"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.
10-30-2016, 12:36 AM (This post was last modified: 10-30-2016, 12:36 AM by Myrrine.)
Myrrine
She always came here when she couldn't think clearly. The heather was like aromatherapy as it swayed against her knees. She remembered a time when the stalks had been up to her shoulders. Looking out in the sunset she could only sigh, letting the memories fill her mind of all the times she had come here in hopes of finding happiness. More times than not she had, but now that she thought of who was with her in those happy moments made her heart mourn for what she didn't have. Cerin was like a whisper on the wind, calling sweet nothings that teased her in her dreams; causing her to awake with hope in her eyes that he had finally returned to her. And then she could also only think of her gentle giant Vincent; the man who had nearly screamed upon their first meeting when she was but a child.
He too, was now gone; and where he was she couldn't possibly fathom. She could only pray to the Gods that Archibald was aware of where he might be. A flock of birds scattered a few feet from her, causing only a mild bat of her eyes in acknowledgement before her attention was back to the colored horizon. How beautiful and serene it really could be, even when you were at the lowest point of your life. Which was where Myrrine was at right now. But she didn't want to think about that; because that meant she had failed herself along with her daughter who she hadn't seen in months. The beautiful butterfly-child had most likely left her be because she hadn't really been a mother anyway; how could she claim to be now when her child was nearly grown. Snorting, she wondered if she should try to fly again like old times sake. This was where she had tried the act for the first time; not too long after she had discovered she now had wings she could use.
As she lined up to prepare for take off she couldn't help but also think about how she had acquired the beautiful striped wings in the first place. It was now like a haze in her mind as her black legs were carrying her swiftly forward, but it was still something she could never forget. Leaving Mother for only a little while, chasing after some woodland creature she wanted to play with. Looking back at it now her jaded maturity wanted to bitterly laugh at younger Myrrine, to tell her she was stupid for being so happy about the most minuscule of things. Because at the end of the day they were truly meaningless. Had she not decided to chase something, to wander so far away; she wouldn't have come across the portal that ultimately changed her life forever. She would have still had Mother, would have lived the life as just a normal equine, and then she wouldn't have met Quilyan and given herself away to him like a slut that resulted in something she didn't-
She stopped her train of thought before it could continue. This resulted in her losing concentration just as she had been about to take off; causing her to lose balance in midair and crash down into the grasses below. Although it wasn't too bad of a fall, she still had managed to scuff up a few knees and the left side of her cheek. But this was the last thing on her mind as the tears were falling effortlessly; mixing with dirt and blood and making her look quite the mess. Her heart hurt, she was crying loudly and gasping for breath with each sob that wracked her dainty frame. It didn't stop, and she didn't know when it would, and all she could do was wail into the ground and murmur to herself again and again:
"I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry..."
"Speak"
the butterfly is proof that great darkness can create great beauty
11-28-2016, 10:46 PM (This post was last modified: 11-28-2016, 10:46 PM by Graasvoel.)
graasvoel
Massive wings flapped. He had been soaring on the thermals that rose from the mountains’ sun-warmed earth, but as the sunset, so did the warmth that created the warm air’s rise. So his vast spread of tawny, ivory, and black feathers cupped the rapidly cooling air as his heavy mass slowly sank down towards the earth. His raptor gaze of red and yellow sharpened on a high, flat field that was blanketed in lilac heather—mostly dried this late in the season. But he could smell it even this high in the sky; his dark nostrils flared and sides expanded as he sank lower, lower.
But attention was drawn from the pleasurable scent by a flutter of scintillating wings. His head cocked slightly as a flail of legs and wings and grasses met his searching eyes. A quick, adjustment of his wings brought his heavy landing closer to the commotion (but his body was so large and giant that making any fine adjustments was difficult). Large hooves crushed the heather beneath them, releasing a newly pungent perfume.
