"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.
01-23-2017, 12:41 AM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2017, 02:27 AM by Toulouse.)
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
Ru - she was another whos acquaintance had been met upon the playing field. To say that the specter was glad to see her was a vast understatement, as this woman's force and tactical approach to fighting could be a wonderful weight in the scales that would tip this beast.
Some of the others gathered though... were they all freaking deaf, dumb and blind?
Why Toulouse even cared was simple; He liked Helovia. He didn't want it to be overuled by this dark spawned thing! and besides, It lay unconsciously in the serpent's mind that any other trouble maker or chaos-creator who, simply put, was not him was unworthy of respect.
Ru's cheer encouraged him greatly and soon the serpents beady gaze was upon the obelisk once again. They could do this - surely they could! There was always a way.
Soon another pegasus met the group at the side of the king - his colleague Iona, and for once he was actually glad to see her. Most days her name might cause him to wrinkle his nose (or his toes if he had any) but certainly not today. Her concuring attitude towards his suggestion cemented his enthusiasm and his confidence, and whilst turning upon his hocks the gelding gave a great roar. "SOLDIERS!" He cheered to the gathering, the masses of frightened and growling individuals from all four corners of their land and named them all as its warriors "THE OBELISK!" was his second scream, a warcry. Muted eyes struck over each face in the rallied crowd, searching desperately for any who might stand with Ru, Iona and himself. Who would fight beside them at the altar of doom?
TOULOUSE IS LOOKING FOR PPL TO CHARGE TOWARDS THE OBELISK AND TRY TO TEAR IT DOWN & DESTROY THE RUNES AND ALL THAT OMG MENTIONS @RU AND @IONA
btw kels/enna, toulouse has already mentioned the altar!
I AM THE KEY TO THE LOCK IN YOUR HOUSE—
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—
EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS
SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD
Najya had been somewhat skeptical of Kisamoa’s intentions but this was beyond even her imagination. It seemed that Helovia was again doomed to fight another battle with Gods from a foreign land. She herself carried a sword made from one of the bones of the fallen gods, carried a token of another. And yet here she was staring down a creature made of bones and Gods and magic. Years ago she would have never been able to fathom such a thing. In her old life she would have turned and fled or been hidden away. But not anymore.
There’s little hesitation in her step as she leaps towards the creature and into battle. She immediately begins searching for other members of the Throat, for she knows that they will be there upon the battlefield. She just hopes that everyone is unharmed, because Ophelia’s command to fall back rings eerily in her own mind. But Najya cannot fall back, not while her herd mates - her family - still stands.
Najya hesitates when she comes across Yael assisting children making their escape from the scene. She slides to a stop immediately, doing her best to ensure that all the children are unharmed and are fit to continue their hasty exit. Najya offers the little gold pegasus a thankful nod as she notices many of these children are desert children. “Thank you.” But then the sound of more shouting turns her head back towards the creature.
“We will make sure nothing follows.” she says, calmly, and then she’s off running again. Off to find her sultana, her general, and her family. They are difficult to locate and for that Najya is thankful. However she is horrified to see the creature swipe out at the Sultana and her son before she can reach them. She says nothing, but simply runs faster, skidding to a halt near the pair. ”Aithniel! Tyrath! Are you injured?” she calls, hoping to find them in good health but ready to assist if the creature managed to land a blow. Hoping to distract the creature, Najya looked over her shoulder and conjured a great firebird made of light and sent it flying towards the creature’s “face,” hoping that the bright light would provide her enough time to tend to the wounded.
Runs into @Yael and company on the way in, then runs to join the DT members and sees Kaos swipe at @Aithniel and @Tyrath - immediately goes to their aid to offer healing if they need it while casting a firebird with her light magic to distract the creature.
:: [ Magic: LightxTime | Able to create scenes and figures made entirely of light in order to physically project stories. ]
:: [ Restrictions | Lasts 30 seconds in battle. ]
Please tag NAJYA in all replies.
