"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.
There was a slight movement beside the pale Glazier, and as she lifted her crown she allowed her glassy gaze to wash over the familiar healer. As she reached out her muzzle to greet the scarred mare, Glasgow met her half way for a soft touch before pulling away. “What do you think we’ll be doing?” She questioned after that. Her pale head swiveled back to Kisamoa quietly before glancing around. “I’m not sure. I’m not much one for picking up bones, but I’ll do what I can.” She offered a half smile toward the mare.
When she suggested cleaning, with her head cocked Glasgow nodded to her as she turned her head slightly toward the beach. “Sure. In the Endless Blue perhaps?” It was partially a question – regardless of what the healer had planned, Glasgow was planning on returning to the scene where she had felt ever different – changed, by the things that Kisamoa had mentioned to her. And without really getting a response from Lyanna, she only hoped her friend would follow her toward the beaches.
She didn’t really feel like talking, but things were different around Lyanna. Glasgow could find that she actually had the ability to hold small conversation without delving too deep within herself and building up walls against whoever tried to get close to her. When she arrived in the sands, she noticed others had already started gathering things. Immediately, she looked around for something that might be big enough to hold the bones that they gathered for the return trip to Kisamoa. Spotting a rather flat piece of driftwood along where the tide rolled in, she made her way over toward it, nudging it with her nose toward where she planned on starting.
Then, quietly, she began to dig around with her blood stained hooves in search of anything. And, in order to make things feel a bit less awkward, had Lyanna followed of course, was when she paused to glance at the observatory in the distance. “Did you feel different when you had magic?” It was a quiet question, aimed at mentioning parts of the history that Lyanna had been ever so wonderful to share with the Glazier.
After his business is completed in the Rotunda, the pirate makes his way to the Endless Blue. Not only does he think it the most likely place to find some trees to move, but he gleefully seizes upon any opportunity to spend more time around the ocean. When there's sand crunching beneath his hooves and the salty tang of brine in his nostrils, the bay stallion is quite content. He's made the beach his unofficial home, so it seems only fair he do a little more work for Kisamoa since it's on his way anyway.
During the journey to the Endless Blue from the forest, the stag stumbles across a large stash of bones. He selects a couple of the largest and plunges his antlers into their depths, causing several of the bones to snag between the tines. After lifting his head, the stallion takes a few seconds to steady himself and grow accustomed to the new weight pressing down on his head, before resuming his journey as though it's perfectly normal to carry bits of skeleton in your antlers. Some people have decorative moss, some have rope....the tree-marked brute has bones. They're all the rage.
As he makes his way across the beach, looking for more bones to collect before he heads back to Kisamoa, he catches sight of a pair of women. In recent years, Bartholomeo has developed quite the eye for a lady, as even though his heart is strictly off-limits he still has needs. They're an attractive pair, even the one with the glass horns and the sinister, carved smile. "Hello ladies," he says with his vagabond's grin, his deep green eyes twinkling with good humour and just an edge of flirtation. He ambles closer, the bones in his antlers rattling slightly, and he notes that the two mares have already begun to gather some other bones and placed them upon a large piece of driftwood. Hmm, that's clever. Makes more sense than having to do a dozen journeys to transport all the objects back to Kisamoa.
"Here, allow me to assist you." Ever the chivalrous pirate - when it suits him - Bartholomeo shifts closer to the makeshift raft, lowering his head to shake the bones down onto it. Unfortunately, the oddly-shaped items snag and catch in his tines, and he realises with alarm that they're unwilling to depart their snug home in his antlers. "Ah. That's unfortunate." He gives a booming laugh, utterly unphased by his compromising situation. "Uhm, would you two lovely ladies mind helping a guy out?" He offers them his most winning smile, and hopelessly rattles his antlers some more to try and empty them of their grisly cargo.
01-05-2017, 05:25 PM (This post was last modified: 01-05-2017, 05:27 PM by Maren.)