Though his eyes remained trained on the spotted, feminine body (his mind made quick work to that realization) that lay still on the ground—but not entirely still. Pale ears catch the loud sobs and wailed words that rustled through the upturned, dried grass.
He paused for a moment—how ready were his shoulders to be cried on? He rolled them, despite the metaphorical nature of his thoughts; they were pretty ready. Especially for a beautiful woman. So his tawny, feathered limbs took him in slow, heavy steps to the weeping woman.
“I didn’t think I’d meet a vision, today,” his rough voice rumbled as his wings tucked loosely along his thick sides. His head dropped to her level, tufted beard brushing the earth, as his sharp eyes took in the tears and the scuffed knees. Despite her disheveled appearance and mournful keens, the vulture could find the pleasant beauty that hovered beneath her tears.
“What’s troubling a lovely lady like you?” His gruff question was honest and genuine—though it would be a lie to say that he wouldn’t have spared this much attention on a stallion, or less alluring mare.
the vulture feeds while it can until there's no trace left of man
She wanted it all to stop. The throbbing pain in her head and on the cuts seeping blood from her knees, and she couldn't think of any way of releasing the stress other than the loud sobs that left her soft lips. She was dizzy and mentally drained, ready to pass out in the mess of her broken heart and mind until someone landed behind her. His words were what brought her upright; not enough to fully stand, but just so she could look in his direction. She hadn't expected him to come so close to her face, causing it to grow warm at such sudden intimacy as she tried to pull back on her disheveled legs. It took her a moment before finally she wasn't awkwardly fumbling, and her eyes watching him cautiously as she wondered just where she should go next with his question. She supposed being simple would have to do.
"Everything," she croaked out softly, voice hoarse and eyes continuing to brim with tears. They didn't fall yet, and she was thankful for it, as she let hazel eyes study this man's surprisingly stark features. He was definitely muscular, and she couldn't help but note that he was indeed handsome; not in the way Quilyan was, but in a more... brutish manner. Yet even as she thought of this it wasn't at all in a sexual way, because despite what her previous encounter implied, Myrrine was one of the least promiscuous creatures you would find. And so as this stallion seemed to study her with different thoughts in mind, she was simply observing for the sake of sizing up who she was dealing with. Maybe when she had been younger she could trust strangers, but she was a big girl now; and had learned quite quickly that not all strangers were friendly.
She wondered which kind of stranger this one would be.
"Talk."
the butterfly is proof that great darkness can create great beauty
11-29-2016, 01:49 PM (This post was last modified: 11-29-2016, 01:50 PM by Graasvoel.)
graasvoel
As the spotted mare scrambled backwards, away from his intruding and inquiring face, he sighed slightly. He paused to watch her fumble for a moment, before slowly raising his head and taking a half-step backwards; perhaps this butterfly-winged woman did not need a shoulder to cry on or a knight. His pale ears remained perked as he caught the croaked answer to his question: “Everything.”
His brows rose, black-marked face tilting slightly as sharp raptor eyes tried to look into her teary, lash-rimmed, hazel gaze. “‘Everything’?” his gruff voice echoed, and then he paused for a long moment, body swelling despite the innocent nature of her gaze across his swarthy hide. And then he started speaking once again, “Surely not everything,” his heavy, pale head gestured towards the setting sun that set an elegant blaze to the sky—it was a sunset so lovely that the vulture paused to take it in before continuing, “The sunset is beautiful and you lay in a bed of heather, with handsome company,” a dark lid winked in jovial, flirtatious jest.
