"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.
#sorrynotsorry @Sohalia
Tarik's dreadlocks, complete with multi-coloured beads and other things which had gradually grown into the hair, lay in a tangled assortment of long dark tendrils across his neck and back. Although his body was muscular, it was not the chiseled sort of body that one such as Gaucho might have had. Instead, Tarik's physique came from years of hard work. He had little desire to train, and so he possessed none of the lines of refinement that came from such a lifestyle. Instead, he was like a slab of muscle, unceremoniously covered by a pelt of browns, blacks, and whites. And tattoos and scars, of course.
Already time had started to slip past the viking man. Had he been here hours? Days? Weeks? Looking around at the eroded red shore that gave way to the relentless pounding on the ocean, he realized not for the first time, what an incredibly drain immortality could be. He was not especially wise, despite all the things that he had learned in his long life. When you sign up for immortality, do make sure you read the fine print. It is rarely mentioned that a prolonged life does not necessarily yield a more capable memory. The various tattoo's that marked his body were really the only way of remembering anything of any significance, and even those meanings had started to fade.
But Tarik set all of that aside for the time being, and merely inhaled the salty smell of the sea. Immortality be damned, if he could be near the water and if he was in possession of his flask, everything would be fine. And today, he happened to have both of those things. Reaching down, Tarik took a long swallow from an ornate silver flask that he carried with him. He jiggled it slightly as he set it back down, and appeared to approve of whatever it was he heard (or didn't hear). What he was doing in fact, was listening to see if the amount of liquid he had drained had made any impact at all in the total amount of liquid inside. Like Tarik, the flask was never ending as well: Tarik had eternal life, and the flask had eternal rum, and together they were happy friends. He seemed satisfied that the flask hadn't lost its magical abilities, but that didn't explain why it was he could no longer become a shark - or any of the other creatures that he once could.
Eyeing the water almost lovingly, as if it was an old wiley friend, Tarik snorted good humouredly. He would figure it out.
He had time, after all.
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
It was a day like any other upon the sands of the Dragon's Throat for Sohalia the Transcended, which meant that she could be found in one of three places: at the oasis, spending quality time with the one child that remained in the herdland; gathering metals in the rockier parts of the Throat; or roaming the island, considering future crafting projects and how she could implement them. The ivory dove had ideas, of course, particularly now that their long-time project of building a church had been completed. But ideas were no good without plans to implement them, and the mare was determined to prove herself to a herd that clearly still had doubts about her loyalty.
Cera's disgust with her, in particular, cut the pale lady deeply, and he had not been the only ones to voice concerns about her absentee nature in the past. What hurt worse was that they were all so quick to point fingers and place blame, but none of them had ever asked where she had gone, nor had they looked for her after she'd disappeared. They hadn't cared then; why should they now? Besides, she had never left on purpose, and the knowledge that she was trying to repair a wound made against her will stung all the more. She might as well have just allowed Cera to cut her to ribbons and then jumped into the ocean - the physical pain might have matched the rest, then.
In any case, the days since Aithniel's ascension to Sultana had been busy ones. Sohalia kept herself busy by planning for her soon-to-open Academy, designing new crafting projects for the herd to undertake, and visiting the Threshold. Luckily, her last attempt at the latter had yielded results. When she and Nephele had gotten the trio safely upon their home's sands, Sohalia had shown them to the oasis and then excused herself. The more time she spent with their free natures and their mischievous comments, the more confused she found herself. She should have disliked them, shouldn't she, what with how the way they seemed to view the world conflicted with her own ideals? And yet...
The sea was lovely today, though the mare had no doubt that its waters were frigid and unwelcoming; she meandered slowly along the shore, Astraeus keeping an eye out for anything interesting from above. So distracted was she by her planning and designing that she had very nearly stumbled upon the stallion before she realized he was there - and with how close she'd gotten, she couldn't just walk away without being rude. I should check on him, anyway, she told herself. Sohalia hadn't seen the three newcomers since she'd welcomed them to the Throat, and it was a part of the duty she imposed upon herself to keep track of their progress, especially since she was the one who had brought them here.
