 3
• Permission given for moderate power play, magical influence and damage at all times
i'm like the end of a hitchcock movie; a little dark and a lot deceiving
Numb.
That was the only word for what Tae was feeling.
She had gotten her in time to see the fire erupt from her father's body and to see it hit the sands. And she was old enough now to know what the finality of it all meant. Her breath staggered inside of her small chest, and immediately her body lost all semblance of solidity. Tae's magic took hold and she stood wholly without form, looking like a ghost with wide, unbelieving eyes. At her sides were two large black wolves - one a hellhound. They were silent, like sentinels to guard the wispy girl as she looked on below.
The girl could scarcely make out the words, but then again she wasn't really trying to. She saw Sohalia fall at Gaucho's side, and her brows knit together. Tae had never seen her Father and the Transcended intimate before - such things were before her time, or hidden from her sight - and now it just seemed ... odd. She felt herself shutter slightly as her eyes narrowed, seeing but not understanding.
He was dead .. and they were just ... just .. standing around.
Tae swallowed hard, forcing the desire to scream at them to get away from her Father. But .. he wasn't her father anymore, was he? He was a sack of bones and meat, and though the girl desperately wanted to rush down the hill and collapse upon his marked form, she forced herself to be still. As the Sun God appeared, Tae was glad that she hadn't moved. She listened as the healer was called to replace her Father (why not her Mother? or Sohalia?) but kept silent about that too. Like Gaucho, Tae trusted the Sun God implicitly, even if her young face looked skeptical.
A single tear streaked down her ghostly cheek, and suddenly she wished for nothing more than for all those assembled below to just disappear so that she could say goodbye to her Father in peace.
Goodbye? Gaucho's death didn't seem real to her - not yet. There was no room for grief beneath the mounting anger she felt as she watched those who approached steal feathers from his corpse. Her tiny ears pinned against her skull as she watched this act bitterly.
Arakh has always thought there is something...eternal about his father.
It isn't just the fact that he is still too young to grasp the concept of death, that he has no reason to suspect there is anything other than life. He has seen his mother's lion hunt down deer and rabbits and eat their flesh when they stop moving, but he assumed that was just something that happened to other creatures. Not horses. And certainly not Ave.
He has come to the Throat to see his father, and there is a spring in his step like there always is. He comes and goes often, especially now his mother has slackened her grip somewhat and accepted that he needs to make his own way to the Throat and back without being smothered by her. He usually comes with Esinakh, but today he comes alone, keen to try out his newfound wings without his sister there to see his multiple faceplants. The colt is getting better, however, and his wings are growing stronger with every flight he takes. He can't go very high, or very fast, but his talent in the air has improved infinitely since his first shameful landing in the Throat's ocean.
When he enters the now-familiar territory of the Throat, he's rather surprised to see quite a gathering within its borders. He lands from his low glide and breaks into a trot, bull-horned head held high as he approaches the group of horses. Some of them, he knows, must be his brothers and sisters, but he has eyes only for his father, who lays slumped on the ground. Not moving. Not breathing. The colt's gaze narrows and he moves closer, wondering why his father is sleeping so soundly when there's so much going on. There's even a majestic stallion stood nearby who fits the description of the Sun God, and Arakh's eyes widen in awe.
But why does everyone look so...sad? The boy's brow furrows and he wanders ever closer, wondering why people are taking feathers from his father. That's a bit rude! What if he wakes up and attacks them? Nearer and nearer he gets, until the still and steady form of his sire is close enough to touch. "Ave wake up," he demands of his sire. The calf's muzzle extends to softly touch his father's hide, expecting to feel the gentle rise and fall of breath - but he feels nothing. Concern begins to bubble, but it isn't overwhelming; there must be an explanation. "Why Ave sleep here? Not safe for Ave to sleep here." He pokes the Wildfire's side again, suddenly alarmed by how cold it is. Gaucho was never cold. He was warm, and strong, and eternal, and why won't he wake up?
He looks around at everybody else gathered - he is just a small and insignificant addition to an already swelling crowd, but why is he the only one trying to wake his father? Are none of the others worried at all? "Why none of you try to wake Ave?" His gentle prodding grows more insistent, and he's really beginning to fret now because nobody sleeps this deeply. His eyes begin to burn but he doesn't know why, and he feels wet warmth trickle down his cheek - what can that possibly be? "Please wake up. Arakh need his Ave." This last sentence is spoken as a breathy whisper into his father's ear, whilst the colt's whole body begins to shudder and he falls to his knees beside the not-burning remains of the Wildfire.