But then, his gruff voice become more serious, “I’ve no plans for this evening, if you wish to talk of your ’everything’ that troubles you, skoenlapper.” His thick, forever knotted tail brushed against his thick, ruddy hocks as he glanced towards the wings he had so named her after. “I am Gaal,” the introduction was tacked on as an afterthought—perhaps the woman would be more open to his company if she knew who he was? He sighed slightly, warm breath briefly condensing in the quickly-cooling air as he waited for the spotted lady’s response.
skoenlapper = butterfly
the vulture feeds while it can until there's no trace left of man
Oh, but it was everything. Much more than he could ever realize. As the tears unconsciously spilled against her dainty cheeks she followed his gaze to the setting sun; its colors and spectacular view enough to momentarily quell the sorrow deep within her. Yet as he continued to speak she couldn't help but offer a soft, bitter laugh, a sad smile matching those watery eyes as she responded much more quietly,"If only your company wasn't such a mess." She was soon standing on her scabbed legs, her lips slowly grazing over them to clean away the dirt and dried blood caking at the edges, before once again turning to explore the recesses of the horizon thoughtfully.
What brought a man here to talk to a sad young woman? Did he find fun in it? Or did he simply not have anything better to do? She began to assume the latter as he was claiming he was free of any further plans in the evening, still looking at her with those intense eyes. She met them again patiently, watching for any movement he might make, because for once in Myrrine's young life she did not trust. Now it wasn't because there was anything wrong with this one named Gaal, he seemed to be rather kind in his own stoic way; but it was because the spotted dove had given her heart to so many, had spilled her emotions and her soul out onto the floor and had received only more pain in return. She had played the game of crying on the shoulder of any passerby who had been willing to listen. She had listened to their reassurances, their promises that all will be better and that they will be there to help her. Yet in the end she was always left alone. She didn't feel the need to start the cycle again with this newcomer.
"What did that word mean? The one you used to call me something," she breathed quietly, still watching the sunset and its swirling colors dance among the clouds,"I don't believe I've heard anyone use that word before. Please excuse my manners Sir Gaal, my name is Myrrine, and I can only apologize that our meeting here today has been rather, well, abrupt." How else was she supposed to explain that he had basically caught her bawling her eyes out about how much her life sucked. Good job Myrrine, way to make it all about you. Selfish bitch. She mentally winced at every single reprimand she gave herself in her tortured mind, and with each one her wings flickered ever so softly; the only sign that anything was amiss in that pretty little head of hers.
She remained quiet for some time, simply studying further out of the Heavenly Fields and looking over every place she had been when she was still a child with her friends. The thought left a slightly nicer smile on her face, as she finally turned to Gaal quietly, an almost mischievous gleam in her eyes,"If you'd be willing to go for a little stroll with me Sir, I would appreciate it. There's something I'd like to show you." For once her politeness did not encourage her to stay, because if this man was so interested in figuring out just what was on her mind, then he would have to humor her a little longer. She wouldn't admit that in some way, this was meant to prolong his stay before he too grew bored, and left her to her own, miserable, devices once again.
"Talk."
the butterfly is proof that great darkness can create great beauty
12-04-2016, 10:58 AM (This post was last modified: 12-04-2016, 10:58 AM by Graasvoel.)
graasvoel
Though it was bitter, he grinned in triumph as he eased a laugh out of the teary, downtrodden mare. His dark brows raised at her words, “My company? A mess? It’s you that’s the mess at the moment,” his rough voice was playfully as he easily gestured towards her scraped knees and dirt-soiled skin, “And I’m rather clean—but I’m willing to get as messy as you’d like,” his grin broadened as he, again, flirtatiously winked at the spotted woman. Though it was a friendly wink. with no pressure behind the insinuation (but he was serious about the offer).
And then she asked about his language, her lovely hazel gaze lost to the fiery sunset—though it was quickly burning out and giving way to a lavender twilight. “Skoenlapper? It means ‘butterfly’ in Korofi. My people—” he broke off, realizing that the Korofi were no longer his, and corrected himself, “—They can make even beautiful things sounds harsh.” Indeed, his mother-tongue was a hard and guttural language, for the most part. It was spoken from the throat.
And then he chuckled, “I am no ‘Sir.’ My father would laugh the air out of his wings to hear you call me that. But Myrrine is an enchanting name. And do not apologize, I am never sorry to meet a beauty,” again, he smiled and then fell silent as he awaited to see if she would speak on the troubles that caused the tears to cascade down her spotted, pretty cheeks.
