"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.
In days before, he would’ve haunted the walks of life for schemes and scholarly pursuits – an inkling of sagacity, of wisdom, to drink his fill of knowledge and understanding, to comprehend how he fit into the folds of the earth. He would’ve stalked the foundations, the walls, the halls, for excitement, for rebellion, for a vicious taste of the unknown, enigmas flushed against his eyes, against his chest, against his mind until he laughed, smirked, snickered, and splintered. He would’ve jumped, leapt, bounded across countries and empires for an opportunity, for the relish, of curiosity and discovery, to grin with friends and drown out the rest of the world with mischief and devilry.
But the earth changed, altered, and Erebos had to with it – so instead of wearing a Cheshire smile, instead of donning a fleeting glimpse of contentment, a quick reminder of juvenile indifference, he wore a furrowed brow, a maddening outlook, a devious set to his eyes he didn’t bother hiding. The boy in him was nearly gone – crooked and disappearing, and in its place settled a nefarious, iron-born beast, choking on hatred, suffocating on menace, smoldering on revenge and vengeance he couldn’t have, couldn’t reach, couldn’t grasp. He’d walked those lines before, and they seethed, grated, against his mind until there was nothing else there – seditious and molten, crawling and clawing their way through his valorous efforts, his gallant intentions, poisoning them with the depth of their cold-blooded reverie. Orsino didn’t have to say a word, didn’t have to brandish a single demand, didn’t have to polish any sinister commands; Erebos was already consumed with the taste of treachery.
His strides seethed and consumed the raw temples of loam and meadow; searched for something he knew he wouldn’t find (but persisted nonetheless, because stubbornness wore its enamel into his soul and he couldn’t give in, couldn’t admit defeat), wandering past outsets of snow and dirt, of frost and pinnacles, of thistles and thorns. The warrior lifted his maw to the sky and widened his nares, tried to snatch bits and pieces of unfamiliar scents; but there were too many, too few, too overwhelming to break apart and unravel. When this didn’t work, he merely raced along the outer fringes, paced the grounds, dragged his nose along the aperture of the Heart Caves nestled nearby and tried to ignore the lingering trail of Enna (evading his pleas, escaping, gone before granting him permission to massacre those who’d dared to harm her). Orsino followed, silent during his bonded’s heartless pursuits, feeding on the diabolical intentions as they scoured for strangers, as they chased down invisible opponents and enemies, as they persisted in stretching across the plains and yearning to triumph over injustice. It would’ve been enough to see someone, anyone, across the isolated, desolate stretch of land, a beast he could flay and tear apart, ask why they’d done that to her and what their last words would be, what they saw as their life was scattered before their eyes, drawn and quartered, defiled and left for birds to scavenge.
But there was nothing again, and he’d failed before he’d truly even started.
They eventually simmered, smoldered, beneath a snow-laden branch of a towering oak, breaths curling and coiling against the chilling backdrop – and still, the child in him did not reappear.
“I see your father taught you his skills of subtlety, prince.”
It chides. It teases. And can be from only one golden tongue. It comes from behind the dark brooding youth, stepping in silence through the snow. Only minutes before it had been hidden under the cloak of black, keeping him from sight as he watched the colt tear across the fields, snatching and tearing any wisp of life he could. Nose to the ground, but body lunging for anything, desperate….and the gold did so enjoy watching a desperate creature. Yet, he hadn’t expected it to be this creature.
“Adulthood doesn’t suit you, dearie.” It suits only your father But on that the gold held his tongue for once in his life. It wasn’t out of kindness, but out of held judgement. “It is already beating you down…pity, I had such high hopes.” The burden of knowing was the price of finally growing up, and it simply did not look good upon the princeling.
He steps on forward with a boldness granted to him by familiarity. This youth, though he had not seen him in ages, he knew. He’d watched the young prince from a cliff top in the North. Watched him leap in play, and rough house with Rikyn. It was ever so long ago….but it seemed a world away from whatever creature stood before him now. And the gold wasn’t quite sure if he liked the change or not. The colt had been bright, and full of ideas. He had tossed about the world with a lightness his father did not possess, and that teamed with his ambition had promised a powerful future. Yet this? This was no more than a reflection of the wolf of the north. A dark deep creature who stalked the world, waiting. Of course these were quick judgements, perhaps even wrong, but the gold had spent enough time around the Reaper to recognize his aesthetic.