Grusha could not pinpoint what, exactly, she had felt as she watched her father's body plumet toward the earth. She had a keen understanding of every living thing's mortality, but she had never thought of her father as mortal. He had been strong, ever burning, all seeing, nearly god-like in the eyes of his skeleton child. But there he was, on the sands of the Dragon's Throat, his flames extinguished.
Disbelief. It was disbelief that she was feeling.
She moved to stand quietly beside her sister and she watched as horses began together around the fallen Wildfire like vultures around a carcass. Disbelief gave way to anger as she watched them all stealing feathers from his and Vorsa's bodies. How dare they! How dare they! Grusha's flesh, in one swift motion, appeared to peel away and she stood there next to her ghostly twin, the two of them looking as if they were the harbingers of death overseeing the fall of the Wildfire.
"Why none of you try to wake Ave?"
Grusha watched the colt that was prodding at the Wildfire's body, trying in vain to wake him. "Stupid." She thought, and she had half a mind to shout at him right then that his Ave was dead. More than anything, she wanted that colt to back away from her father and she wished that she had one of the bones Nashoba liked to play with to throw at him. Instead she used her magic to drag Gaucho's head an inch or so toward the colt and hoped that the movement would make him back away.
But she didn't stay focused on Arakh for long. Not while she had Tae, who was more important than anyone else who had gathered. She turned her skeletal face toward her sister in time to see the tear run down her cheek. Grusha reached forward and brushed the tear away with her muzzle, but remained silent.
"."
ooc://
standing with tae, watching everyone. she used her magic to make gaucho's head move.
His parents were nowhere to be found, searching the depths of this world for his sister. Asaavi was gone, Mordecai was keeping her distance, and the twins were gods knew where. His family was in shambles.
Nizho had never felt so alone in his life as he flew across the water toward his desert homeland.
Fire caught his eye, and the sound of crashing against sand. Panic made his heart race and slam against his chest, his wings swallowing air and pushing him forward quickly. What is happening!? He wondered, legs tucking in close to his belly as he flew, trying to make himself faster and faster. Gunmetal eyes settled finally on the dead body of the Sultan, and some members of his herd crowded around them. Cloven hooves touched the sand and Nizho moved in slowly, head lowering. Brown ears tipped back into his ombre mane, tail tucking tight into his hindquarters.
Gaucho was dead, and before them the Sun God materialized and announced a new leader in his stead.
Nizho frowned. This was a disaster here in these lands. Gaucho was his mother's idol, his father's friend (or long lost, distant cousin). Gaucho was supposed to be here forever, ascended by the Sun himself. Nizho felt angry beneath his breast, and sorrow filled his eyes. This was wrong. Where was his mother? Where was his father? His siblings? He snorted, cloven toes digging into the sand and his eyes averted from the scene.
Colfire eyes moved around and Nizho caught sight of the wispy, ghastly frame of Tae and her brutish sister. Tucking his dark wings in, the colt moved toward them. He placed himself on the side of Tae, one of her wolves between them, and Grusha on the other side. Seeing the grief, the single tear rolling down her ghost cheek, made his anger dissipate. His friend needed him.
"Vod chafaan." He whispered, lowering his head some and closing his speckled eyes.
Vastra got her first lesson in life and death from Gaucho and on this day, when she watched the pillar of fire burst into the sky, she received another. Death could happen to them - the horses and pegasi of the Throat and not just the birds and little animals she discovered in her explorations. The small red filly was drawn forward like the others though she shies away from the crowd, lingering just outside with her dark brown eyes burning holes through the bodies that blocked her full view of the corpse.
She never got confirmation on whether this was her father or not. And now he was gone, gone where the bird had gone - to the great plains in the sky where they could not return from.
Her young brain is fuzzy, trying to wrap around the sadness she felt and the depth of the sadness of those around her - wondering if she should be as sad as some of the others. She hadn’t known that the Wildfire was their Sultan, didn’t know that it was the Sun God who came down to speak to them and name a successor. He had been a magician to her, someone who had dazzled her with his magic and his firebirds.
None of this actually felt real to her - she didn’t actually believe that there was no returning from the great plains. He would find his way back to them, to the herd.
Finally working up her courage, Vastra slunk through the crowd to stand near the body, near one of the great wings that were no longer on fire. “Vod chafaan” she whispered to him before scrambling forward - taking a mouthful of feathers with her (though she only sought to take one, she took several instead) - and then hurrying away from the crowd. Away from the vaguely familiar faces and all of the strangers and the body of someone that was the closest thing to a friend that the young girl had.
Said goodbye to you, my friend, as the fire spread.
all that's left are your bones that will soon sink like stones.
08-31-2016, 11:54 AM (This post was last modified: 08-31-2016, 12:49 PM by Tamme.)