M A R E N
- By the precepts of her purity -
The cold weather had began to simmer down and, without the harsh winter winds, the salty seawater felt like a nice, cold hug around her Legs. As demeaning as it was for her trusty, wooden companion, she felt it was a clever way to carry all the bones Mr.Teatime had planned and promised her he would find - which she expected would be a lot. Too much, maybe. He might even go overboard with it. That was how extreme her companion's mindset felt against her own. Just don't kill anyone for it, that wouldn't be very morally correct.
Anyhow, she had therefore decided that she'd better not take up too much room in the vessel herself, and walk alongside the shoreline instead, pulling her boat along by its chain. It was something she rarely did. Wading through the water felt strange, almost foreign now. To her, it had no elegance anymore, had lost its finesse. After all, there were no moments to really drift away with her thoughts. Walking and splashing were suddenly disturbing motions. And there was so much to think about right now, too. Or, well... Just one thing. What is this nonsense about bones? When had they ever found use for them? As much history as they held within their ivory chambers of non-decay, they held as much death and lifelessness. It was the only immediate link she could find to connect the objects to anything related to Gods - as they often had to do with life and death in lore. But then what? Was he going to dress himself in them, as Gaucho had done? Was he going to build himself a throne of bones? Was Kisamoa even a God? Was he not just an Helovian entity? A mystery; that was what he was, most of all.
Meanwhile Mr.Teatime seemed to enjoy himself and continued to dive and crawl the crystal sands of the beach. When he found a a bone he dumped it straight into the wooden vessel, where it fell against the wooden planks with a light thud. Maren now noticed there were others around this part, too. They seemed to be doing the same thing as them; cleaning, clearing - but where they questioning, too? Like she was now, and would be, when she was lying in a cozy cave later tonight? And, although she preferred thinking alone, she saw a pair of mares and a stallion close by to her and thought that, maybe... just maybe they knew something more than her. Even if it was just a ramble, a fleeting thought that wasn't her own; maybe they could enlighten her. So Maren walked up to them, leaving Mr. Teatime in charge of the boat. Just as she did, however, the stallion that had approached the mares just before she did, seemed to get himself stuck. "Goodday." She glanced from him, back to the two girls and scraped her throat . "You two look intelligent enough," she declared to the chosen ones and continued on with proposing her search for enlightenment and wisdom. "So, from one intelligent being to another, why would you say we are collecting these bones? For what purpose?" If none of the two girls had helped the dude with the bones stuck in his antler yet, Maren would take the initiative and plead mercy on his behave. Because, looking at the two galls; strangers to herself, they were pretty and if a stallions body knew moments of failure, it had to be when there were pretty mares closeby. "Oh, and my name is Maren, I am the Diviner from the Dragon's Throat."
Toulouse
tinker tailor soldier sailor rich man poor man beggar man thief.
The serpent gave very few hoots for Helovians or what might become of them. In reality the gelding had made almost naught in the way of allies or friends, only enemies. Generally this would not be a thought that sent a twinge into the back of his brain, but in all honesty it was a factor he intended to work on. Toulouse had been born a social creature, one who liked to make others laugh. Loneliness was something he had grown well accustomed to, so much so that it was a great part of his life. Did it have to be though?
So it was as he strode towards the Endless Blue in that he decided he might actually make the effort to construct some alliances and make friends. As a new specter such allegiances would become valuable.
This Kisamoa fellow however - a selcouth bundle of blubber, fins and scales... the oddity was surely not just in his appearance. There were blankets and dust covering this creature's true intentions and a part of the specter wished to delve infinitely into any information he might be bale to find about the creature. Oh, the possibities! He could catch him in a vile act of world domination (or something). The remaining other part of him wished to simply wander home and sunbathe in the newly emerged Birdsong, allowing potential chaos or wonder to ensue without him.
Instead, the gelding had decided on a compromise; to simply go along with the creatures wishes for now.