So she continued her walk, calling out rather jovially as she approached to avoid startling him. "Good day, Tarik!" The ivory dove slowed to a halt alongside him, careful to keep enough space between the two of them that her intentions would be quite clear. A truly friendly smile appeared on her face. Tarik had gotten under her skin alternately more and less than his two companions, and was thus the easiest for her to approach. "I hope you've been settling in well. Have you found the Dragon's Throat to be to your liking?"
@Sohalia
If he had been a man, he would have been sitting at a comfortable angle, knees slightly bent before him, with a flask between his boots. His arms would have been loosely positioned over his knees, and his eyes would have only room for the sea.
"Hello Sohalia." He answered. His voice sounded pleasant, almost casual, as if they were old friends. Indeed, he didn't even have to turn his head away from the endless expanses of the ocean to look at her, before calling her by name. Though perhaps that had more to do with the almost buoyant Nordic accent that covered his words. Tarik's blue eyes glittered mischievously, but the smile on his lips was a good-natured one. At least, as far as one could assume anything about the strange man's nature.
"Some things are to my liking, yes." He answered, that mischievousness now colouring his words as well as his eyes. But for the moment he seemed harmless enough. He hadn't even turned to look at her yet - clearly his intentions couldn't have been too off-colour.
Right?
"It is an interesting thing, to bring home strangers and then leave them to their own plans." He seemed to be considering his own words for a moment, and thoughtfully took another long drink from his flask. At last, he turned to look at her now. That same careless smile tugged at his lips, and if she looked, she could now see that a bit of whatever was in his flask had dribbled onto his beard. "Don't you think?"
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
If she had been a woman, then she would be standing to Tarik's left, her hands clasped behind her back, tilting her head slightly to the side in an attempt to peer into his face. It seemed odd that he did not look up as she called to him, and something in her twisted unpleasantly at the thought that perhaps he did not want to see her. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a rather distant look as she turned to gaze off to sea. She remembered the way her presence had always inspired an immediate reaction in Gaucho, and she couldn't help but wonder why that mattered just now. In any case, she would soon know if she was unwelcome, and it wasn't as though Tarik's opinion mattered to her, regardless.
(She just didn't like to be disliked without being given a chance, she told herself judiciously.)
But when Tarik did respond, it was in a pleasant, lilting voice that had the effect of immediately putting the Transcended at ease. Or, rather, it put her at ease until she realized its effect, at which point she immediately tensed, her mind on high alert for any trickery that the perceived scoundrel might have up his sleeve. Was it fair to react so strongly to the stallion? No, perhaps not. But that is the way of guilt, is it not? She should have accompanied him to the Throat, gotten him set on a path towards whatever it was he wanted to do, and then gone about her business. She should have said hello in passing and then continued about her day. She should not have stopped to have a chat. What would Gaucho think of it?
But Gaucho was dead.
But his thoughts still mattered.
Ugh.
"I suppose you're right," she answered after a moment's pause, her bicolored eyes searching out Tarik's. "But I assumed that you would be able to find me, should the need arise. Besides, a few days to get your bearings is surely preferable to being thrust into a job at the first opportunity?" She remembered her first few days in Helovia, overwhelmed and underprepared. It was a wonder that anyone had thought to invite her anywhere, really, as useless as she'd been.
Something from his flask dripped into his beard, and though the more refined lady might have once been repulsed, she found herself only intrigued. Her gaze flicked to his mouth and back, and she tilted her head to the side as if to distract from her momentary lapse in attention. The word for his ornately decorated container would not come to her, if she'd ever known it in the first place. "If I may, what is it that you keep inside of that?"
@Sohalia
If he sensed her unease around him, he didn't act as though he did. Or perhaps it was precisely because he did notice it, that he acted as though he didn't. Regardless, the sunlight sparkled relentlessly in his eyes as it did on the sea, highlighting the laughter that lived there.