A SECOND FLAME HAS RISEN, ONE FROM THE COLD AND DARK aithniel
Aithniel returned to her home, intending to find it like it always was. She had ventured across the world in search of herself and instead found Gaucho. Together, they had tangled in the flames, burned each other with their powers and experienced what she had only dreamed of for most of her young life. He was her idol - a god-like figure on a pedestal to be honored and admired. One day, she wanted to be like him; be powerful and revered. Every action she performed, she wanted to honor him and her father, the only two powerful beings in her life currently.
The sun was setting overhead by the time she landed in the sands, her belly full of life given to her by Gaucho. She hadn't expected to be with child again, but she was honored to be the vessel in which his seed took root. Was it not perfect? That her idol was the one to give her this gift? That she could continue to serve him even now with life to carry on his line. Aithniel knew he had other children, but she liked to think that this one would be special. She was the child of the sun god and he was the god's favored servant.
Was it not fitting that they would have this opportunity?
Aithniel saw a commotion in the distance and jogged toward the crowd, her sides rounder than before. She saw Gaucho, just laying there in the sand as his breath came in short bursts. She saw his companions tangled in his antlers and the bright flames begin to dim. Her heart stopped in her chest, but she held her head high, not allowing a single tear to develop in her stony, silver eyes.
Instead, she stood back with her cloven hooves firmly planted and watched without wavering until his flames finally went out. Aithniel grit her teeth together, scowling as the vultures picked at his body and weak-willed mares poured their hearts out at his death. Seeing him like this, prone and dead was not fitting. She strode forward then easily and snatched two of his feathers, one for her and one for her child.
Then, she looked around. "Unless any disagree, I am going to send him into the world beyond in the same manner in which he lived: on fire," she said firmly, looking to her father for guidance. Aithniel summoned the flames before her, making a halo of light around their fallen king.
i'm like the end of a hitchcock movie; a little dark and a lot deceiving
Tae watched as her twin made their Father's head move. A smile tried to push its way onto her lips but failed miserably, offering only a muffled sob in its wake. The mandible-marked filly swallowed hard, pressing her wings tightly against herself as if to comfort the feeling of abandonment she felt inside.
As Nizho landed near her, a breath of light seemed to fall across the girl's grieving heart. She turned to look at him, long lashed moiste with tears. She blinked once in acknowledgement and nodded her marked head ever so slightly. Even that act felt devastating, for hadn't she just acknowledged to another that her Father had died? That he was gone?
Tae might have remained where she was a while longer, had it not been for Aithniel. The daughter of the Sun God held a place of reverence in Tae's mind, for, like her Father, she had pledged her allegiance to the Sun and all that he stood for and all that he had created. That she was planning on burning her Father's body didn't worry the ghostly girl - if anything, it would make harvesting his bones that much easier: a sentiment she was sure her larger twin shared.
But to have nothing to remember him by? Even after those vultures below plucked him like a stuffed chicken?
Hells no.
Without a word, Tae and her black companions raced down the dune towards her Father's body. Her form disappeared almost entirely, and she looked like nothing more than a whisp of smoke that had taken the shape of a pegasus.
"Not yet-" She breathed as she moved by Aithniel. Tae had planned on just grabbing what she wanted - what she needed - but as she neared her Father's body, now looking pathetically mortal rather than the fiery god she had always thought of him as, she balked. Her step hitched and she came to a grinding halt before him, tears staining her ghostly cheeks. "Ave-" She whispered, blinking the salty smears from her pale gaze. With a repressed sob that got caught deep in her Throat, Tae reached out with her magic. She plucked feathers from her Father's impressive wings, pulled the bone from his nose, the antlers from his skull, the shoes from his hooves, and the dagger at his side. After a moment's consideration, she lifted the body of Mara and Vorsa as well, trying to magically juggle the assortment of trinkets she was now trying to control.
Without a glance towards any present, Tae turned, retreating back to her sister. Her wolf and hellhound eye the crowd, ready to attack should any try and stop her.
Tae grabs Mara and Vorsa's body, and some of Gaucho's things using her magic then goes back to stand with Nizho and Grusha.
08-31-2016, 12:34 PM (This post was last modified: 08-31-2016, 12:35 PM by Maren.)
BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
The day was filled with the hot blaze of summer, scorching the sands like it had its inhabitants throughout the season. But today there was pressure in the air, like she had been breathing an invisible silence since morning, as if she had been watching stormclouds above the ocean form and darken soundlessly and quietly. Maybe she had been able to see them roll into the mainland if she had been paying attention. Maybe if she hadn’t been dozing off in the sweltering shadows of the rocks she would have noticed the change sooner. Mr. Teatime was restless, swiping his tail from side to side as he sat guard around her, still like a statue, but, unlike her, eyes wide awake.