Though he began to lose hope that she would, so was the silence that stretched between them and she continued to watch the fiery sliver of sun slip beneath the snow horizon. The drop in temperature was palpable as the earth lost the day’s heat; even the lighting became cooler sets of blues, purples, and greens. He shifted, quite comfortable in his thick, shaggy winter coat—but he wondered if the slender-built woman would like to share some of his body heat. Though she had seemed unwilling to let him get close to her.
And then she spoke, and the giant man is caught by the deliciously michevious smile that suddenly paints her lips, “I’d be delighted to,” his deep voice rumbled in answer, beginning to shift to follow after her.
the vulture feeds while it can until there's no trace left of man
As he continued to speak, his words full of humor and an air of something she didn't understand, her face began to falter in almost horror at the realization he had misunderstood. As she was standing she began to sputter, looking to him with those wide, tear-brimmed eyes anxiously,"O-Oh no, I apologize for causing any confusion! When I was talking of company I meant myself. Oh goodness, I certainly don't think you're messy no! You're a very handsome gentleman and I'm sure you're very clean!" Her face was burning, shuffling awkwardly as she was trying to redeem herself. So enthralled with her error, she failed to notice the obvious flirt he was placing upon her. Not to mention the fact she had so blatantly called him handsome to his face.
She wasn't lying, he was very attractive, but she certainly had no intentions of stammering that out to him in a fit of anxiety. This was not how she expected any of this to go, and she continued to flush even as he kept on in the conversation. When his answer to her initial question reached her ears she settled slightly, shyly smiling and nodding to him, no longer paying attention to the quickly receding sunset. She watched him briefly, speaking in a softer tone,"It doesn't matter how words sound. It's the meaning behind them, and obviously it still means something beautiful." She was used to being known for her butterfly wings, how they shimmered in the sunlight or how delicate they could be in the winter. They were striking, and everyone always questioned something about them. She had no problems with such things, because as she had told Mauja all those years ago; everyone was curious, and it was okay to delve into that curiosity. If only she had realized the implication she had placed in that statement that night.
As they began to move he was speaking again, and soon her own voice filled with a soft laugh, eyes starting to lose that glimmer of sorrow once present. The pain began to subside for now, and for that she was pleased. She could always use a distraction. As they approached the peak of hill she hummed quietly to herself, watching the distance for what she was seeking as she continued,"Mother always told me to be polite to anyone I meet. Everyone deserves the utmost respect, and that is what I give; Sir... Gaal." She would try to be more casual with him should he like, but deep within there would be nothing familiar with him. Each time she got close to someone she either scared them off or they pushed her away. She didn't need that kind of heartbreak anymore.
Soon they had reached her destination, and with a soft sight she leaned forward, dipping her inky muzzle into the crisp, nearly frozen stream to take a drink. She remembered this place like it was yesterday, a distant fondness in her eyes as she finally quenched her thirst. Lifting her skull and absently letting the water drip from her lips, she looked back at Gaal, taking a pause for him to finally stand at her side before finally speaking,"When I first sound this stream, I had been trying to fly for the first time. I was so tired from all my practice so I wanted to get a drink. It's an awfully nice place to rest after all. What I didn't expect though, was to find a giant stallion come lumbering in and shove his entire head into the water. He had been awfully thirsty." She giggled softly, as if there was some inside joke there that no one else could see, before taking a breath and continuing,"When he first saw me, he was terrified. Of me! I was just a little foal, not even to your shoulder. And he was easily a hand taller than you!"
"He was so terrified he couldn't speak, could only stutter. He told me to stay back. I of course listened, I didn't want him to think I would hurt him," she let her gaze grow soft, lips pursing in thought as the memory played back in her mind so clearly, like a perfectly scripted play. She let silence hang over them for a few moments, before looking back at her companion and smiling sadly, the warmth replaced with sorrow once again,"I hadn't expected to find my new best friend that day."