At her question, he shrugged his shoulders carelessly and offered her an easy smile. "I suppose that all depends what the job is." He replied, offering her a wink to clearly underscore the unspoken implications of his answer, and laughed to himself. Pulling his eyes away from her, he took another drink from his flask as she asked him about it.
Lowering it from his lips, he turned his bearded skull around to dry his lips upon his tattooed shoulder. "Would you like to see for yourself?" He held the flask out towards her, but made no actual motion to move himself closer. Like with some sort of wild creature, he could coax all he liked, but the decision to approach was left up to her. The flask was a very pretty thing, actually. The engravings on it were intricate and clearly nautical-themed. It was well worn, and might have had an inscription on it at one time or another. "I assure you it's quite harmless." He continued, thinking that perhaps she would think it was a poison. As a poison it was harmless...as something else... well.. "Well-" He continued, now voicing his thoughts out loud. "Harmless in reasonable quantities, shall we say. Given your size-" Now his eyes appraised her like like a doctor's hands might - feeling their way over the curves of her body almost roughly. Whatever flirtatiousness might have been present in his eyes when they had first met was gone now, and he genuinely appeared to be studying her, as if for a purpose.
And he was. Alcohol poisoning was no joke. That, and he already had one wench to clean up after when she drank too much. He didn't need another. (Well....). "A few swallows won't do you in." He concluded, his gaze resuming its amicable shine and leaving her body alone, for the moment.
"It's the finest rum this side of the black sea."
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
To be fair, Sohalia's discomfort wasn't really Tarik's fault. Thus far in their interaction, he had been a perfect gentleman, his interest from a few days prior seemingly mitigated by his time in the sun. No, her suspicion arose from her own feeble emotions. She had never learned how one was supposed to act around members of the opposite species unless they expressed an obvious interest (read: Gaucho) or were some kind of family (like, say, Cera). Kaj had been an exception to that rule in a moment when her will was particularly weak, and look how that turned out. Now her confusion was worse than ever, given her preference for monogamy: was her loyalty to her mate meant to outlive him? How long was too long to mourn?
Why did she feel like she might be recovering, when Ampere could hardly manage to remember to eat, day after day?
The wink following his first comment was met with downturned eyes, repeating the almost demure look that she had offered in the Threshold. A part of her wished that she could be as bold or as quick-tongued as Nephele, that she could rise to the bait and challenge the stallion at his own game. But that wasn't her - it never had been and it never would be. No, she was not a bold mare, however much inner strength and tenacity she might be able to boast of.
When Tarik began to talk about his silver container, Sohalia began to feel hopelessly lost. "Oh, I don't -" she began, pausing when he insisted it was harmless. "I'm not -" Or mostly harmless, a comment that left her even more suspicious than before. What in the world was in the container that could only be consumed in reasonable quantities? The only thing she'd ever had to consume with that in mind was clover, and that was only because it would make her fat!
His appraisal was over almost before she realized it had begun, her head still spinning with this new information. "A few swallows?" she repeated dumbly. What is rum? she asked Astraeus, trying not to let her confusion show and likely failing miserably. The wakiya offered the equivalent of a mental shrug - a soft of silent wave that was a mixture of I don't know and I don't care, followed by a warning that he would zap the newcomer if she came to any harm.
"I'm not quite sure if I..." she dithered, eyeing the flask warily. It was a pretty little thing, and despite herself she stepped closer to survey it. It was made of silver, and metal was something that she knew quite well. Tilting her head and squinting ever so slightly, she prodded the container with her magic, careful not to displace any of the ornate filigree. "Where did you get this? The detail is remarkable." she asked then, her ears pricked forward. She was truly interested now, and with the sudden influx of excitement her trepidation seemed to disappear.
A patient, charming, knowing smile pressed his lips together and caused two small dimples to appear in his chiseled cheeks as she awkwardly began to decline his offer. Was it because his saliva was still on the rim? Did she have some policy against sharing drinks, or just sharing drinks with strange men? Was it the contents of the bottle? In short, was she saying no because of him? Or because of her?
His eyes tilted upwards as a new thought caused his lips to part in a full smile. You will drink. He thought to himself, knowingly.