It was when he approached the beach that he noticed the figures of the beaten Glazier, the Moon Doctor, and unfamiliar stag and the Part-Time Water Patrol Priestess from the Dragon's Throat way up along the coast. It seemed the T'detan must either tuck his tail and slink away or make a choice between Toulouse or Barnabas for this encounter - both were made-up personas of his, and those present were acquainted with both.
His herd... he could trust his herd could he not? Barnabas seemed the less troublesome pick.
After discarding his bejeweled scarf behind a boulder he stepped fourth onto the beach, retreating away from the treeline the vampire's pace changed from his natural lithe and cat-like stride to the stumbly, clumsy balter one might expect from a common merchant and father of five. "Maren! Missus Captain of the Flying Dutchman!" Barnabas cheered in greeting to a woman he greatly adored. The serpent, on the contrary found her beautiful but without the fierceness a captain ought to have. Perhaps she might even frighten him with her demenor and imagination - however, dreaming girls were not known for their longevity. "How nice it is to see you again!"
Barnabas turned his grin towards the others present, non-smiling eyes pinning to those present who were from his own home. Dont screw this up he wished to tell them. "OH! Glasgow!" The gelding gave a frightful cheer once again and bumped right past the striped woman to hug the Glazier, a woman the sepent had never ever met apart from simple acknowledgements around the herd. "Not a word" he whispered to the two woman of his herd, hoping he could trust them, his voice almost inaudible to himself and words meant only for Glasgow and Lyanna. Turning once again to face the stranger and the priestess, Barnabas gave a great grin. "Hello sir, I am Barnabas!" He announced to the dark bloke, one who looked right in his element here the seaside. Craning his head down to push a stray bone out of the sand, he gave one final giggle "would you believe it, the last time I was at the sea I had to be pulled out of it by miss Maren over there like a wee fish!"
Of course she follows. In the end, she didn’t care where they went. Lyanna simply needed a friendly face, and she needed out of the Edge. She needed to feel like she belonged here, somewhere, even if that feeling never quite stuck. With Glasgow, at least, she had a friend. So when the pale mare suggests the Endless Blue, Lyanna nods and follows without hesitation. They keep the conversation light and easy, which is just fine. They’ve shared so much of their pasts to one another already, it is not necessary now. Conversations about the warming weather are okay sometimes.
Glasgow finds a large, flat piece of driftwood, and as she does, Lyanna begins clearing the edges of the marshlands, scooping dead plants from the water with her hooves, pushing logs with her shoulder, and plopping the bones on the piece of wood. After a moment, a question comes, soft and personal, though Lyanna doesn’t mind personal. “Yes,” she says, her answer equally quiet. Honest. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be true if I hadn’t been born with it. But I was. The wind and I were the same thing. Without it…without it, sometimes I don’t know who I am.”
She pauses in her work for a moment to look at her friend, wondering if her answer is crazy or strange. But even if it is those things, it’s also how she feels. Before long though, there’s the voice of another approaching, and she turns her attention to him both grateful for more distractions and loathe to give up a conversation with Glasgow. The stallion seems friendly enough, slightly flirtatious, and…well, and with bones in his antlers. She laughs, something that feels good after so little laughing through winter, as the bones rattle and stick there.
“Of course,” she says, closing the distance toward the stallion, lifting a hoof and indicating he should lower his head enough for her to dislodge the bones. And it’s then, as she stands there with a hoof in the air to dislodge bones from antlers, she hears you two look intelligent enough, and she nearly breaks down into fits of giggles. Nearly. She doesn’t – years of training to keep her composure kicking in – but the entire thing seems rather hilarious at this point. Does she, in fact, look remotely intelligent standing here? Or to be fair, was she actually referring to Lyanna at all? But this mare, with wings behind her ears instead of on her back, seems to in fact be looking and her and Glasgow.