Force & magic are permitted, but please check before inflicting serious injury.
Thank you! pixel base
The ocean mare is drawn to follow the mass of bodies, gathering together with the people of Helovia like she has so many times before. Having completed Kisamoa’s grotesque request along the shoreline, she expects to see the great sea stallion standing at the head of their throng, perhaps to praise them for their work and—finally—explain the reason for their task. Tiamat is eager for him to relieve the unease that twists uncomfortably in her gut, as she is ever faithful in the world and its goodness. Of course, there must be a purpose for all of this; a purpose that, surely, must be beneficial this people.
However, the events that unfold are far from her blissful fantasies.
There is no sign of the sea stallion in sight.
Instead, in a land where she has never been, the blue maiden finds herself looking at a black altar. Its presence is ominous, to say the least, with its shadowy walls seeming to pulse from an unknown life source, and—are those bones, at its foundation? Suddenly Tiamat feels her stomach drop, and the hair along her neck prickles uneasily. Sharing her bonded’s nervousness, Nimue presses close to the mare’s side, nearly hiding beneath her.
Tiamat barely acknowledges the little whale’s presence. Her attention is consumed by the disembodied voice that suddenly fills the air. It sends a cold chill along her spine, sparking a shiver that rattles her to her bones, and chills her muscles until all she can do is stand there, aghast. “Kisamoa…?” The name slips brokenly from her lips, hardly a whisper. Even as the pieces fall together, revealing the horrifying disaster that has haunted them (for so long), it takes several moments for the mare’s mind to accept the truth. Kisamoa is Kaos… They have been betrayed. “No—” She chokes out, hearing herself suddenly gasping for breath.
This can’t be happening. It just can’t.
Around her, people have already begun to rally against the cruel, ethereal god and his pet monster. Cries of pain pierce the air, blood wets the ground—history has suddenly come to repeat itself. Just as she had feared it would. And she knows she can’t just stand by again.
From somewhere inside of her, Tiamat feels herself smoldering—shuddering and trembling as she never has before, when a ball of fire sits in her chest and her heart cries for its loss. She trembles not from fear, cold, or excitement—but of something else. It is not a sensation she is familiar with, and it consumes her. “NO!” Tiamat feels her mouth moving, feels her tongue curling and her throat constricting, but the voice is not her own. It is loud and violent and angry. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US? WE TRUSTED YOU! I trusted you!” For probably the first time in her life, the ocean mare pins her ears flat against her head, gnashing her teeth and spitting as the words rip righteously from her lips.
“You say you haven’t led us astray, when EVERYTHING you have said to us has been built from lies!” By a will other than her own, her magic flickers into activity. The water that surrounds her vibrates, rising in droplets from the marsh grasses and remaining suspended in the air, pulsating in time with the fury that rips through the ocean maiden like a wildfire. Soon they gather together, forming a large, churning orb. “COME OUT AND FACE US, COWARD! You owe us that much!” Tiamat’s throat hurts, but still she snarls, throwing the cascade of water towards the bony monster with a cry of anger and pain.
She’s not sure what she had intended for it to do, but as she watches the water surge forward, her tears flow with it. Tiamat hadn’t noticed when she had started to cry, but by now her cheeks are wet and streaked from the tears that continue to fall. She blinks furiously, bitter eyes trying to see past the blurriness in her vision, while broken sobs hitch pathetically in her throat. “I trusted you,” she manages to hiss through her clenched teeth, lowering her head in silent, angry mourning.
notes; Tia actually gets angry and starts screaming. Uses her magic to throw a cascade of water towards the bone monster thing :3 “Speech.”
01-23-2017, 01:58 AM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2017, 01:58 AM by Enna.)
The child didn’t stand a chance.