As he came under the oak himself, his tasseled tail curling and switching at his sides, his grin ever Cheshire, and his step easy and silent. “What ails you child?” For some dark sickness must have turned him into this dark brooding beast. He didn’t expect an easy answer, but that wasn’t really the point. Unlike the Reaper, who’s transformation into that dark death-bringer was complete, this youth was less….complete. His power of imposed silence and reverence less solidly pressing against your throat. Perhaps the youth was being twisted into the mold made for him, but he was not yet strong enough to hold the shape, or so the golden was gambling. The weakness of a ill fitting life was just too good to pass up.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
Expectations for a chase were dashed the moment a familiar voice coiled from behind them, and the warrior fought the urge to roll his eyes. The scavenging would have to wait until the newcomer was gone, vanished, out of sight, out of mind, not disturbing the grounds Erebos preyed on. He wasn’t surprised that the Laurelin’s initial greetings were curled in insults – the scion had known him back when childish escapades involved running after the stars and snatching up every vice, every virtue, and wondering what to do with them. Initially, Thranduil hadn’t left a bad taste in Erebos’ mind, but in this instance of vexation, where rage simmered, brimmed, brewed just below the surface, locked across his jaw, finessed behind his eyes, he didn’t have the time or the patience to cater to the other’s jibes. He attempted sedition, a sliver of fractious rebellion, altering his gaze to vague disinterest, ignoring the press of ire that the gilded beast had already successfully pricked, raised, incensed (he’d once been a Thief, a segment of cloaks and daggers, and knew where to strike, where to wound, where to hurt, and something about that both amused and annoyed Erebos, because he would’ve admired the power had it not left a mark on him). Adulthood doesn’t suit you, dearie, and the colt only bowed his head in respect (for his mother had taught him mannerisms lodged deep in his core, even if he’d preferred to snap and sneer) as Thranduil neared, as he smirked. The golden stag’s appearance did help him to settle, to draw back into himself, to polish the solid veneer of a prince who had every ounce of composure, every sense of control, every leisure and indifference tied to his crown. Without the knotted veils and indignant shrouds, he had the notion the fellow beast would’ve yearned to lead him down rabbit holes and warrens, to be devoured by the Cheshire grins and consumed by silver tongues: weak and weaker still. He had no intention of falling into another snare; he’d already been enticed into too many directions all at once (and the only one that called now was loathing and destruction, vengeance for something he had no direction towards). The little fiend from the mountains, the fledgling Lucifer daring to take flight, tilted his head, proffered the most feral of smiles (like a fanged vermin, a wolf descended from the glaciers, ready to howl), and extended his own salutations with an acerbic reply blunted by friendly tones. “Funny, we had high hopes for you too.”
The aspirations, the ambitions, the potency of his ventures stoked against his mind, caused him to turn away (and to Thranduil’s credit, perhaps even that notion was dangerous), coast a few strides away, sniff the air absentmindedly, as if coaxed, tempted, by something along the horizon; a curious venture, a reverie in vehemence, an exploitation of mild theatrics and pretenses. Maybe it’d be enough to push the Laurelin aside, persuade, convince, and coax him to somewhere or someone else who could amuse and divert him – Erebos had no intention of being stuck in a jester’s outfit. He’d worn it enough before, in foolish decrees, in sunken holes, bleeding and ashamed, in false promises, in convictions he still couldn’t fulfill (and it scraped against his soul, his essence, brash and brazen and impudent again; ignited and enflamed). Then Thranduil’s concern etched its way through the snow-laden void, and the soldier almost laughed, for he had no intention of telling that cretin, that creature, that Machiavellian brute anything that ailed him. Perhaps the former Thief could have provided him with noteworthy information, but the price, the cost, would be too heavy, too great, and the prince couldn’t owe any more debts. No weaknesses unraveled, no strings attached, no ineptitude cast into the light; his ineffectual mires would be his own, and he’d learn to sink or swim above them without assistance from brigands and mercenaries. So on a far friendlier smile, one that reached his eyes in hopes of waylaying the fellow demon (a devious mind playing a duplicitous one; too many hands shown already), he brandished a trifle phrase. “Nothing of your concern,” and walked a bit farther, down into a lane of thistles.