“Lyanna, one of the Moon Doctors of the Edge,” she offers to the mare who introduces herself as Maren, glancing briefly at the stallion as well and trying very, very hard not to just crack up. It’s tempting. But then the golden sleuth shows up and her desire to laugh dies in her throat. Maren’s question – which Lyanna hadn’t much of an answer to anyway, having only spent a year in Helovia – is entirely forgotten. It’s rude, and she should know better, but she’s too ready to punch Toulouse in the face to think.
Thankfully, none of it shows on her face. She keeps her attention largely on the stallion and the bones in his antlers, as the new World’s Edge Specter continues to proceed around with a whole lot of exuberant and a hiss of not a word to her and Glasgow. And then, he introduces himself as Barnabas. She nearly gives him up right there. The words are on the tip of her tongue. How easy it would be. Barnabas? Have you been lying to the whole Edge about your name, sir? Or something like that. But she keeps her mouth shut. One, and most importantly, because she’s not sure it benefits the Edge to give him up right at this moment. And two, because she now has a little secret on Toulouse that does not benefit him to know. And she’s still pissed enough at him for trying to shove Raeden off a cliff that she isn’t above keeping secrets and using them to her advantage.
So instead, she pays him little mind, offering him a nod of greeting and ignoring the story about how he ended up the Throat. The very same story that he’s been recently berated for in the Edge. Instead, she recalls Maren’s question now, and turns her attention to Maren, all the while resisting the urge to glance at Glasgow and roll her eyes. “I don’t have much of a guess about the bones, I’m afraid. I’ve only lived here about a year, and I admit, where I come from, things like this did not happen.” The controlled elements where she came from. They had no Gods. Life here is terribly different. “As the Diviner for the Throat though, I’m guessing you know more than I do. Do you have any ideas?”
01-06-2017, 11:30 PM (This post was last modified: 01-07-2017, 12:29 AM by Ru.)
Somehow she looses Lyanna in the crowds – Ru hates walking sometimes. It’s slow and time consuming. One simply did not see enough from the belly of the ground. Lost and uncertain for a moment, she releases a large puff of air from her lungs – and makes a hurried run. Beating silver tipped wings, and darting upwards into the sky.
There are a lot of lands to cover, a lot of rotting things and wasted debris to dispose of. But she yearns to make sure her friend is okay, that Kisamoa has not fooled them to split a part. With the intention of quietly killing them all off at the same time. The thought hurries the girl’s search. Following the generalized direction that she’d last seen Lyanna. It takes her to the salty edges of the Endless Blue.
It is pure luck that she stumbles on the group. Though it is only the black figure she settles her gaze upon, the familiar teal dipped tresses and her striking white hair. A sudden, unexpected sense of relief washes with the salty wind – and our heroine makes a quick dive upon the edges that gather these people together.
She intends to herald her approach with a whinny of sorts. There is another familiar face however, that steadies the young mare’s legs – and keeps her voice silent in the background.
Ru recalls Maren like a fond and distant memory. She is suddenly transported to her time in the Dragon’s Throat, and can only recall heartache that leaves her hollowed out on the shore. It seemed like only a day or two ago, that she had stumbled into Helovia with the intention of catching a rabbit. That she had just made the striped mare cringe all over again, having made contact with her warm and fuzzy pelt.
When Ru’s breath leaves her, she inhales with a shaky shudder. As long as Lyanna is close, and safe, she will be fine without her.
The feathered woman ignores the others, strangers. They’re all so far away, that she assumes she will go unnoticed. By then she’d witnessed the arrival of Toulouse, caught Lyanna’s reply that lilted into the air in murmurs. All seems rather fine.
Without a second thought she turns. Feeling off, nearly offended with something that happened a year ago. It was an accumilation of what ifs, the child's stay in the Throat, the beginning of how her life had ended in a confusing flury of wicked winds, and the hope of acquiring a new home that startled her. Ru looked to the sky, searching for its familiar gusts that might erase and dissolve the strange feelings.