She felt Mr. Teatime stand up, his emotions pushing against her own thoughts, and she looked up right when Mr. Teatime walked back towards her - which she didn’t understood. Immediately, there was a flashing light, a blaze of more warmth that ruffled the air. The mare moved to see where it came from, the extra heat dancing around the feathers of her stretched out wings. For some reason she felt her heartbeat stagger when she saw the pillar of fire dooming into her vision. Gaucho’s flaming eagles? she thought to herself, confused. Was there a herd meeting? Yet, there usually wasn’t this fiery pillar… this fire that didn’t look quite like regular fire...
She moved without hesitation, like she would’ve done for every meeting, except now what she expected to see didn’t really match what would’ve been in her head. Equines and pegasi had assembled around as Maren had slowed her pace, hesitant and unsure about how the pressure she had felt had suddenly grown in depth and darkness, as if a sudden storm had fallen in their midst, except that storm wasn’t of rain and shadows, but in the form of a body. Gaucho. She could only think his name when she looked at his crimson lit body loved y the flames — the ones she had learned to also love watching, when they swung and twirled so eagerly, so playful — the ones on Gaucho’s feathered wings faded into a slow dancing rhythm, a sad melody, if there had been music playing, until they were merely starving flames, until they were mere cinders… until they were dead. Dead like the Sultan. (It could’ve actually gone really fast, but before her eyes it had played in slow motion). She didn’t stop to question what it could’ve been. She wasn’t a healer or a detective. For some reason she just thought it was old age, a body of a warrior done its course, even though she had never known how old he actually was. She only knew that he had served their herd as leader for a long, long time. He was ascended, so perhaps she was supposed to feel angry — supposed to feel strange that he was now dead. As if the God of the Sun had betrayed his life force. Yet, she knew, there was more than that — Perhaps it was only now, that he had truly found Ascension.
Peace.
There were whispers of voices around her, coming from ones that were heartbroken or simply terribly saddened. She realized she hadn't ever been apart of his language and neither had he ever heard of hers. It was like they had always been a parallel to each other, always, except that one time that she had decided to disapprove of the fire bridge. Looking back, she thought that had been rather random of her, out of place. He should’ve punished her for pretending to know better (even if she did). Damn, what had she even said to him? She regretted to think that it probably hadn’t been anything particularly nice. Yet, he had been so kind to her; promoted her, believed in her. He had always told her not to be afraid, hoped for her to see that the fires did not hurt. And although she did see truth in his words now, she had never truly understood why he couldn't have seen truth in her ravaging complaints as well.
She was thankful.
For she would remember him as forever stubborn, a Will of Fire. She would see him in her memories as the bulky mass of crimson, feathers and bones, with Mara lingering his antlers like heaven’s serpent circlet, while Vorsa followed in his footsteps like she had been the fiery stallion’s shadow, as if to make excuse for the shadow that should’ve been in the place of Gaucho’s halo of lighted flames. In the end, she decided that her first memory of him was the best one, where she had met him along the coast, promising him she would stay and gifting him her loyalty. She had’t had anything else. And perhaps he hadn’t realized it, but that day had meant a great deal to her. After all, she had given up her wandering life; the road of travel, to sit and preach to their Fiery Lord instead. She did not regret it, maybe felt even stronger in her duty now that she knew a familiar face next to her Gods’ up in the Clouds of Glory. Even if the future of their herd was now left shaken and uncertain, she had all the trust in the world that he would be there when things grow cold; a light in the dark, even now.
She heard a voice that she recognized as Sohalia’s, the mare that had been Sultana when she had first arrived here, years ago and, who she assumed were his children, had assembled close around him. She let them be from where she stood, a bit on the sideline; respectively keeping her head low, thinking of the memories she would now sherish like he had cherished them as she said goodbye.
At some point the God of the Sun came around, which she bowed her head for again in all respect she had. For some reason she wasn’t surprised he had come, after all; He had very much blessed Gaucho with many years of leadership. She listened to her God of Flames as he announced a new leader. A new Sultana. Sikeax. His fires blazed in confidence and Maren as well immediately understood that this was a right choice and she knew first had that Sikeax had been a part of the sands for way longer than her. Like her loyalty had lain with Gaucho and Megaera, it was now with their former healer as well.
The demi-goddess Aithniel had wandered into their midst, wishing to send him to the world beyond, as she called it. After she had gone and picked a feather, Maren nodded, knowing this was how it was supposed to be.