What had he expected? It wasn’t clear. Surely he didn’t expect to walk right over the youth, but then what did he think? Well, that was the very reason he prodded. The truth was the gold actually rather enjoyed watching these youth grow. Rikyn had thrown him for a loop. He had expected that colt to follow his mother’s tracks, but the young stallion had so much bent up….force. Not rage or vengeance, but stronger than energy. The golden hadn’t expected that, but it had been fun none the less to explore. Aithniel, the lost child of their trio….he hadn’t seen her in quite a while. Yet the last time he had seen her, she was changing into what he had expected. A powerful force wrangling with what she was to become. She’d found her…much-ness. But Erebos…how had he turned out? No time like the present to find out.
Nothing comes at first. The youth stands quiet, not goaded into the game as others might have been. Inwardly the gold is thrown slightly. He hadn’t expected a fight, but he had expected…something. Even the tuck of his head throws him off slightly. Was he giving in? One hark twists back, as he continues to chide. The gold was on the verge of calling his pursuit off, but then the youth smiles, his head tilts, and he speaks at last. A rough haunted laugh rolls out. There we go.
It stung perhaps. Yet this wasn’t the first time the gold shoulder an insult. Besides, he had to give the youth credit, it was a rather pointed one. He could slug it off, but it would only give the other more cards to play with. It might have been meant to cut short, to close off and rule out, but instead it only invited the gold in further. Because it meant, that someone knew how to play the game, and he liked that very much.
But it appeared someone else didn’t. The gold held his ground as the young stallion took a few steps away, his mind shifting elsewhere. It caused a brow to raise on the Laurelin. What on earth was the prince going for? Just as soon as he had given clue that he knew how to play, that he certainly held a potential hand, the youth steps away, as if it meant nothing. As if he didn’t care about winning…. Harks twist back as the gold watches. His mind trying to wrap around this most strange creature. One he couldn’t understand. A creature who could play, might even could win, knew it, and yet stepped away. Avoided him. The golden always quite enjoyed his reputation, but being ignored to the point of this was….foreign. A flippant phrase is thrown the gold’s way and his turned harks fall further back. He didn’t know what to expect, but it hadn’t been this.
Standing under the snow heavy oak he holds for a moment, his tasseled tail curling and twisting at his side, marveling, pondering. His earth eyes trail the other, wrestling with itself. The gold was not one to chase down another, even for a good sport. And yet… he also hated to be put off. He didn’t like a tease. He hated loosing sight of something so…promising. Teeth grind for a second as a more heated switch of his tail flies. Fine.
Cloven hooves step forward. Perhaps it wasn’t his concern but that had never stopped him before. He mocks laughter. “To be sure, but that is beside the point.” After all wasn’t everything his concern? A malicious grin turns on the retreating shadow. “I know what it is you seek.” Liar. Perhaps. It was a gamble, but one the golden could back up in some way, shape, or form, he was sure. Perhaps the colt would call his bluff, but then, that would be information as well. If he was as intensely invested as his previous behaviors suggested, would be able to just walk away? Doubtful, but then, the prince was full of surprises it seemed. Yet even surprises could tell quite a bit. In the end the gold didn’t want answers, he didn’t have to have clear explanations. Just time. The more time the other hung around, the more would be revealed, whether he wanted it to be or not.
Why the gold was so persistent though is quite another issue. It was rare his gilded tongue failed to achieve his aims. Especially on one such as Erebos he would be quite miffed to miss. Yet why he would be so sore to lose the youth was curious thing even he couldn’t fully explain. Perhaps it was a personal need to ensnare all, but that seemed a little too ambitious even for him. Or perhaps it was the loss potential. It was happenstance the gold has seen the prince stalking the thistles, but he was loathe to toss the opportunity away with such carelessness.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
The prince had intended to lose him through brambles and thorns, where thistles grated against skin, flesh, and sinew, because so few wanted to endure the sensation of pain, wanted to stumble blindly into something they knew could hurt them. Where the youth persisted, he presumed Thranduil wouldn’t – Erebos had grown beneath shadows and melee, rarely avoiding the inevitable reach of agony and misery, melancholy and derision, for he dared to scale great heights, for he instigated, challenged the ways of the earth, and expected the realms to balk, to shy, to load their munitions and fire back (when he succeeded, it was with a grin and a black eye, and many more scars to come). He only knew so many things about the Laurelin, but his estimations of him weren’t too high; the beast seemed to understand the nuances of nations, the slender schemes, the intrepid dance of mortals and their harsh, unrelenting perseverance, but the prince had never seen the once-king shackle and tether himself to a battle he may not win. Perhaps he was mistaken, and the gilded asp had stumbled, fallen, and twisted himself through fury and onslaughts to stand where he was now, stronger, mightier, than before, had risen from the ashes, from the embers, from the coals and stoked the fires of mayhem. But the youth had no forethought of finding out.