The stallion's eyes remained upon Sohalia, even as she took a tentative step towards him, eyeing the flask. For a moment he allowed himself the opportunity to let his gaze fall upon her like rain, coating the hairs that mixed to form the pale bulk of her mane and forelock, then running down to her coat, her eyelashes, her eyes, and her nose. He studied her silently as she studied the flask, nodding in agreement as she praised its craftsmanship.
"Very beautiful." He agreed, now pulling his eyes off of her, to look directly at her. Though of what he was ascribing beauty, it was unclear. "It comes from a place which no longer exists." He said almost casually, his accent almost buffing each word as if there was a cushion between it and the next. The crafter who had made this flask for him and enchanted it, had almost certainly died in a rain of fire. Had Tarik been trying to save him and the city? Or had he been against it? Had he laid the lines of gasoline himself? Thoughtfully he prodded his memory, but this yielded no information. It was too long ago. The Tarik which had existed then, no longer did. The only piece of evidence that he had ever existed at all, was the flask in question.
"The rum inside never goes bad, and it can never be emptied.It is a rather handy thing to have." A vague scent of cinnamon wafted out. Tarik's particular rum mixture was actually quite sweet. Of course it bit and burned just like any strong alcohol would do, but it was the sort that one might enjoyable sip, as well as slam back.
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
Sohalia was so absorbed in her own observations that she didn't notice his. As such, the stallion likely had a much more open view into the mare before him than he might have otherwise. Her guard slipped, revealing a genuine curiosity behind bi-colored eyes that could still light with excitement. Her lips parted ever-so-slightly as her brows creased, her concentration on the flask evident in every line of her face. With Tarik's confession that the place of its origin no longer existed, Sohalia glanced up at him and, despite finding his face rather closer than she'd expected, nodded thoughtfully. "That is a shame," she commented softly, mourning for the loss of such beautiful potential in the world. "But perhaps... with the right materials..." She trailed off, absorbed in her own mind.
That the flask was beautiful was interesting in and of itself, but that it was bottomless - well, that was another thing altogether. At first, the mare's brows bunched together. A bottomless flask of that drink called rum that could be dangerous in large quantities? She didn't like it in her homeland, among her kin. But then, all of a sudden, a thought occurred and her brows shot up and she could help but toss her head in her sudden excitement. She could craft a flask, or a bowl, or any container, really, and with the right motivation, the gods might see fit to enchant it to hold limitless amounts of water. And water, in the desert, was a commodity in short supply at times.
"Oh, you've given me the most wonderful idea!" the pale lady exclaimed, breathless and laughing. For not the first time, she was stricken by how easy it was to feel joy these days, when but a month ago she was convinced that darkness would keep its hold on her forever. As they say, time heals all wounds. There would always be scars, but they all had those, didn't they?
Still the flask was offered, the smell of something sweet and sharp drifting through the air towards her. There would be time enough to discuss her plans later with Aithniel, and so she set them aside for now. "I suppose a sip wouldn't hurt," she said, almost to herself, and then she carefully took the flask from her companion and tilted it back for a rather larger swig than she'd intended.
The immediate effect was evident: she almost dropped the container, shoving it back at Tarik just in time for a coughing fit to take over. Her eyes watered as she stepped back, turning her head away and trying to keep from retching. Her throat was on fire, a bitter taste in the back of her mouth, and oh gods, when would it stop? But, as all unpleasant things do, the sensation passed. Wheezing, she turned her head to glare at the stallion. "What is in that rum?" she demanded, feeling rather humiliated and taken advantage of, for surely he'd offered it to her in some sort of sick jest?
But now that the worst of the bite was gone, the mare found that the light, cinnamon taste left behind wasn't all bad. And the way that the drink had burned going down had left her feeling quite a bit warmer than she had a moment ago. Her glare lightened slightly. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she tried again? Maybe she just hadn't been prepared enough the first time? With a huff, she tried to take the flask again, this time (if she succeeded), being more careful about the way she took a drink. With a smaller sip, the fire was easier to take (though no more pleasant, truth be told), and when she'd downed the swallow, she was left even warmer than before. "Why does anyone drink this?" she mused aloud, and her voice sounded kind of far away. She didn't notice that she still held the flask, nor that she took another curious sip as she waited for a response.