-cries- Gauchoooo
(alsososorry for probable mistakes in sentences, didn't check it >> need to eat)
As others began to arrive, Vinati watched in silence, her blue eyes solemn. Oddly, she wasn't nearly as distraught as many of the others. Of course, she had a certain gift - the ability to see and interact with ghosts - that meant that Gaucho could never truly be gone from her. Perhaps it would ease some of the hurting hearts surrounding her if they knew that the WildFire was still with them in a way, would continue to watch over them from the plains above their world, the very spirit land that her father had so recently explained to her.
Sohalia had stiffened, her tears quieting when she realized that her youngest daughter had followed her to see her father's corpse. As she had realized that others approached, the Transcended had risen, stepping back as though in a trance. To Vinati, it seemed that she had done so against her will. The ivory dove wore a stony expression, her eyes filled to the brim with pain and regret. The girl didn't - couldn't - fathom the reasoning behind the mare's distaste. She didn't understand that her mother wanted time alone to grieve, time to come to terms with Gaucho's death. She couldn't understand the burden that Sohalia had taken upon herself, as though somehow this was her fault. As if maybe, if she hadn't been unfaithful, if she hadn't left in the first place, she might have prevented this.
In any case, the Transcended stood back, and Vinati moved with her, though her mother barely seemed to notice. Looking around, the girl noticed that Verro lingered still. Verro was her friend (and, as she would learn one day, her half-sister) and Vinati hated to see her so sad. She had just moved to join her sibling when suddenly a great being who could only be the fabled God of the Sun appeared, proclaiming their loss and selecting Sikeax as the new Sultana. It all meant little and less to the months-old filly, though she watched the flaming god with a worshipful gaze. He had blessed her father, who had then passed on his love of the Sun to her.
Verro's movement captured her attention after a moment, and she realized that the girl had gently taken one of their father's feathers as a memento. (That actually wasn't a bad idea, even though Vinati knew that her father wasn't gone forever. She would miss him terribly until she saw him again.) When she had again stepped back, Vinati approached to try and nudge Verro's shoulder gently. "He'll always be watching over us," she whispered to the other filly in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.
Moments passed, the flurry of activity around them reaching uncomfortable levels for the little sand princess, who had always preferred relative solitude over this. When a pretty, light-colored hybrid with dark points spoke up, Vinati's attention shifted only because her mother's did. Sohalia's head snapped to the side, her mouth pressing into a thin line. She didn't seem pleased that the stranger wanted to burn Gaucho's body. Vinati didn't understand. It didn't matter. Ave was gone, watching over them from above. He didn't need his body anymore.
When Tae bounded forward to gather some of Gaucho's belongings, Vinati noticed that he still had the crystalline rose that she had made for him tucked behind his ear. As her half-sister removed the stallion's magical antlers, Vinati watched her creation fall to the sand. A lump grew in her throat - didn't Tae know how special the rose was?! - and her lips trembled slightly. Suddenly she realized how long it would be until she would really see her father again, and it seemed like far too long a time. She leapt forward too, gathering the rose and her own feather in silence before returning to a place between her mother and Verro. A quiet exchange with Sohalia left the flame-colored comb situated behind Vinati's ear, though she would have to be careful with it until she was older and had more mane in which to place it.
It was all she had left of Gaucho.
Later, she would wrap her prized feather in crystal, complete with a hole towards the end so that she could string it onto a necklace one day. She had taken one of the smaller feathers, thinking it more practical than one of Gaucho's massive primaries. Sohalia, too, stepped forward to gently pull a feather from the stallion's wing, pausing to stare at him sadly. She seemed like she might speak for a moment, but then just shook her head and stepped away, tears swimming in her bicolored eyes. Vinati leaned against her side, offering her quiet support. It was easier for her, since she had seen Gaucho's spirit, knew that his ghost would come to visit. But she still couldn't help the sadness that she felt as she watched her father's body go up in flames.
I am HOME. I have been gone for far to long. I needed to go, to rediscover myself and why I had even come to Helovia to begin with. I had come as a child, lost and afraid. Having just lost my own parents, I was not the picture of a perfect childhood. I had been taken in, only to leave and come to where I had felt was truly home, here in the Throat. It is here, that I have felt like I was among family. There has been ups and downs, as many families. But the biggest thing, was that everything we did was to the glory of the Sun.
The morning is bright, unusually so. Then again I have been gone for a while. But I don't think anything of it at first. Not until the rush of light. My golden eyes widen as a pillar of fire, circled by three flaming eagles shoots toward the heavens. Something is wrong. Very very wrong. I can feel my body chill, even though it is extremely warm on this TallSun day. I fly faster, pushing my wings to take me to the pillar as fast as I can. I can see others going the same way as I am. To what, well I wish I had not found out...