You are sure a cry leaves you in place of his as he is swept away, pushed by the might of the bone-made beast. You tear yourself from the crowd, crashing through the marshland as it pulls at your limbs, the sickly smell of decay thick as you breathe against the fear rising in your chest. Fear for the child, for what you will find, of the unfolding battle that you leave behind, the devastation to come. Fear that he will be too far gone to save, as Aviya (a distant ghost to your mind now, coupled with her father's face twisted in grief, the way he shattered when he learned that even magic could not save her) had been the last time gods had come to destroy, to purge that which did not bend to their wishes.
‘Ma!’
His voice cuts through the brush, ringing still as it pushes you faster, desperation blooming infinitely between the tracings of hope and relief as the seconds pass and you search among the marsh, the decay and rust. A flash of movement, of red and white catches your attention, and only then do you finally breathe.
“Shh, baby, shh. I’m here.” You coo gently, falling to your knees as unhurriedly as you can manage beside his mangled frame, your eyes flitting over him as your magic sparks inside of you, trying your best to smile, to quell your own panic so that it does not pass to him in all his pain. A thousand questions spring to your mind, a thousand and one motherly reprimands on your tongue, but none of it becomes anything more than concerned sentiment, your lips moving to press a ghostly-light touch to the curve of his little neck. “Lay still for me now, sweetling. You’ll be alright.” And you begin to hum, trying to drown the terror of the fight, to soothe him as your magic works to mend his tiny, broken body.
01-23-2017, 09:08 AM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2017, 09:08 AM by Albrecht.)
Albrecht
The sea beast calls out to Helovia one last time, his narrative booming across the lands so that it feels inescapable, echoing and reverberating in every direction. The old stallion shakes his head, ears pinned tight to his skull. He resents the intrusion, the assumption of willingness, but with the reception the creature has garnered so far, he can’t quite say it’s an overstep of confidence. Kisamoa holds the receipts for every one of their loyalties; magics, jewelry, gifts of all makes and models, and every trinket clamored for with hungry, grateful eyes. He’s cultivated this workforce with careful attention, only now demanding something in return, and even that he softens with phrases like ’friends,’ and ’the Earth God,’ and ’please.’
The old black wanders near, always willing to be bought for something shiny and intriguing, but skepticism draws his features into a scowl as he listens to the details of their task, balking more with each word. They’re to remove the filth? He turns his head to watch as the others rush to clear and collect, watching ribcages, jaws, cannons and femurs be piled together, tossed aside. His ears fall back, though they’ve barely moved from their earlier pinning.
Has it not occurred to anyone that these are bones they’re carelessly shuffling? This place is a graveyard, like nowhere else he’s seen in Helovia. These bits and fragments are all that’s left of – well - someone, lots of someones. He moves to stand over a small clump of weeds, their determined stalks weaving through the nasal and optical passages of a small skull. He can’t tell what the animal once was, other than some small mammal, but it seems unkind to move the dead this way. Relocate them, sure, but to so casually jumble them together like so much waste, without respect or remorse? He blinks unhappily, wondering, what does the beast want with them? Will he simply destroy them? Doesn’t the Earth God care for his creatures anymore once they’ve stopped living off his land and started feeding back into it? What about the circle of life and all that?
He watches a long time, then dozes in fits, standing firm over his small tuft of weeds for an indiscernible span of time. Faces come and go, objects shift, disappear and reappear in different places behind his closed eyes. He thinks that a day or so has passed, his stomach rumbling a lackluster complaint at his negligence. If anyone else objects the clearing he doesn’t hear them do so.
And then the sea beast is gone, only his voice, or something very like his voice, remaining to laugh at them, chide them, banish them. He startles away from the sinister sound, eyes wide and wary of the obelisk with its bone-monster guardian. He hears the Earth Gods disapproval at his back as he flees, the cries of dismay and what he can only guess is pain from those who linger, only serving to quicken his step. He’s watched one kingdom fall already and been the body to soften its descent. If this one should fall too, he’s determined to be the first among deserters. That is, until another familiar sound pierces the air, rooting his hooves where they fall.