Instead, he was eerily disappointed when the cretin continued following him amidst the piles of spikes and barns, coiling bits of laughter into the grain of frosted meadows and unsaid oaths. He hid a grimace tucked between his teeth and lips, didn’t allow the vivid frown to sketch itself along his features, or the avid frustration building along his bones, his blood, his soul, at the loss of opportunities and the increasing chance he’d never find the immoral creature who’d dared to damage a beloved friend. Even the coaxing elements of Thranduil’s words managed to touch a nerve; he assumed it was mostly lies, fabrications, pretenses built up from methods and gambles concocted from Machiavellian, deviant designs he’d learned ages before, tried on everyone, laughed when they fell into his traps. But a tiny part of Erebos wished it were true, that he’d seen some devil ripple from the Heart Caves, run and rampage away, that he could give a face, a name, a set of characteristics to an anonymous monster, and the soldier would be able to fulfill his convictions. It was likely all another game – some vague fortune meant to rattle him (and the youth often managed to seek something just about every day: whether it was power, glory, malice, bloodshed, amusement – they often combined into a strong, steady yearning for the world to maneuver under his command), and he wasn’t interested in playing it. But he kept walking, ignoring the pricks settled along his hide, turning his skull back to stare at the golden, to deliver his message with the same menacing, feral grin, devilry confined to his eyes. “I doubt it.”
It was a venture he grew more annoyed at by the second, but those feelings caused the coming end of it to be all the more bitter. After he had gone through such trouble of following the prince, he was still rejected. It put a sour mood of desperation on the gold, and gods it was the worst of clothes. Yet as much as his annoyance flowed beneath at his second rebuff from the youth, his lips grew a smile. In some strange way, he was quite happy to find Erebos such as this. Some strange dark twisted happiness.
For each youth the gold crossed, for each he ever watched, he always found an inward fascination with potential. Though in their small forms his heart might waver with past memories, his mind was ever pondering with what they could become. Unlike adults, youths had abilities to change, to shift and grow. Erebos though, was quite an unusual thing. Not many so young knew enough of the world, or had such strong inner cores already to see their options. When you’re playing a game and winning, many only see the find step to be to win. Not many have the power to still look up from their winning hand and see the other doors in the shadows forgotten. That was power, regretfully the gold could not touch, could not manipulate. How could he ensnare one in desperation when they saw so many other ways out of their troubles. It was a unique view of this world, one so few mortals have. And though the dark prince thought it untouchable by the gold, its reveal was near enough a confession.
So the gold snorted and stopped her pursuit. As humored as he was to fund such an thing, knowing his fingerprints could not even stain the piece made the journey worthless. Besides there was much else to do in the world today….
However…the dark prince was still following a blank trail. All trials come in threes, the gold would hate to spoil the tradition of fate. So he tosses out his lines of gold one more time. “You follow an empty trail….no leads….” It’s said with a ponder yet more seriousness. Then it twists back to its haunty airs. “Are you willing to risk everything in rejecting such simple assistance as a compass and description of a face?” His crowned head tilts, waiting…watching….testing.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: OK I ADMIT IT. I couldn't stop thinking about how Erebos walks on water, like Jesus, and Jesus was tempted by the devil three times in the desert. XD
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
A living gamble stood across from him, brindled with lies and adornments, lacquered with deceptions and fiction, and carrying all the siren wails of what if? He’d waltzed far into the devil’s web, watched the spider’s weave their blistering, enticing tapestry, and stayed there a little too long. The boy wouldn’t widen his eyes or stare in disbelief at the muck and mire he found himself stranded within – only swallowed a little harder when allurement pressed too close to his spine, to his mind, threatened to unravel all the things he wanted close to his bold, audacious, cretin heart. Are you willing to risk everything… thrummed and echoed past his ear drums, and he could admit it was a wonderfully executed trap – had he not looked down, had he not been perceptive, had he not been a piece of Lucifer himself, the boy might have fallen down into the hole and never emerged again. He was not so virtuous, not so pure – the temptation was there, standing in front of him, offering services and descriptions. Thranduil proffered a glorious, beguiling gift: a name, a face, a figure he could chase down – but the chance was too great, the deal too grand. The prince knew better; understood he’d have to lay down a price, a covenant, and he had nothing the Laurelin could possibly want. He couldn’t afford to bend down on one knee, to serve the gilded artist, to be rendered and spliced back together again after a multitude of lies and ambitions. Erebos had his own roads to wander down, and he’d never pictured subjection down one of those many pathways and corridors. He’d rather hunt and unfurl the rest of his days, searching in those predacious halls, than owe a debt to a known serpent. He could, however, play another part to the story, could throw out his own chaos, could tempt the demon into one more round of a fiendish game – he was losing time, losing patience, losing hours where he could slash an enemy’s throat, where he could rip apart those who’d wronged his friend. No more delays, no more hindrances – and with any luck, the prince would manage to swindle the swindler, and kill two birds with one stone.