Tarik, who had been more of a destroyer lately than any sort of crafter (had he any particular building skills in the past? Hmmm... none came to mind. But he supposed it was possible), merely shrugged off the suggestion that another could be created. He had his, and Ralik had one of his own. If more were created, bully for whoever they went to. It wasn't his concern. What did stretch the smile on his face was the way Sohalia suddenly beamed with enthusiasm. A clearly fake look of, little old me gave you an idea? came over Tarik's face, but quickly melted away into a genuine smile. He had no idea what it was that he had done, or what he idea was, but being able to make a woman smile that way was a rarity, Tarik had found. Moments such as these came easily at the beginning of a relationfriendship, but then became strained. Tarik had seen so many -ships, regardless of what sort they were, mottled and ruined simply by the passage of time. Chips on shoulders became boulders, and small irritations drove spikes through hearts. Wasn't that always the way?
So to see her laugh like this, was something Tarik contemplated trying to remember. There were multiple lifetimes of information fighting for top spot in his mind ... but a girl's laughter? Well. That was something worth keeping.
Tarik grinned and stepped back a pace, to allow her room as she up-ended the flask. Though he expected some sort of reaction from her, given that she seemingly didn't know what rum was when he had mentioned it, he hadn't thought she'd react that violently. Whatever small amount of chivalry was left in him shoved him forward the step that he had previously retreated, as if there was something he could do to lessen the burn that a first, long drink of alcohol produced. Then his eye caught sight of the zephyr, and he stopped. The bird looked ... sparky, and it was as he thought: there was nothing he could do for the pale dove anyways.
Just as he was about to retrieve the bottle from her, she raised it to her lips once more. With wide blue eyes, Tarik's lips opened to say something like, stop! but he decided against it. She could do what she liked after all, and perhaps with a few sips in her, she'd let her hair down a little.
Why does anyone drink this? This made the tattooed stallion roar with laughter. "Why indeed." He agreed, eyes shining with amusement. "If I may?" He asked, reaching to take the flask back. As he tipped it back to his lips, he kept a sea-blue eye trained upon her as he placed his mouth around the place her lips had just been. The curious thing about Tarik, was it was almost impossible to tell how much of these flirtatious quips of his were intentional, and how many simply came along with being jovial, immortal drunkard.
"Tell me Sohalia, how it is you have lived your life so far and never tasted anything like this before?"
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
- It's stupid to take drinks from strangers, - Astraeus commented from above. As closely bonded as they were (after all, they shared part of a soul), he had known from the beginning that the ivory dove was in no immediate danger. Sure, she might have needed to gasp for air to recover from her coughing fit, but she wasn't being attacked. The mare made her own choices, and she would deal with the consequences. If anyone else threatened her, the wakiya would descend in a blitz of lightning and a clap of thunder, intend on ripping them limb from limb. When Sohalia battled her own demons?
Well, there was little he could do for that. She had so many that he'd grown used to it by now.
So the zephyr sent only a vaguely irritated look towards the unicorn before continuing on his drifting patrol over the sands. Perhaps he would go back to the oasis, where Vinati was likely to be found. The young crafter always welcomed the zephyr's companionship, particularly when he sat still long enough for her to attempt to sculpt out of crystal. She had yet to capture the perfect hues of his feathers, but she was determined to keep trying until she succeeded, and even that dull activity would be more interesting for the bird than testing out strange drinks.
Sohalia met Tarik's eye boldly as he took a drink. The rum lent her a certain brashness that she generally lacked, and so as she reached to take the flask again, she copied his movement. Her bicolored gaze held his and she sipped more of the drink down. It didn't burn as badly now, and the mare found that she was starting to like it. She was vaguely disappointed that she couldn't quite taste him through the cinnamon flavor of the liquor, then irritated with herself. What business of hers was it to find out what this stallion tasted like?