A soprano voice, a cry he’s heard before – ”Ma!”
The bone-monster sweeps its mace-like tail across the crowd and several bodies crumple, but only one draws the old stallions emerald eyes along with it through the air, landing with a thud in an unnatural heap. His ears flick forward, his neck taut, and seemingly of their own accord, his long, arthritic legs turn, stretch out, drum his fluttering heartbeat into the ground beneath him until he’s standing over the boy with the auburn mane and tail. “Saoirse.” He murmurs, cringing at the useless flopping of his tiny left wing.
Enna, the snarky, once comically obese Time Mender brushes past him, cooing comforts and dropping quickly to her knees at the boys side. The stallion fidgets uncomfortably, glancing around for further danger, for other healers, for the childs goddamned, good-for-nothing mother. He waits as many heartbeats as he can stand in the interim, then presses, “We should go. Can you stand?”
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Enna@Saoirse Sorry for the novel, I missed out on the last thread.
image by mar!
Rated M, R, NC-17, AO, 18+, NSFW Tag dat azz! @Albrecht Violence & Magic okay. Wish - Away - OOC
They fall apart, like so many dogs without a leader.
Some stand in dumb stupor, mouths agape; others still call out insults, and threats, while the rest simply deliver the threats in the form of a physical barrage. Beloved watches it all with bemused giggles and a titled smile, her eyes fluttering from the towering beast of bones to the multitudes that would destroy it. Soon, her giggles are the maddened peels of full fledged laughter, laughter that ebbs, and flows, that doesn’t stop, even when she starts walking towards the skeletal beast, and the obelisk.
They called her mad, ravenous, bitch; they accused her of cruelty, of wickedness, and betrayal. Yet, never had she turned upon a God within seconds of their revelations of truth, because those truths were not as she had seen, at first. Was that the gift of the broken mind? To forgive the warping of one’s fabric, for the alteration of the pattern, sudden and unrequested, is all Beloved knows. For these mortals, their minds like stones, or trees, steady, with only the smallest of movements given when pushed by forces outside themselves, such a treachery probably is deeply upsetting.
The White Witch still sees, however, where the others are blinded. She sees a monolithic being of bone and spirit, rising above the earth, born of their efforts. Beautiful, the creation would not exist had they, the fools, not willingly complied, and become one in service of its life. Beloved does not mind the deception, for the product is the same as that which she had designed; no, better, for the God is not only a God, with power to bequeath, but a being of darkness, her kin.
So, when a gangly, pale fool trumpets that they should strike down the altar, Beloved charges to meet him before he can damage her Lord’s possessions. All fealty owed to the mountain is forgotten in her lust for Kaos’ admiration, her fearless charge silent, and stern, but for the cold warning her words deliver, when she feels he might hear them: "Weak fool! You fear that which you do not understand!"
She aims to drive her horn deep into his side, not caring for the life that will be extinguished, she herself a creature who is darkness, missing no flame. Her laughter is stayed for the service she commits, a berserker, only sane enough to know a higher purpose when she sees one, her hooves drumming beneath her. If he dodges the deadly drive of her rapier, she is prepared to adjust her course, and battle, but the wild minded one assumes (as most utterly bat-shit women do) that she’ll succeed.
[ Summary: Laughs at everyone for a while before she goes to stand by the obelisk. Hears Toulouse threaten the obelisk, and thereby tries to kill him. :’D
01-23-2017, 10:08 AM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2017, 10:09 AM by Rikyn.)
sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:
It’s always something, isn’t it?
A boy just wants to mourn his dad in peace, and Gods come bothering him for favors, that wind up being giant ruses, to make monolithic monsters out of bones. Duir and I both stare at it from our place at the back, mouths wide, and eyes unblinking, mostly impressed by the sheer horror of the thing. While I haven’t a fucking clue who Kisamoa, or Kaos, or whatever the hell his name is, actually is, this gives me a good inkling.