As I descend, I just stare. This can not be happening. My arrival, he can't be... Not when i'm just coming home... I move to stand by Hector, as I vaguely remember him from a herd meeting once upon a time. I watch, completely numb as more and more step forward and take things from the dun stallion I had looked up to for so long. Some took feathers, others took items. I, I on the other hand just stand there locked into the my own private sadness. Never again would I walk next to the Sultan heating the sands with our magics. Never again, would I watch him protect our family time and time again...
I see the God of the Sun, and as he speaks I bow. I react much like Hector did beside me. My wings extend just slightly to keep my balance. But words just do not find my lips right now as I grieve. I grieve truly, for the first time in my life. Gaucho was gone. Just like my parents. I had looked up to him like a Father, like I had Elsa as a mother. I need to find her. I think then, of my friend who's face is not among the crowd gathered. Ranjiri, I had left without telling her. But the only reason she would not be here is that she no longer calls the Throat home. So I move forward and gently pull a long feather from his left wing, and pick up a feather on the ground that had dropped from Vorsa. I tuck them into my mane, and make a note to find my friend as quickly as possible. I return to Hector's side, my body trembling as my emotions threaten to take over.
"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in."
Please Tag Amani in All Posts
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Amani at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing her.
More came, but the Sand Princess did not budge from her place at her father's side. Lilac orbs fixated on his chilling hide as the warmth gradually left him, the fires on her wings dimmed with her emotions, the white flames dulled to almost embers upon her pale feathers. She didn't wish others would go away, and leave her and her siblings (who she assumed were the ones painted in various shades of dun and magic) to mourn in silence, have a quiet time to reflect on the short and long spans which they had known him for. There is a touch of bitterness, that they had gotten to know him in whatever capacity, and that she and Tasokh would never ever get the chances they had, the time which they had been granted.
The attention of a grullo colt with Horns reminiscent of the creatures in the stories her mother told her, far off shores where hulking brutes with misshapen bodies lurked in the shadows. Her heart went out to him, as he descended into a fretful attempt to try and wake up their father. The flame wreathed filly is interrupted by Vinati, the gentle touch on her shoulder soothed her somewhat, and her head curled to gently bump her nose against her sibling's neck. "He gone though," she mumbled quietly as she tried to rein in her tears, "I'll have to wait forever to see pa again."
Assured that Vinati would be fine without her at her side, after all, she had her mother with her, Verro stepped forward to the larger colt and her wing reached out to try and touch her shoulder. "Ave gone." It wasn't much comfort, but he couldn't wake Gaucho up, not the sun nor the stars could bring him home from the herdlands in the sky. Her wing is replaced by her muzzle, a soft bump she had given to Vinati now reaching for her brother's neck. "Ave is not going to wake up, need to be strong now."
One of the larger dun fillies rushed forward, and it drew both the attention of herself and Vinati it seemed. She pulled and poked the trinkets from his body and she felt a lump of her own grow in her throat, a small shard of anger flared in her bones and the flames on her body burned brighter for it. The girl said nothing though, her voice barely worked as it was.
She barely notices or spares a thought for the flaming God which appears, she's too young and too caught up in trying to help her fellow sibling out. Too numb to realize that they were going to burn her father's body once the other's had taken what they wanted. When she's older, she would realize it was a fitting end to a stallion who had given his life to the flames, whose heart itself was a great roaring blaze which burned for his loved ones and family. For now, it's the furthest thing from her mind, and an horrifying idea in the forgotten parts of her mind.
08-31-2016, 11:30 PM (This post was last modified: 08-31-2016, 11:31 PM by Ampere.)
I'm weak when you miss me.
when you roll me on your tongue
Slumber stirred to wakefulness as the day unfolded and the desert bloomed into life. Blue eyes shifted behind dark lids, lashes fluttering tightly against a bright flash that washed a dim red over the field of her dreams. Burned, the image of sleep broke away as Ampere awoke. She stirred slowly at first, not yet conscious of what had roused her or the significance it carried. Casually she stretched onto her sternum, extending first one foreleg, then the other and wiped the sand from her eyes as the rest pushed around her hooves.
With a grunt she rose to her feet and shook of the red grains that clung eagerly to her coat. She moved at an amble across the desert plains, grabbing at what leaves she could find, always working towards the oasis as she went, thirst an inevitable need. Around her more and more horses became active, and like a faint buzzing you're able to ignore until it persists, so was Ampere's growing awareness that something was askew. Kygo, the green parrot diving on the thermals above her, noticed it too. The horses were bustling, but more than she remembered. Their chatter was dissonant and haunting, and she found herself inexorably drawn towards them, her pace quickening with every denizen that passed her.
Bustling, she crested a dune to the oasis shore, her child-swollen sides heaving back and forth with excess energy even as she stopped short. A cry might have leapt from her parted lips if not for the fact her throat ran suddenly dry that it hurt. There, before her among the sands and the amassed herd, was Gaucho.