"I dunno," she replied, her voice beginning to have the slightest hint of a slur. "There's nothing like this where I come from, and I haven't seen any here." Another swig, another layer of her careful facade cast into the wind. She started to think that maybe she should stop, so she thrust the flask back at him. "Never seen anybody like you before, either. Where'd you say you came from, again?" Her eyes roved over him, and not in an altogether innocent way. "What's this?" she asked, gesturing to the tattoo on his shoulder.
Something about his immortality made it harder for Tarik to get drunk - specifically, he had to drink a good deal more in a shorter time frame in order to achieve the desired effect on his body. As Sohalia took his own flask from him, he could only stand mystified for a moment. Because of its endless bottom, he wasn't opposed to sharing. Sohalia just hadn't immediately struck him as the sort of mare to take things which were not hers, or to take them without asking.
Though the thought ran in-congruently with the mental picture he was beginning to paint of the pale lady, unsurprisingly he rather found that he liked it. But maybe that was the rum talking. Tarik liked just about everyone more, the more alcohol he had in his system. Earlier, the stallion had put her at about 8 drinks until she was ... fully inebriated shall we say. Tarik had a scale for drunkness when it came to women, a sliding scale that went from "omg are we bffs?" to singing their favourite songs and encouraging you to dance, to offers of .. well, you know, and then finally that deadly line where horse play turns into screaming and angry. Tarik rarely let women drink enough to push themselves into that hateful place, but if Sohalia was just going to help herself perhaps he'd have to be a bit more watchful.
He met her gaze as she drank, cocking a brow and giving her an approving nod. Clearly he was impressed; he, the newcomer here, impressed to see the pristine dove allowing herself to come down to his level.
As she spoke, Tarik rocked back on his heels (subtly pulling away from her. Would she bridge the space, whether consciously or unconsciously?). That she had never seen anything like this here (The Dragon's Throat, or Helovia?) made the stallion curious. He'd never been on a dry continent before, and he wasn't sure that he liked the thought of it.
Another drink, and she was asking him about who he was. "I don't believe I said." He answered mysteriously, and though he was clearly withholding the information intentionally, the amused glisten was still present in his eyes. He bore the weight of her eyes easily, though unlike some stallions, he didn't bother to flex, or shift to show off one side of himself over the other. Tarik who had never been self-conscious, had also never tried to be something other than exactly what he was.
"That-" He said, taking the flask back from her and drinking enough which should have emptied its contents, "-is a tattoo. Or have you never seen those before, either?" A joke. He hoped. "It is a vegvísir>" He answered, his accent easily rolling over the strange vowel sounds. "It is like a guide." Tarik concluded, his eyes focused upon her, rather than darting down to the tattoo that marked his shoulder.
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
At some point (a much later point), Sohalia would look back on this interaction through a killer headache and analyze precisely where she went wrong. First, she might think that she ought to have kept walking, never stopping to converse with the handsome stallion at all. No, there's nothing wrong with him. Then she would decide that she simply shouldn't have accepted a drink. The drink wasn't all bad. And, finally, she would arrive at the proper conclusion: she should not have drank so much so quickly.
Having not consumed much in the way of food on this particular day, the ivory dove was feeling the effects of the alcohol very quickly. She was warm and bubbly on the inside, her mind was floating free of its usually serious tether, and and her limbs felt as though maybe they weren't quite attached to her body. Normally, she might have been concerned about the strange effects that rum seemed to have on her body, but at this particular moment, she didn't really care. It's kind of fun, actually, she thought, giggling to herself quietly.
When Tarik leaned slightly away, her body followed; having had rather more to drink that she should have, the pale lady stumbled into him with a small yelp of surprise. Her wings flew out of their own accord (albeit slower than they would have were she sober), and her right one found itself draped over his back to support herself. As she struggled to right herself, she laughed. "Helloooooo!" she gushed. "Lucky that you're here to catch me, aren't I?"