"Talk."
the butterfly is proof that great darkness can create great beauty
12-21-2016, 09:19 AM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2016, 09:19 AM by Graasvoel.)
graasvoel
He guffawed outright at her stuttering apology—now realizing that he had misunderstood her. His rough laugh died to low chuckles as he saw the lovely heat creep into her pale, spotted cheeks. “I’d tell you not apologize again, but that blush looks lovely on you. And you’ve called me handsome,” his flirtatious grin grew as he teased her. It assuredly stroked his ego to hear her call him as such. His sharp gaze continued to watch her face as she continued to speak, going him a shy smile as her attention, too, left the swiftly setting sun. He returned her smile with grin.
To a man who had only known pleasure in the place of love, the sound of words meant as much as their meaning, because the sound was the sensation they gave and that sensation could be pleasure. But he was never one to outright contradict a lady, particularly a pretty one, so he simply hummed lowly in his throat in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her.
His ears tilt backwards at the mention of mothers—the vulture does not dwell on the thoughts of dams. Where Myrrine claimed that hers had taught her politeness, his had taught him passive cruelty and cold disdain. And his true mother was dead, from nothing more than vindictive jealousy. So he remained silent until they reached a nearly frozen creek.
Sharp, conflicted gaze watch her lips part to drink the icy water—he, himself, refrains as his current thirst would not be quenched by water. Instead, he listens, ears fluted forward and eyes searching her face and neck as she quietly giggled and her gaze grew soft. “Why was he terrified?” his gruff voice questions, bearded head tilting slightly to side, “And who was this friend?” His second question was gentle, even his rough vocals, sharp gaze probing her own hazel for an answer.
the vulture feeds while it can until there's no trace left of man
12-23-2016, 12:24 AM (This post was last modified: 12-23-2016, 12:25 AM by Myrrine.)
Myrrine
He seemed to be distracted by something, but by what the mare couldn't fathom, and with long lashes cupped delicately over hazel eyes she watched him as he listened quite patiently. Though he wasn't responding as much as she thought he would, he obviously was listening; because soon she was asking her own questions. As her smile faded and formed into an expression of thoughtfulness, she finally turned to face him and began to softly speak again in her tender tones,"In all honesty, I never got the chance to ask him. He was always a fragile thing, Vincent was his name, and even as time went on he never quite got his confidence. Something, or someone, seemed to have really scared him." Letting the air leave her lips in a soft sigh, she took a step into the small creek, ignoring the shivers running up her ink dipped limb and watching the ripples in her reflection.
She would have found out eventually she assumed, if he hadn't vanished in thin air just shortly after the invasion of the Falls. He had been at her side as they watched, and she had begged him to leave, to not watch the horror unfolding; because how could they stand by when something so awful was happening between two different lands. All because they didn't approve of their Goddess's actions. Yet that was but a hazy memory in her mind, it nothing but a whisper in her dreams, because when would she ever see Vincent again? Would she ever? Although she loved him so deeply as a friend, had helped him through many of his panic attacks, she knew that he would most likely not return. He had already been gone when she met him, for her to assume he would come back would be unrealistic.
"Gaal, has anyone simply left you? They never said a word and just disappeared, never to return?" she asked softly in the brisk night air, looking at the stars that had begun to shine down on them. A gentle breeze fluttered through her milky mane, and after a moment of silence she looked back into those sharp eyes he possessed, studying his handsome face for a moment with her own curious one; before finally turning herself to fully face him,"Forgive me for coming off as rude, but why do you care what I'm upset about? Are you expecting something in return? Although I have an awful habit of becoming intimate with men when I'm in an emotionally unstable state, I intend on breaking it." Her lashes fluttered patiently, never once wavering from his marked skull, waiting for an answer. The Myrrine of the past would have never assumed such a thing, sex would have never crossed her mind at all. She would have appreciated the help, would have seen Gaal as a kind man who just wanted to help.