She was off in a flury of feathers, in search of other beaches to attend.
The honesty from Lyanna was something that Glasgow was thankful for. She listened as she began to clear invasive brush from the sands with her blood stained hooves. A small nod was given to her friend before she looked up to the painted Doctor. “I’ve felt different from my time here with Kisamoa, and I don’t know if it’s magic or not. Just, something feels different. More whole.” She replied quietly, before noticing a rather striking stallion approach. His antlers were heavy and full of bones. There was something about him, though, that reminded her of Tilney. And it caused a pain to wither within her chest at the memory of the caramel stallion who was once her friend.
“Hello.” She said as she pushed the thought out of her mind as quickly as it came, nodding to him and offering a small smile as he moved closer to the driftwood raft Glasgow had created, dropping some bones onto it. At least Lyanna was quick enough to compute the help that Bartholomeo needed, so while the painted woman began to remove the remaining bones from Bart’s antlers, she continued on her mission of clearing the vegetation and litter from the section in front of her.
As if it wasn’t enough excitement to have a gorgeous stallion talking to the two of them – though Glasgow was sure it was because of Lyanna and not herself that he was even speaking to her; a striped woman with wings behind her ears appeared. Her comment caused one of Glasgow’s ears to swivel in uncertainty as Lyanna’s gentle laugh faded in the air. The striped woman acknowledged herself as Maren, from the Dragon’s Throat and Glasgow nodded quietly in response. “I’m Glasgow. A Glazier for the Edge.” She added in, eyes drifting from her work to survey the bones that had been collected on the raft.
“I’m not sure either, though where I’m from, there’s far more bones than this littered around the place.” She sighed quietly. ‘One of them is my sister’s.’ She refrained from adding in with a slight twitch of her hide, quietly returning to the silent persona she had created. Then, another face from the Edge appeared. Toulouse. While Glasgow had only seen him around possibly once or twice, she offered him a small nod as he entered the group. She offered him a small smile at his words, and a small roll of her glassy eyes. “I bet that was exciting.” She noted, her mouth moving in a feeling that felt weird against her scars. And so, she returned to her silence – unaware of the encounter Toulouse had with Raeden just previously.
He gives another futile wiggle of his head, but the bones do not seem inclined to move from their home within his antlers. One of the women soon comes to his aid, though. The one who introduces herself as Lyanna gestures for him to lower his head, and he obligingly does so in order for her to dislodge the bones. He's aware of another arriving, but can't pay her much attention over the cacophony of rattling bones in his ears as Lyanna aids him in dislodging them. It's a great relief when they begin to emerge from his antlers, clattering down to the raft below and sitting there innocently, as though they hadn't just caused him a great deal of embarrassment.
He lifts his aching head with a languid groan of relief, and offers Lyanna his most winning smile. "Thank you, Lyanna, you are far too kind." Now he's bone-free, the stag can glance around at the other arrivals. The first was a mare with wings behind her ears, and only now that his head is clear does he recall the words he'd just about heard over the din of rattling bones. You two look intelligent enough. That had quite clearly been aimed at the two mares and not him, and the fact she'd gone so far as to include a number means that she must have intended for him to pick up on the hidden meaning, implying that she'd said it in order to offend him. It isn't like mild-mannered, jovial Bartholomeo to take dislikes to anybody without good reason, but this Maren's insinuations about his intelligence based on one occurence have deeply irritated him. Who does she think she is to make such assumptions when she does not even know him?
This annoyance does not show on his face, however; his handsome features remain full of warmth and self-deprecating amusement, but if Maren is in any way observant, she will see the hard edge of the bay stallion's green gaze and the fact that his smile does not quite reach his eyes when he looks at her, a stark contrast to the genuine expression upon his face when he addresses the other mares.