Orsino, go get a rock was all he commanded through their connection; cold and fierce, unrelenting and persistent, so much so that the little kitsune wielded the movement and motion without hesitation. While the fox consented, Erebos enacted more pretenses, more lies of his own, coveting roles and reversals, fastening a mask to his features and sedition on his tongue. He sighed, rolled his eyes, made the impression of a bestial, feral child no longer getting his way, dropping his skull to stare at the ground. “Fine, if you must know,” he paused, flicked his eyes to where his shadowed companion brought back a pebble nestled in his mouth from the cavern aperture (make it valuable he demanded again, and he could’ve sworn the vicious little disciple laughed through their connection, abrupt and jarring, as if he’d truly been dragged from the underworld), before resuming his prior stance, a kind, compassionate veneer pasted on his lips. “We found this in the cave,” and here Orsino dropped the chosen rubble at the Laurelin’s feet, but harbored his furtive, specious enchantments upon it, so instead of a plain, sullen little piece of ruin and soil, it appeared as a golden dagger, shiny, newly bronzed, capable of dastardly things and whispers of upheaval. He wondered, briefly, if Thranduil would even be able to contain his glee at the sight of gilded arms and munitions, if he’d want it for himself, if he’d crave it for future carvings. Erebos continued, ever the compassionate patriot, gallant and swift, valorous and kind, delving into deeper whims and embellishments. “I was hoping to find its owner. You’d think they’d want it back.” Thereafter, he shrugged, looking back at the fabricated object like it was some precious artifact, best wielded in the garb of secrets and the toils of mankind. “Have you seen anyone leave recently?” He twisted his head back towards the heart caves, where a friend had been beaten and where he should’ve been near, protecting, guarding, but he’d been too late (again), where someone must have fled, under the cover of derision and disarray.
Perhaps he had been too quick to judge. Perhaps he had been wrong? (Never did it cross his mind he was being completely taken for a fool.) But that strong inner core which he was just admiring seemed to crumble in this dark Prince, and the gold for a moment was lost as to whether he should morn it, or celebrate at his powers. It was a pity to see a creature waver when so close, but how could he be sad when his gilded tongue had pulled back one so far from the edge. It was a personal triumph he settled on. So his grin grew as he watched the back of the dark prince.
It fooled the gold for a moment. Even though it was a bit dramatic, the gold had not been around the youth much of late. So the judgement against the dark prince’s usual nature was unavailable, and the gold made the mistake of letting distance past replace current context clues. His enjoyment of victory was getting in the way of his eyes, a dangerous mistake. Still, everyone must slip once in a while, the dark prince was playing a brilliant game. It was, in truth, a pity the gold didn’t know it. He’d be rather impressed and proud.
The golden waits for the other to come, his own pride soothed from its previous moanings by having the other return to him. Even his hip cocks and tassled tail curls, catching on small shrubs. It is only when the gold flashes in his eyes that he seems to concentrate a bit more. Harks lean forward and his hips straighten back up. Well, well, well….His earth eyes roll over the elegant blade. Beautiful carvings, and design, yet….new…brand new. Not much difference though. It was exquisite, and the gold’s greedy heart did give a few beats of envy. “Found it…” His voice hangs, still looking over the object, but beginning to move on. Erebos had been quite on target, the gold’s senses were first taken by his victory, and second by the false object. Clever indeed.
Then he slips slightly. Hoping to return it. The gold at last looks up from the dagger. One hark pulled slightly back, and his eyes more serious and narrow. Here the dark prince’s lie might have been stretched too thin. Though his face wore the right lines, and his lips the right tones, the gold hesitated at the reason. If it was found in a cave, how did he know it had an owner? And though the dark prince could fit a valiant, kind, giving sort….was he that off? The gold had not caught onto the prince’s masterful schemes…but he did hesitate, his mind finally hearing not alarms, but a small chime.