Hell, the Myrrine before fucking Quilyan would have probably felt that way. But she knew better now, not because men were necessarily sex hungry; but she knew what her looks could do to a man's mind. She never intended on abusing it, but it was an asset she had that could easily sway something in her favor. She had begun to distrust men in general, especially the ones who looked at her with sweet eyes and showered her with compliments. The ones that seemed to talk so smoothly without taking a pause in their speech. They were the monsters in the night that could steal her in the night without a moments notice. So even though she didn't mind this man's company, was happy to speak with him and humor him with some of her past; she couldn't help but feel there was an ulterior motive. The world had made the spotted butterfly angel jaded, and the scars upon her heart would never heal.
"Talk."
the butterfly is proof that great darkness can create great beauty
01-15-2017, 05:12 PM (This post was last modified: 01-15-2017, 05:12 PM by Graasvoel.)
graasvoel
The vulture continued to watch the delicate, troubled skoenlapper answered his questions. Vincent? Though the vulture had not spent much time getting to know the men of Helovia, he had not even heard that particular name in passing. So his brows raised in unsaid ignorance of the friend Myrrine spoke of—though his eyes remained hot and thoughtful on her hazel ones, still listening despite not knowing of whom she spoke.
That was, his face remained gentle and his eyes warm until she turned a question against him— “…has anyone simply left you? They never said a word and just disappeared, never to return?” His ears, instinctively, went flush back against his skull; he hadn’t been expecting such a question, nor the overwhelming emotions that accompanied it. Guilt. Hate. Shame. Sorrow. They swelled and crashed against the superficial thoughts of his mind, pounding against the thoughtless pleasure-seeking aims of his daily life, seeking to no longer be suppressed to the depths of his subconscious.
His gaze grew hard as it darted away from her soft hazels that gently glowed in the starlight. His jaw grew tense, his thick neck rigid. His life had been upturned by loss: the loss of his mother, of her love… the only love the stallion had known. A harsh breath pushed out of his nostrils as he remained silent for long moments, Myrrine filling in his tense silence with more of her blastedly gentle and curious questions: “Forgive me for coming off as rude, but why do you care what I'm upset about? Are you expecting something in return? …”
For few moments longer, still battling the swell of emotions within him, he remained silent—save for suddenly labored breaths that clung around his white muzzle in the cold night air. The man was unused to fighting his emotions—he was one to drift along with their impulses, wants, and needs. They were usually a source of pleasure—or, at least, lead to entertaining circumstances.
But now, they most certainly not. So his deep, rough voice was strained as he answered her first question of him, “They have.” It was a simple phrase, but so heavily laden with meaning that it seemed to speak volumes. Slowly, his hot eyes roved to hers, gaze sharp and nearly predatory as he answered her next question—it was wholly unlike the usual, unconcerned stallion, “It would be a useless lie to say I am not attracted to you, skoenlapper. You are beautiful and gentle—” he broke off, pausing as he watched the flutter of her lashes against her speckled cheek.
“I am a man who does not like to spend the night alone—but that does not mean I will not listen to your sorrows and then be off. But—” he paused once again, a ripple of expectation traveling through his swarthy coat, “If you do not wish for my company this evening, then I should fly.” And his massive wings began to spread their impressive span, his chest turning towards the heavens—but his eyes, their hot gaze remained on the delicate, spotted woman.
the vulture feeds while it can until there's no trace left of man
She had struck a nerve unintentionally, the hardened look in his eyes a clear indicator of his displeasure. It only intensified as his head abruptly turned away, and something within her lurched in his direction, to help him find comfort in the sorrow he was feeling. Yet she did not move, too curious to find the answer to her next question that almost seemed to go over his head. Taking a deep breath she stepped closer to him, about to speak an apology until he was quick to answer her, hard eyes now staring into her own soft ones as he spoke the honest truth. It caused her to falter. She didn't know what to make of him and what he was saying, nor did she know what to think of the way he paused when she had batted her eyelashes patiently.