Except, that wasn't Gaucho.
Ampere unfailingly recognized him, well accustomed to the slopes of his flesh be they above or below her, but this had to be someone that just looked like Gaucho, because everything else was decidedly not him.
She moved forwards, stiff legged and unblinking as she stared. It wasn't Gaucho, because that horse that was on the ground was something weak and defeated, whereas the Gaucho she knew had such unyielding strength that it was terrifyingly intimating in as much as it was inspiring.
She was pressing closer to the throng, eyes burning with saline and feathers bristled to their very edges.
If that was Gaucho, then why did he not burn with the passion of the Sun and the light of his encompassing heart? The horse she was looking at now was cold and unburnt, devoid of anything remarkable that flames could roar into existence for.
She shouldered her way into the crowd, stopping just before her hooves scuffed his neck.
It couldn't be Gaucho... those items were obviously fakes, those markings just berry stains... those scars were just mocks and those corpses of companions were an obvious farce made out of clay. This wasn't Gaucho, this wasn't Gaucho, this wasn't Gaucho...
"Sikeaxe."
She didn't speak; her throat was closed in on itself. Tears ran freely down her face, carving silver against her black cheeks, magnifying the electric blue of her gaze which had gone utterly sullen with grey steel today.
"Sikeaxe," she intoned again, barely more than a squeak. The word seemed to exhaust her because them her flanks trembled as a quiet sob racked through her body. Ampere closed her eyes, pushing out the grief that welled in them. She clenched her teeth, the click of enamel an audible snap above the rest of the disquiet.
"SIKEAXE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HEAL HIM!" In a flash Ampere's gaze was alight and turned upon the healer made queen. In her spot Ampere quivered, like an arrow strung in its bow and ready to loose, her stare the sharpened edge of the flint head. "HEAL HIM DAMN YOU! CAN'T YOU SEE HE NEEDS YOU NOW!?"
Through her grit the anguish continued to come, a sterling stream that blurred her vision. "How dare you take his crown, when you haven't even tried!" Her ears sunk and her lips peeled back an ugly sneer across her teeth, exposing their weathered edges. All around her blue sparks began to gather, popping and snarling into form from the remnants of old life churned in the sands.
"Get up," she said lowly, dangerously, to the bay body there at her hooves.
"Get up I said!" she yelled suddenly, her wings flaring with an arc of angry lightning. Her head whipped down, snapping at a clump of his mane and jerking back forcefully on it. "You never give up!" she seethed, words forced between her teeth and the black hair therein. "Why would you stop fighting now!? Don't give up, FIGHT DAMN YOU!" She made to tug again, but the weight of his body seemed to drag her down instead as she bowed against her knees beside him, her head and neck slung over his flesh nearest her, wet sobs spreading staining him with salt.
"Please get up," she begged of his hairs as her exhale whispered into them. She breathed in, a racking, wheezing sound of despair, and she writhed at the fresh scent of him that her inhale drug in. How dare he still smell of heat and sweat and dry ocean breezes when he was like this - gone. Even his skin still felt warm the longer she laid on him, though it was a fading heat far more reminiscent of an ember than the Wildfire he had been.
Death is the final stage, the sweeping darkness after years and years of all too much (happiness, love, pain, suffering)— it's a part of life that none can avoid, that you cannot run from. And there is no choice, it's an inevitable finale to a grand (or mediocre) life that one must learn to accept, you cannot fight it (why would you want to?). Somewhere within me I yearn for the embrace of death, the release of my suffering, the freeing of my soul and releasing of all of my burdens— what a cruel dream.
And I have just created another thread, another length of yarn to be warily cut one day, unwillingly made at the hands of an uncontrollable child woman and her irresponsibility. I am not in control of myself (is there even a way to control it at all?)— and Val is the result of that, an unwilling participant of Life. I wish (just as she does) that she'd never come to live, that my inability to care for myself had simply corrupted and ended the life planted within me. Or perhaps my mother's cursed womb could have been gifted to me, and I (and the child) could have slipped from this world's grasp easily, weightlessly drifted into the day and never again look behind us.
But that is not the way things happened, and we are still here, side by side (for once)— witnessing the fall of a man neither knew anything of. He is blazing and glorious one moment, and cold, dead— the next. Val is silent, but I can feel the tense of her body as she gazes towards the collapsed man and the crowd he draws. Neither of us have any particular reason to approach, no need to take our time to mourn a stranger, but it is not the dead warrior who catches my eye, but the body nearby.