He wanted to know more…but if the youth told the truth there was nothing more to tell. It didn’t settle well with the gold. Both harks now face backward in thought. It wasn’t though, why the prince might have thought though. The blade was glorious, stunning, that was certain, but the gold was in truth, quite content with his trappings. Like precious objects he knew his blades, and had all he required. Though this would make an excellent bartering piece, it was not worth risking a great deal for. Instead, what cause the gold concern, pause, was this seeming innocent take. It just seemed too good….too nice…but maybe that was Erebos? After all had he not just praised the youth on his ability to turn away from the darkness? And so the gold was thrown into confusion again.
After a final moment, and a decisive switch of the tasseled tail the gold sighs and smile at the dark prince. “Luckily for you Dark Prince-“ He reaches back to his wolven cloak, where he teeth grab and shift the heavy item. He turn glances back, and broad grin on his face once more. “-I have a far better blade.” And then the gold pulls from a sheath a steel dagger, laying it beside the other. Beside one another you might think the gold has lost his mind. But not everything is as it appears. “All that glitters is not gold.” Looking down upon his own dagger in the snow the gold leans down, trying his best to whisper beyond the ears of the other. “The watching shift goes ever on.” The silver blade trembles awake, and instantly a reflection blooms on its surface. Drawing back the gold smiles quite smug at the other.
A cloven hoof kicks the blade over to the other, letting it crash into the gilded one. “It can see any creature within many miles.” The range he did not yet know, but knew it not to be too far. “If they have not long gone, there is chance you can glimpse them and what surrounds them if you tilt it right.” Confused or not. Worn of this back and forth or not. Giving out information seemingly for free. It mattered not. The gold stood back with a smug grin on his face, ever pleased with himself. It never mattered for what cause, the gold was always vain enough to feel satisfied simply for having at such easy access what others desired. To have what others wanted.
Of course there would be a price…but first he wanted to see just what the darkling was after….
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
For a few moments, the prince thought he had him. He imagined Thranduil sinking his teeth into the lure, grasping and entangling his avarice into its long, gilded thread, taking off and dragging it across the meadows until he was out of sight, out of mind – the delusion was nearly rendered complete when the Laurelin angled off kilter, puncturing it with a sigh and a smile. Erebos struggled to hide his disappointment, wanted to frown, wanted to sneer, wanted to hang his head and growl at the ground (he just yearned for the other beast to be gone - didn’t he understand that?), but stared instead, clenching his jaw in silent, feral animosity. Pouting was unbecoming, his mother would say, but he had better things to do, more beasts to hunt, more destruction to consign, than stand here and ramble endlessly on about guidance and assistance from a fellow infidel who could only lead him deeper into regrets and remorse –
But then temptation swung in front of his gaze again, and his eyes widened, eager and fervent, back to his childish self as Thranduil painted another vivid trap. It was beautifully enticing, the allure, the grandeur, of another blade, capable of so much more than a rudimentary dagger. The youth wondered how he’d managed to snag it (then realized likely by outright stealing, lying, or charming its way out of the previous holders’ claws), for it was potent and powerful, alarming and intrusive, something every grasping, greedy, mercenary beast could’ve desired. Almost instantly he found himself shifting towards it, the gilded, forged knife lying somewhere near Orsino (and the little fox was hissing something, nearly incoherent between the appealing, argent glint of Thranduil’s miniature cutlass - Don’t give in!), stare riveted, fascinated, by the capabilities and enchantments promised by entrancing words. It could see things from beyond – in other realms, meadows, and domiciles – and he could only begin to understand the measure of potency and prowess held in such a minute weapon, craved one for himself, but for now, he pondered over the possibilities and meaning behind Thranduil’s smug commands. Would the demon be able to stretch his eyes past the trees, past the copses, past the fields, to the monster who’d slashed and beat Enna? Would he be able to put a face to another infidel, chase him from the great beyond of reflections, plunge his vows and convictions into the fool’s skull, into his chest, rip and tear his flesh apart?
He couldn’t help himself – he leaned closer, glanced down at the steel structure, at the finely carved filaments, breathing out a ghostly whisper, mesmerized by the potential lacquered in iron. “Amazing,” he reflected, staring at its edges, wishing, hoping, believing the opportunity was right in front of him, and all he’d have to do was look, then sadly, pushing the inevitable frown along his mouth when he saw nothing, nothing at all. Was it was all some other trick, one more ruse to send him gallivanting elsewhere, distracting him from his true task? He couldn’t chance a glance at Orsino – to see the I told you so written along the fox’s face. “I can’t see anything,” he murmured, gaze boring into Thranduil’s now, a brow arched, a definition of defiance sculpted along his features.