This was entirely new to her. She did not delve into the life of fun flirting and casual sex, did not find amusement in soft giggling whispers that led to languid moans in the dead of night; because not only did she not think that anyone would find the thought to be appealing to her, but it was something that didn't entirely marvel her. What she had done with Quilyan was a heated mistake, her own desire to be comforted fueled by his own, and thus had led to what her life was now. That wasn't something she couldn't find herself wanting again. Swallowing and letting his words register, she took a moment to search his eyes, and she realized then that maybe he wasn't so different than herself.
Was this what she had been trying to heal that evening with Quilyan? The realization of such a thought hit her hard and she had to look away, face heating not only because he had obviously told her he wanted to have... relations with her, but because she couldn't believe it had taken her so long to realize why she had come onto her former lover so strongly. Taking a soft breath to regain her composure, she finally met his eyes again with slightly more confidence, speaking in a hushed tone,"I apologize for upsetting you. The point I wanted to make with that question was that it hurts to grow attached to someone and to have them leave. It's happened to me three times. Forgive my defensive demeanor towards you, my life has been swept into many directions currently and it's hard coping with that, especially when a handsome man seems intent with other things in mind. And although the offer doesn't sound entirely unappealing-"
She paused to take in a deep breath, face still flushed as she couldn't believe she was admitting to that. She took a moment to swallow and watch him, wondering if she should tell him yes just so that he would leave without that pained look in his eyes. Except she would be hurting herself in the process as well should she accept him simply for his sake. Her hooves began to move of their own accord, bringing him to his side as her muzzle found solace in the swell of his neck, eyes fluttering shut as his scent surrounded her nostrils strongly. He smelled of pine and the ocean, the salt and trees a tantalizing mix that she used to know so well. He was from a land where her memories had killed her inside. She didn't plan on moving anytime soon, simply letting her body attempt to fully embrace his; because had anyone hugged him in a chaste way?
"I am not a woman who can do things with no strings attached."
"Talk."
the butterfly is proof that great darkness can create great beauty
@Graasvoel - We can have them post once or twice more if you'd like or we can leave it! It's hard for me to plan when writing because it depends on how Myrrine reacts and blegh. I'm okay with him leaving or whatever but should he react differently then I'm okay with continuing as well :D
Any force is permitted aside from death or maiming
02-26-2017, 08:29 PM (This post was last modified: 02-26-2017, 08:30 PM by Graasvoel.)
graasvoel
Graasvoel’s brows rose as his heated red and yellow gaze followed her motions; movements that brought her closer to him. His ears, nested amongst the tangled mess of mane, swept forward to hear her apology.
“Do not apologize, skoenlapper,” his rough voice was quiet as she gently, chastely, held the thick swell of his crest in her delicate embrace. His eyes closed for a brief moment, as he leaned into the softness of her muzzle—for a moment enjoying the pureness of their simple touch.
But, he was stallion. A stallion with urges; and the vulture had spent a lifetime giving into and following those urges. So, a heated stirring and twitching of his long muscle beneath his barrel brought his attention to Myrrine’s womanly scent, and her hot, silken, spotted skin that was so close to his own swarthy hide.
Normally, the vulture would have pounced on such an opportunity to sleep with so gentle, honest, and beautiful woman. He would have started with light touches, gentle and teasing, until he discovered just how far from innocence they could roam together.
However, her words ("I am not a woman who can do things with no strings attached”) and broken, downcast demeanor made him halt. Instead of following the heated path his groin urged him down, his neck arched to the side and thick muzzle gently slid beneath Myrrine’s.
Slowly, he pressed his soft muzzle against the velveteen plush of her own, before kindly removing her head from his embrace of his neck. “Then I am not the man to spend the night with you,” his gruff voice was quiet and gentle. “Thank you,” were his final words before he dipped his heavy skull in a silent good-bye; great wings spreading to take his massive body back to the skies.
the vulture feeds while it can until there's no trace left of man
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