Back on her feet, she retracted her wing (swaying rather dangerously in the process), and tried to focus on the words floating around her head. "Well, one day you're gonna hafta sayyyyyy," she insisted almost flirtatiously in a sing-song voice, her words trailing into another giggle. The gleeful buzzing in her mind kept her from thinking completely coherently, but she knew without a doubt (and admitted to herself, now that she was drunk) that Tarik definitely interested her.
"I've heard of a tattoo, silly. Not a veg- vegivisi - visir - veg-thingy, though," she added with a giggle. "What's it a guide to? You don't look like you need a guide. Di'n I guide you here just fine? Does that make me a veggie-thing?" She grinned at him sweetly, her face more open and honest than it had been previously and still quite close, given her previous blunder. "I dunno if I wanna be a vegetable." What? "I mean, vegi-visi-what's-it-called."
Without wings to catch her, the best the viking man could do was allow his shoulder to yield willingly as she fell towards him. The mare weighed almost nothing, though perhaps that was only because he was used to more amply built mares, like Huldra. To her credit, Huldra had not a single hard edge to her name. Even her muscles were rather round, despite how defined they were. She'd elbowed and knocked into him a fair amount, and yet somehow this petite dove falling against him caused him to wince in a way Huldra's never had. Something slide between his ribs and Tarik had to bite down on the grumble of pain that wanted to leave his lips. But it hardly mattered in the big scheme of things. As her wing draped over his back, he allowed that side of himself to remain slightly lower. Given that he was taller, it seemed only polite. Had he stood jerkily up, she would likely have lost her balance all over again and who knows where she would end up falling.
"Lucky for both of us." He agreed, looking down into her face which seemed to have softened considerably - and likely not just because of her near-fall.
As she pulled away, Tarik noticed just how small she truly was. And the thought made his mind race to all sorts of possibilities, whether he wanted to actively think of them or not. Still, the smile on his face was not one of sexual desire, or aggressor. Instead, his eyes remained kind, and his muscles taut, lest she need someone to appear at her side to steady her again.
Tarik offered a non-committal shrug of his shoulders as she insisted that he'd eventually have to give up more of his history. He chuckled as she tried to pronounce the word - Icelandic was not the easiest to parse, he had to admit - and so he didn't bother to try and correct her pronunciation. Besides, the way she tried to force her lips and tongue to form the word (but he could help her position them, couldn't he?), was adorable. He would watch her struggle as long as she would continue to try. "Maybe that is true. But even though you are quite small, I don't think I could carry you around with me quite so easily. Then again.." He paused thoughtfully, eyeing the slightly unbalanced mare with a keen smile. "Having a vegvísir which could talk would be a great help indeed."
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
"I'm not small!" she cried suddenly, playfully pouting at the much bigger stallion. It wasn't her fault that she was short, or delicately built, or... okay, maybe she was a little small. "I'm fun-sized," she substituted, tossing her companion a big wink. He could take that how he would; for once, Sohalia was allowing herself to let go and just have fun. Maybe she should partake in rum a little more often, especially if she was to be in such good company...
Nope. She couldn't follow that line of thought, lest she make another really bad decision. What was his name, the last one? Oh, Kaj! That's right! She didn't need another disaster like the golden pegasus had turned out to be. No, Gaucho was all she needed - but wait, he had died and left her (how dare he!), so why should he get an opinion at all? Stupid, fiery stallion...
Her attention shifted to the tattoo on the stallion's shoulder, and she reached out before she could think, precariously sashaying closer and attempting to trace the shapes. "I'm a wonderful vegi-thing," she reiterated. "I could get you anywhere you wanted to go! Just say the word, and we can flyyyyy awayyyyyyy." She grinned again, fluttering her lashes at him. Then, she frowned, seemingly realizing something. "Oh... but you can't fly. What a shame. I guess we'll just have to walllllk." She said "walk" like a dirty word, then sighed. "C'mon then, let's go!" And, suddenly giddy again (good luck following these mood swings), she started tottering skipping down the beach.