He was smug, confident, and in total his usual vain self as he watched the youth look into the blade with suspicion, hope. It was made all the more delicious to have the dark prince literally drawn in. Like moth to a flame. A term so often applied to the gold. Earth eyes glance to the gold dagger shifted to the side, unsuspected. Perhaps he didn’t desire the blade. His own was just as sharp, and had the added bonus of this magic, but the gold’s greedy eyes were ever wide. Perhaps he wouldn’t use it, but he could still hoard it, collect it, or even bargain it himself. But he didn’t think of snatching it now, even with the dark prince’s attention caught. No, what he desired was to see the youth’s face of wonder….and to see if he was truly after the owner of the dagger in such a pure mission.
As the images appeared on the blade, the gold sparked in those earth eyes, waiting. Yet, there’s no spark, no aha-moment. Harks begin to fall back then the youth looks up and delivers the verdict. Can’t see? The mask of the gold falls away. His harks pin fully back and his eyes narrow to look down at the blade himself. It must have been quite an unusual scene to see two stallions staring confounded at a blade in the middle of the thistles….
“Impossible.” He hisses, forgetting to keep up appearances. At the moment, he only could rally against the frustration of the limitations of Helovia’s magic. Crowned head reaches out for the blade’s end, gripping it with his teeth and pulling it back. In his eyes he sees shadows go by and snows, scenes switching and shifting to show the goings of the world. The gold leans back, raising his head, but keeping eyes on his blade. Perhaps only the one who whispered the words could see? He dared not share the words. Perhaps only the owner? He sure as hell wasn’t going to trade it. The Laurelin snorts. Well that was just it right? Nothing else was owed, he could leave.
But the gold dagger still lay cold in the snow, the questions of the dark prince still unanswered, and, if he was honest with himself (which he rarely was), the gold still held interest in where the youth would lead to himself. He hesitates then, before finally looking up. “Small matter… I suppose you care only about the caves...” It was said with both a grumble and huff, as if the dark prince’s inability to see was fault of his own. Typical gold. Earth eyes cast down to the blade, and his nose carefully turns it as he goes. He in brief describes what he sees. Describing the trappings and looks of each. The gold was wise enough to know the dark prince may not trust what he hears, but he had looked with such hungry eyes on the blade the gold counted on him finding something…
He goes through several scenes, but when the youth seems uninterested he moves on quickly. He is still searching around the caves when he sees a figure of a much different sort. “A large red- and…bloodied Pegasus. Scraps on his cheek, but there’s more blood then from him, hard to tell…a vicious looking temper....difficult to see, he's distant-“ He lingers, hangs. This, unlike others described, was more unusual, and yet still near where the colt searched. He almost wanted this creature to be it, unlike the others he had described, this one would surly make a most interesting story.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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He was a spark of sedition; incensed, outraged, seething at the end of his tethers, struggling to compose himself when naught but insurgence clawed at his veins. It’d been a complete, utter waste of time – minutes he could’ve spent hunting down one more monster, one more heathen, had been squandered, misspent, and dissipated due to the Laurelin’s silly little games. The boy was even more irritated at himself, because he’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker, tried to slither around the trap before he even realized he’d been caught in its grasp, flailing around in madness and deceit. His eyes remained focused solely on the gilded beast, and his chest heaved a massive sigh, mouth parted, ready to extend his farewells, his exasperation, then leave the scene as empty, as useless, as he’d been when it started. But Thranduil’s words stopped him, caused him to tilt his head again, curious, confused, bewildered by how the other stag’s appearance had altered; no pretenses, no charades, no guessing games, ears pinned, features furrowed, pulling the blade back and struggling with its ineptitude.
Thranduil wasn’t lying?