The other to arrive is male, with an odd assortment of horns on his head and an equally odd smell about him. He does not have the testosterone-fuelled reek of a stallion, but he is quite clearly not a mare, either; Bartholomeo looks at him with interest, but makes no remarks about what he's noticed. This newcomer addresses Maren, referring to her as Missus Captain of the Flying Dutchman, and this makes the pirate look over to her with interest. A captain, hm? Well, if she is going to go around making thinly-veiled insults based on nothing but her first impressions, then she will soon find that her crew does not respond very well. Mutiny can be the only possible result of such lack of harmony amongst a crew, and the stag rather thinks it would be deserved.
The newcomer then introduces himself as Barnabas, and Bartholomeo nods his proud antlered head in acknowledgement. "A pleasure, Barnabas, and the same to all of you ladies." He grins around at them, even including Maren despite his less than pleasing opinion of her. "I am Bartholomeo." The gelding - if that is what he is - then adds that he had to be rescued by Maren last time he was at the sea, and the bay raises a well-sculped eyebrow at the notion. His vast amount of experience with the ocean means he's a competent swimmer and cannot imagine the mortification of having to be rescued, but he keeps this opinion to himself.
He looks over to Glasgow, the glass-horned mare who seems rather quiet and retiring, and gives her his widest smile in the hope she will feel included. "Once we have enough bones, I will be more than happy to help drag the raft to Kisamoa's desired spot." He speaks to Glasgow, as it seems to be her idea to do the raft, but includes everybody in it, his warm grin never slipping.
She smiled at Lyanna, who introduced herself as the World's Edge Moon Doctor after she was done helping the ridiculous, but handsome looking stallion with the bones in his antlers. Maren had always admired the medical wisdom of healers, but didn't like healers out of pure childish principle. despite the world of logic and faith her mind was housed in, she was somehow still a scared-of-the-doctor type. Childish - but who would ever guess such a thing. The other ivory girl from the World's Edge was Glasgow, the herds glazier, as she called herself. “Ah, if you do see Anzanie, you may tell her that her glasswork stands superbly within the foundations of our Temple,” she nodded in appreciation of their colleagues’ craft.
There was a familiar voice strutting into her ears. It wasn't per se one she had expected herself to immediately like, but at least she appreciated him memorizing her name. "How nice it is to see you as well, Barnabas. Indeed I did." - Fish? More like an eel. But she smiled like she always smiled: it did not reach her eyes, as it rarely managed to warm up the silence of her eyes. "What can I say, it is my duty as the Dragon's Throat Water Patrol to keep our oceans clean," she said matter-of-factly after listening to Barnabas thankfulness.
She hadn’t particularly been out to hurt Bartholomeo’s feelings, no not at all. Her eyes were a judgmental pair, however and she was simply one that prefered a wise mind over a nice sight... - but sometimes she could do nothing but admit that there was something besides wisdom that could provide as a useful skill, sometimes it seemed to pay to be handsome, charming, helpful... as she had found herself being trapped by the charm of Bartholomeo’s grin as well.
When it came down to the question about the bones, nobody seemed to have any or more knowledge of Kisamoa’s plan with them. There was often a higher motive when doing a task for a God, a lesson to be learned. Like working together or finding understanding, making oneself realize why they did what they did; A lesson. As jolly and hurried as he may have sounded in their earlier meetings, Kid had spoken with words true to the Earth God’s ideals, which gave her no reason to doubt his honesty. Yet, like she thought Barnabas a suspicious being, she thought the same about the intentions of the entity from the sea. Next to being a messenger of her God, she was also a scholar. Despite the proof and truths that she was wrapped by, she would always continue to ask questions. How sad it may be it was the core of her being. She scraped her throat, maybe preparing it for story time. I might as well. “Bones stand symbol for many things in ancient lore and are often related to some kind of Godly form, appearing on all cultures walls when studying history. Memento Mori,” with her already outlandish voice, the sudden sprout of random words sounded ancient and strange from her lips when she had yet to explain. “...It means ‘Remember you are mortal’, ‘everyone dies’. For a priest or priestess like me, a bone scraped on the Wall of History can symbolize both life and death. However, it may also mean something else; a symbol for the wish of power.” It would probably be blasphemy for her to expect such a thing from Kis as true. Gods did not have to wish, they were. “What I would expect the bones to be for, could be a ritual to revive or refertilize the deadlands with the Earth Gods blessings. Symbolism is of importance within the magics after all. However, in all honesty I would’ve expected to have seen the Earth God by now, as we have seen the Moon Godess.” She shrugged, leaving the possibility of her doubt open for debate. After all, for an holy entity claiming to be from the sea, it would never be a bad idea to take his words with a grain of salt.