No wonder the Moon Goddess had come and flexed her lady muscles. The two of them were like two sides of the same coin, if Death could be split into two genders, and roles. The Moon was svelte refinement, the quiet stillness of death found after a full life, or an illness properly managed, and mourned with those you loved, while Kaos was the violent strike of war’s hammer, obliterating all in its path with merciless sweeps, or the swarm of plague, leaving corpses in its wake.
Probably hard for the Lady Night to decide whether she wanted to kiss the foul God or strike him dead, with so many dissonant similarities.
The shouting starts before long, and the violence. The first and last time I’d come across anything similar, the slaying of the Rift Gods, I’d leapt into the charge without a second thought, following the call of my God to the challenge. The Time God is not here, though, and the woman the bone monster strikes aside first is no one I know. Sure, I know Volterra, charging in like an utter buffoon, and Erebos, hesitantly joining the battle, also, and I definitely know the firebrand of a hybrid, shouting out her orders, as fearless as she has always been…
But the splinters in my heart are hard, and cold. I don’t give a shit that there is some new God waltzing about Helovia, so long as the Time God doesn’t show up and tell us he wants it gone. The passionate fires that should burst to life at the sight of my friends and family in a foray against such an enemy are culled before they can even become embers, and instead, I watch their futile charge from my safe distance, merely flinching when my once inseparable sister is cast aside by the monstrous creation in its wild charge.
Help! Duir pleads, watching it all with horror, they need help!
Yeah, we all do. I need help, you need help, every fucking body needs help. You heard Erebos, I tell him, everyone wants something. I don’t have a lot left to give, but my life, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m willing to lose it fighting a God who’d pledged to help Helovia. Sure, he’d also helped himself, but what moron wouldn’t?
The Earth God?
He hadn’t a damn thing left now, though, did he?
[ Summary: Rikyn stands uselessly by and watches the mayhem unfold with vast amounts of depression and self pity. ]
Because of all that has transpired between himself, Romina, and the golden twins, Ru'in is slightly unsure of what it is he is supposed to do in this situation. He doesn't really care that Kisamoa has become Kaos. The implications for why this is such a bad thing aren't immediately obvious to him, and even if they were pointed out, he might have shrugged it off anyways.
He didn't immediately see Romina, but of course that didn't mean anything. He'd just learned first hand how silent she could be, though really, he'd known that before. He just never had anything to hide from her, and so her stealthy ways had never affected him much. And so, despite the fact that he could see Kiada across the field and despite wanting to go to her, Ru'in stayed where he was. Though he followed her movements with his bi-coloured gaze, saerching for her twin among the fray.
As her voice called out that she was in support of the hidden god, Ru'in nodded thoughtfully, impressed by her courage to make such a declaration and also by the intelligence that she possessed to arrive at a conclusion so drastically different from those around them. The mutant boy could hear screams, demands, strategies being made and threats being shouted.
Uncertain what to do, Ru'in began to gradually make his way - as unassumingly as possible - towards @Kiada . He feared that, given the crowd's hostility towards Kaos, that their anger might be turned towards her. Were that the case, he wanted to be close by should harm begin to turn her way.
So make your siren's call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say
Well… Helovia certainly wastes no time in getting interesting, does it? Which Wessex doesn’t mind, naturally, after all, it’s what she’s supposed to be here for. Even if she has yet to meet the General or the Leaders, she can still be of some use - at least to Tiamat - if no one else. Looks like the warrior woman has a bit of a soft spot for the blue healer and her floating companion, but you’d never get her to admit that. Mercs don’t have soft spots; weaknesses, affinities, anything more than a passing fancy for someone leaves them vulnerable to blackmail, coercion, and death. And as a wizened comrade once told her, it’s better just to move on when others start becoming important. Emotions are deadly. Avoid them at all cost.