Or was this one more show? One more display? One more act set along the fiend’s stage, enticing his audience to follow until they’d been completely ensnared? Erebos’ gaze narrowed, suspicious again, the boiling roll of contempt undulating over his jaw, clasping and holding a brewing cauldron of calamity down within his chest, until the Laurelin began describing the beasts from beyond their walls. His harks swiveled around instantly, caught in a vicious cycle of ebb and flow, of waxing and waning, of trying to seethe and rid himself of this infernal plague, but incapable of committing the final motion, movement, maneuver. The prince listened attentively to the faces, the physiques, of so many he didn’t know, couldn’t recall (there was a multitude upon this earth, shifting from realm to realm, some sweetly innocent, some damned from their first breath) – beasts stroked and garbed in earth tones, creatures swept aside in spots, splotches, and smiles, idle infidels wreathed, veiled in pure ivory, but the only one that truly garnished his attention was the final rendition. Red and bloodied Pegasus (from her?, scrapes on his cheek, vicious-looking temper… Questions, queries, and provocations stirred along the youth’s mind, and he wanted to snap, wanted to rally, wanted to launch from siege to siege and storm his way into a vicious tempest, because while he couldn’t be completely sure that this was the beast who’d ravaged Enna, the possibility was there (scrapes could mean she fought back, blood could mean he’d carved it from her frame, ill-temper could mean hatred, vehemence, towards something or someone for no rhyme, no reason). It was enough (had to be). So the scion swallowed his pride, the arch of his defiance, the swell, the itch of insubordination, to nod his head and extend his thanks (hoping that Thranduil didn’t see the way his muscles coiled, the way his frame composed, drew itself into pariah glimpses and warrior phases, how he seemed poised to set the world ablaze). “Thank you. I think that’s all I need to know.” Before the golden figure could set a price, before he could embellish and enfold him into his illustrious debt, the boy bowed again, coaxed Orsino away with a nod. He was putting trust in Thranduil, and perhaps that was the most dangerous thing he’d ever done – vocals snapping together on a mercurial pursuit, on a fiendish light. “I’ll be sure to return it to him.” The blade glinted between the fox’s teeth, all perfected lies, and the pair turned, twisting themselves back towards the Heart Caves, along the ramparts, the munitions, and preparing for treachery, for peril, for menace cloaked in vengeance.
The hesitation yields reward. Though nothing changed upon the face of the dark prince, he signals that was all he needed to know. Earth eyes spark with suspicion, for in taking his information too quickly, the youth revealed himself. He should have waited perhaps, given time for another to be named. For while his ending of the trip through the looking blade did not yield the truth, it exposed the lies. Yet the gold was ever so curious still, wanting to bait ever more. “It is a mane and face of white, with a coat of red. That is all I can see.” The gold takes he blade then again in his teeth and moves to slide it back in its place under the wolven hide.
Perhaps he expected to much…but he thought the world knew by now he didn’t give out information for just a simple thank you. Harks pin back as he looks again to see the back of the dark prince. To see the willy companion pick up the gilded blade. No. Teeth grind back in his skull. “Erebos!” It snarls, with a vicious threat. The use of the young stallion’s name signaled a shift in the mood of the conversation. “Do not dare make the mistake of taking me for that much of a fool.” Had he only realized what a fool he’d been made into it perhaps would have been harder to accuse the dark prince as he walked on. Yet even still, to turn your back in front of the gold before it was…safe, was like dangling a dare in front of him.
Some darker being now took over his features. The monster Erebos knew was behind the smiles and teases was coming out at last. It didn’t matter if the dark prince stopped or not, the gold continued to snarl. “There is no blood on that blade or you.” It came down as an axe, cutting the webs the dark prince had spun. Daring him to deny the bluff. He would have time later to marvel at how this young stallion had done it, but for the moment the gold could only comprehend that the young buck had used him without paying even the smallest price of information. His head twists, accusing, hissing. “But there must be some in your mind to match his.”
Then the gold changes tack, his anger, simmering, pulling back into something darker, for he begins to see the muffled forms of the truth. Erebos was hunting someone…for something dark…but what? The vicious beast he had become eases back as quickly as it came, and a smug grin rises once more. “You’re wasting time. Go. Northwest.” It still breathed of smoke and threat, but no longer did the fire roar after it. “But you’ve still a price to pay. I expect a fascinating story soon enough dark prince.” And then the gold turned himself. He let him go. Had Erebos even listened? Didn’t matter. (Well it did, but the gold was trying to clean the mud stained pride.) Snorting the gold shook his crowned head and headed off. Let Erebos find his man, the gold would keep an eye. The gold had been the one to see the beast in the blade afterall. Setting off at a trot he kicked himself off with the lingering frustration still clinging to him, but promising himself the last laugh…just perhaps tomorrow.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
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[O] make them think they ever stood a chance
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