Barnabas who by now was completely enthralled in the company he had found had begun a routine of dedicating a large pile to the decayed matter they had found. The intelligent conversation was a bit too much for the humble merchant, and so he simply hummed and scooted his way between those gathered to pick up the stray debris. "You are becoming quite proficient at this!" Was his chirp to the unlikely bunch of companions.
It was when the conversation continued about Kisamoa and his means that the creature within Barnabas's shell stirred. Kisamoa was not to be trusted, that was all the serpent had to say on the matter. No one could be sure what that selcouth mountain of fins and scales was up to, but the creature itself should be hint enough. It wasn't a mystical being like the earth turtle but a giant, vulgar being made up of scraps. As if torn apart and sewn togeather again in patches.
What Toulouse and the serpent thought however was completely irrelevant at this time.
"I think you're quite right miss Maren" The gelding uttered as he scooped up in his horns what appeared to be a pair of canon bones, the pedal bones and fetlock joints still attatched. "Oh dear...." The palomino spluttered at the solemn sight, eyes quaking ever so slightly.
As the collection of bones jarred in his horns grew, Barnabas then turned to the salt-smelling stag. "You look like a man of the sea Bartholomeo. Do you have a boat like the captain?" he questioned, gaze flicking to Maren briefly.
the motherland don't love you,
the fatherland dont love you.
so why love anything?
the faithless; they dont love you
the zealous hearts dont love you.
and that's not gonna change.
She wanted to keep talking to Glasgow. Truthfully, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with charming stallions (though the charming part was nice) or questions about why they were doing this. Why did they do anything? Honestly, that’s all she can think some days. Why live, when it’s so damn hard? But why die, if that’s simply the easy way out? But what she really wants to know is how Glas has managed to feel more whole with Kisamoa around. This is what she wants to find. Some sort of wholeness Which probably isn’t a word, but it’s the only way to describe what she’s looking for.
Lyanna definitely would not have thought Bart was here simply for her. Lyanna believed her friend to be just as beautiful as Lyanna, if not moreso. Scars had stories just as much as teal feathers. One just made you look badass and the other made it near impossible to hide in the dark. But largely she assumes he’s here really for the same reason they all are. Kisaomoa said jump, and whenever someone says jump in Helovia, the horses do.
Why? Because what else were they going to do?
But for whatever reason he’s here, he is charming, and she finds she doesn’t mind picking bones from his antlers. But soon she’s done, offering a friendly and sincere, “Of course, it was no problem,” to his offer of thanks. She turns from him and heads back to her place near Glasgow, returning to collecting bones and piling dead plant-life.
The comment about bones from Glasglow brings Lyanna’s teal gaze back to her friend for a moment, knowing what unspoken words lay beneath that. Lyanna’s own family lay as bones now, most likely. She’d never actually know, because she’d never actually be able to return and find out if her brother was burned as he should have been, if her mother had been given to the sea. They came from elements, and were returned in death. It was a dishonor not to return their dead to their rightful elements, but of course, it was a dishonor to murder. So she suspects their murdered let them rot where they fell.
But it’s a thought she’s rather not think about on top of everything else. Thankfully, Maren launches into a story about bones, and Lyanna listens attentively as she cleans, glad for the distraction. She nods as Maren finishes, a sign she’s listened and appreciates the answer that Maren gives. It’s clear the mare is a scholar who knows much of this land, and Lyanna is always glad to learn more.