I want to call out to her, to shout and cry because I do not deserve her endless kindness, how she has kept Val safe and performed a task I never could (I cannot look back on my mistakes)— she has filled the hole I have left, trying to mentally piece myself back together ("I have to be strong for you, for her, for us.") in hopes of regaining her favour. I just want her acceptance, her smile, the unrealistic dream of love has been cast aside in favour of being whole. So I work towards it, grueling days of trying to make myself appreciate the sand beneath my hooves and the clouds above my head, the rain as it pattered against my worn feathers and soaked my braided hair. Sameira was always there, sometimes only mentally, but sometimes I'd feel the comforting brush of a damp nose and feel in the deepest parts of my being that things will be better soon enough (I hope).
But things are not alright, and the storm has arrived in full force— there's a body in the Throat, melting away beneath the harsh rays and I can see Sikeax there, my legs are taking me to her before I can even register where I'm going. Sameira and Val pursue me, both quiet and on edge as Sameira hears the commotion and Val lets her ears fall back, gazing into the crowd.
We enter quietly, unnoticed by all. Who would know of me anyway? I do so little here, a ghost of the night rather than a fully functioning member of society— and Val, perhaps she will be recognized for having wandered at Sia's side for so long (a side she'd much rather cling to). Even Sameira and her blazing body should go unnoticed as her flames are dim, more out of fear of having eyes drawn to her rather than out of respect (who is this man?). I find my way to Sia's side, watching as Val immediately recognizes her (how?) and takes her place right next to her, as though she's missed being at her side more than she's enjoyed being at mine.
I'm not hurt (yes I am), just a little surprised she's so eager to jump to Sia. Why not stay here with me? But I let her go, heart plummeting and stomach churning at she leaves my grasp for a woman so much more capable and caring, one who's tentative and present.
Fire billows before us, a chaotic swirl of brilliant colours and blinding light that has me averting my eyes, Val's harsh gasp catches my attention as she lets her mouth hang open. I can see her whisper something to Sia ("What— who is it?"), and then turn her head back to the god before us, standing golden and valiant before a silent audience. I think everyone's holding their breath, awaiting his words as he takes his time to gaze down upon the Wildfire's body and offer us all a sympathetic smile.
I listen to him, my eyes widening as he goes on and on about the lack of diplomacy the past leaders of the Throat had, his fiery eyes settling upon Sikeax— it was her. She was the new leader, the new sultana of the Throat. The man before us was dead, and this god was now offering (or giving, I don't think it's an offer she can refuse even if she wanted to) her a high position, a new title for all of Helovia to know. My smile cracks wide as I turn to her, thrilled that my (friend? partner? enemy? acquaintance?) has been given a wonderful, hard earned title.
But she seems all but thrilled, and it doesn't get better. The light in her eyes dims, and her radiance and presence begins to fall apart, her facade that she so keenly keeps up. Reaching for her with a need to comfort her, my muzzle extends towards her shoulder, hesitant to do so considering her responses to me and my shitty existence. It's unfortunate that the moment doesn't last, for a woman comes rushing forward, crackling with overwhelming fear— my eyes are drawn to her immediately, jaw clenched as turns her attention from the corpse to Sikeax, bellowing in her frustrations, in her inability to accept the inevitable. My response is almost immediate, my wings envelope Sia before I even know what I'm doing, a wing tossed over her back (if she remains) while one shields her in front, an attempt to keep her somewhere safe. I look at the woman who wallows upon the sands beside the cold and stiff body, witnessing the madness of loss— the madness that I'd been consumed in for all too long, far too many times.
I look down upon her and my ears draw back, but I do not speak to her, instead turning to Sia. "I'm sorry, please don't listen to her. I know you tried your best, and sometimes your best just isn't enough. It's okay. None of this was your fault, it's okay. You're going to be a great sultana, okay? Things will work out." I coo, the words soft and sweet despite the harsh rumble in my throat and the anger bubbling inside. But I won't offer the electric woman any of my words, I shouldn't even be offering her my attention, I should forget about her as she clings to the bay body in desperation.
It isn't I who steps forward, (or anyone for that matter) but Val, with her little chest puffed up and her head held high, hollow eyes settled on the weeping woman. "Don't you dare put this on Sikeax, you pitiful shit. Death is not something you can keep away with magic, it's not a reversible state— so suck it up and accept that there's nothing anyone can do for him. He's dead, so stop weeping on the ground like a pathetic child and get up. No amount of you sobbing will bring him back to life, and no amount of you blaming others for his death will do you any good either." Her words are cold, harsher than any child's ever should be— she sounds distant and frustrated, endlessly tired for a child of nearly six months.
"Words" = amara talking "Words" = val talking
@Sikeax is the only one she speaks directly to (other than val speaking to sia & ampere)
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[O] Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. [death]
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