I'm fun-sized! Tarik tried his best to hide the look of pleased astonishment that wanted to contort his features. Either he had really misjudged this mare the first that they met, or the rum was really having an effect on her. He decided it was likely the latter, but shot a glance towards the bird for confirmation. Given that she had thrown the bird a wink as she mentioned her size and how fun it was, he judged that perhaps this was some minor act of rebellion on her part - and that she wanted the bird to know. Then again he might have been reading the entire situation wrong, front to back. But he was happy to stick around and find out.
I could get you anywhere you wanted to go! Just say the word, and we can flyyyyy awayyyyyy Again, Tarik had to stifle both the expression that wanted to colour his cheeks and widen his smile, as well as the grunt that wanted to pass out of his lips. He'd happily step on board wherever she was leading, if only she said the word. If his immortality came with some sort of omniscience, he'd also quite happily introduce her to birth control, which might well have further set her mind at ease (in a way the rum couldn't).
Her annunciation of walk sounded as though she might be meaning something else entirely, and Tarik narrowed his eyes slightly with a grin, trying to decide. Did she ... did she know how euphemisms worked? As Sohalia sashayed away from him, down the beach, for a moment he didn't follow. This was perhaps the strangest turn of events he had seen since arriving here. It would be much easier to simply let her go, and sit here and enjoy the sunset which was already beginning to colour the sky.
Ahh but -
His eyes turned back from the sea, to her pale tail flickering back and forth as she moved nimbly on the sand. He didn't stand a chance in hell of staying where he was.
Following at an energetic pace until he caught up with her - and then positioning himself on her right side where the ocean was, lest she take another one of those falls - he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Alright vegvísir, where is it you are taking me?"
tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking.
The way she sashayed along the shoreline may have been a bit unbalanced, but it was not entirely sloppy. Sohalia was floating along in a drunken bliss, to be sure, but she was not yet what one would call white girl wasted. The niggling voice of guilt and doubt was still present in her mind in a way that it would not have been had she chugged just one or two more swigs from Tarik's flask, but she had drank enough that the voice's edge was dulled considerably. As such, each time it reared it's Gaucho-shaped head, she was able to shove it aside. I don't care, I don't care, I don't caaaareeeeee.
Astraeus had long since abandoned the pair, keeping one metaphorical eye on the tipsy mare through their bond. He was mildly concerned (as anyone would be, were they to see the normally well-put-together dove giggling her way along the beach with the newly-arrived miscreant in whose company she found herself), but what was there for him to do? This was not magic, nor was it an effect that he could chase off. As he had decided before, she had gotten herself into this situation, and so long as no harm came to her at the hands of the dreadlocked brute, Astraeus would happily remove himself from the equation. (He had no desire to watch her make bad choices, and his voice of reason had been decidedly ignored.)
So as she walked on, twitching her hips invitingly (only partially on accident), she tossed a giggling grin over her shoulder to make sure that the stallion had followed her. The way he said that v-word (no, not virgin, get your mind out of the gutter!) was suddenly appealing to the pale lady. She imagined that it might be an affectionate nickname, something that perhaps she had been called by him that maybe no one else had. She was not stupid, even inebriated; she assumed that Tarik had been with many women. But maybe, just for today, she could feel like she was special again.
"We're going to go somewhere fun!" she informed the stallion, prancing through the sand. That was about all that she had worked out, truth be told. She might have taken him to the oasis, but gods forbid anyone respectable see her like this. The beach was more or less the same all the way around, so merely walking was likely to get fairly boring soon. And Gaucho (fucking Gaucho) had blown up the canyons in his desire to separate their herd from the mainland. Where else was there to explore?
"You know we have loooots to do here aside from just watching the ocean," she rambled as they walked, the trail of hoof prints behind her decidedly crooked. "Not that it's not pretty and all, but you can't do a whole lot with it, can you?" She grinned invitingly, then added in a sing-song voice. "Unless you know where to look for the thinnnnnggggggg." She didn't mean to make her words all sounds so sexual, but her body language told another story. But she didn't elaborate further, thinking to herself that the surprise would be so much more fun if she didn't spoil it.
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[P] & she's buying a stairway to heaven