She continues to ignore Baranbas, who’s pretending to be upset at some bones. She doesn’t mind it amusing, but does findsherself grateful as Bart offers to take their makeshift raft back. And more grateful that he’s directed his attention largely at Glasgow, who has been keeping somewhat to herself . She pauses, looking around at all that they have done. “It is beginning to look rather clean around here,” turning her attention to Bart and Glasgow.
The tree marked man was charming, and she wondered if he even knew of Tilney. Perhaps he didn’t and it was just ironic, a happen of circumstance if you will. Nevertheless, if she could blush she would have. Her eyes continued to search the ground while Lyanna, Maren, Toulouse, and Bartholomeo spoke. As he announced his name, she offered him another shy smile, evading his gaze and everyone else’s the best she could. Then, as Maren began to speak of what she thought the bones meant. And Glasgow wasn’t trying to be rude, but she toned out whatever the striped mare had to say. She didn’t want to continue to think of death – not when it was ever prevalent on her mind anyway.
Then, the handsome antlered man spoke to her and Glasgow coiled into herself with a bright smile that she tried to hide. She lifted her head after placing another small bone fragment onto her makeshift raft and sought the pirate’s gaze. “That would be great. Thank you.” She acknowledged, trying not to act as though something so simple as directly speaking to her had occurred such an effect on her, despite the fact it had. And when Toulouse begins to speak to Bart, she falls quiet once again, hoping that perhaps she could meet the striped man another day when she has more time to speak with him one on one.
If he wanted that, that is.
And when Lyanna admits it’s starting to look cleaner, she lifts her head and glances around with a soft nod. “Indeed it does.” She offers Lyanna a small smile – perhaps a bit childish from the feeling Bartholomeo’s attention had given her. Then, she turns her head to the antlered man with a smile. “Shall we, then?” She questions directly to him, seeing as he offered to take the raft back.
There's a discussion going on about the merits of helping Kisamoa, but Bart does not involve himself in it. He has decided to help; that is all there is to it.
Barnabas addresses him, then. You look like a man of the sea Bartholomeo. Do you have a boat like the captain? The stag flashes his trademark rogueish grin. "Once upon a time, yes. No longer, sadly." There's a sense of enigma to his words, an evasive quality. Because he's stone cold sober, there's no danger of him accidentally telling these strangers his life story - he keeps it closely veiled to his chest, his cards folded firmly over. For all his outward openness, the pirate has a lot of secrets.
Lyanna then remarks that it's beginning to look rather clean, and the bay nods his agreement. "Aye, we've done some fine work. Kisamoa should be pleased." It's about time that they begin to take the bones back, but first the man's attention is diverted by Glasgow. The way she avoids his gaze, that shy smile...the stallion finds his interest is truly piqued, and he decides that once this is over, he will have to seek her out and find out more about her. Considering Bart can be over the top, outgoing and gregarious, he can still find beauty in the more introvert members of their species. They intrigue him, and he sees it as his personal mission to draw at least one smile out of them, to pull them out of their shell with his infectious good humour and warm, jovial attitude.
For now, though, there's work to be done. He has offered to move the raft full of bones, and he is not the sort to go back on his word! He contemplates how best to go about it; there's no chance of creating a harness to drag it behind him, which means his best option will be to push it. Flexing his muscles - perhaps moreso than is strictly necessary, for the ladies, you understand - the pirate pushes his shoulder hard against the raft and begins to push it across the sand. It's hard, tiring work, but Bartholomeo's innate stubbornness prevents him from asking for help. A sheen of sweat soon beads across his fur and perspiration trickles down his brow into his eyes, but he's not a man who shies away from physical labour - his background has taught him that physical prowess is a large and important part of life, and so he throws every ounce of his strength into pushing the raft towards Kisamoa's designated spot.
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