Cue x-arms lady emoji. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
For her size, Wessex can move fairly fast, and follows a little behind the unicorn - not like a puppy, more like a guard dog - and because truly, there is nothing else for her to do right now. Her ears swivel this way and that as the chaos rages about her - some flee, some stay, some collapse into hysterics, and others vow revenge - but it strikes her as odd that they never truly band together. A few try to band together, but from the size and seeming imperviousness of the creature, she wonders why they don’t all see the need to work as one. Individual attacks are.. Nice… but once Tiamat sends a surge of water towards the bones, Wessex finds herself turning to the now-crying woman.
Personally, she finds tears are useless. They rarely stop bad things from happening. But she does realize that not everyone thinks quite like she does. “Don’t worry. We’ll regroup and figure it out. Now, who is our leader, and who is on our side?” Because it looks like the majority are on ‘their’ side - except for a madwoman and a fire-wielding filly. But hey, Wessex could be wrong. Their politics are unknown to her, and they are all perfect strangers.
As he had said already, their collective attacks continued to have no impact on the bone monster.
Kaos sighed, and once again, the sound of its aggravated exhale blew through the area like a gale.
"This will get you nowhere." It mumbled with another weary sigh, sounding more disappointed and bored than it had previously. Although unseen, Kaos seemed to turn its attention towards those shouting that he had betrayed them, or had wronged them somehow. "I owe you nothing." It spat suddenly, heat filling the air. "Your Gods stole our lands. They annexed our homes and tried to kill us. They thought they had, but they were wrong. "
Kaos seemed to be trying to get its emotions under control, the quad-voice quality of its tone steadying somewhat as it continued. "I did lie, that much is true. I won't lie to you again. But if you would crucify me for that discretion, then let those amongst you who are free of sin be the ones to cast me out." A triumphant pause. They were liars, thieves, murderers. There was not one among them who was not secretly selfish, who had not lied or mislead. Not one who was free from thoughts of personal gain and avoiding pain and consequence. "Before your misplaced righteousness gets you killed go away. You are powerless here, but do not let that dampen your spirits. I am not here to be your enemy and soon you shall see that."
As voices of praise and approval filled the air from a few select voices, you might have thought you could feel Kaos smiling, despite the fact that it still remained hidden from view. "Continue striking the rocks and bones if you wish, for all the good it will do you." It concluded with a careless shrug that could be felt in the air.
The charges led against the black altar were in vain; the surface could not be scratched or dented. Magical and physical attacks simply had no effect.
Feel free to have your characters maimed or hurt by the monster!
,eivom kcochctiH a fo dne eht m'I gnivieced tol a dna krad elttil A
Tae was not surprised but nor did she particularly care at the revelation that Kisamoa was Kaos. She hadn't pieced the anagram together, but nor had she actively set her mind on trying to parse out the reason that so many seemed skeptical of the watery-man. What she was interested in, was the bone monster.
From seeing so many attacks on the creature prove unsuccessful, Tae assumed that even her magic would be inert against the monster. The mare's pale eyes searched the crowd, looking for her twin. Although she didn't yet see her, Tae was not worried. There was no way a bone monster could appear without @Grusha knowing about it. Her larger counterpart had a sense about these things.
Was this perhaps the monster that had killed Rhoa?
Mal and Hel whined uneasily at her side, wondering why they weren't attacking. But it was as Kaos seemed to say - nothing that they were doing was having any noticeable effect. Although the god could not be seen, its voice soudned so... so casual. Casual in a way which suggested to Tae that it wasn't concerned at all. It was likely telling the truth.
Despite all of Kaos' lies thus far, perhaps it was time to start believing it when it said that it wouldn't lead them astray any longer.
"I don't think it's lying.." Tae said to the wolves at her side, glancing through the crowd to try and seek out @Volterra and @Aithniel who seemed to be leading an offensive charge.
Clamping her wings against her sides, the mandible-mare allowed her eyes to dance over the members of the Throat she could see from where she was. "I AM HERE IF YOU NEED HEALING." She called loudly, and uncharacteristically. Though now that she was a healer, perhaps this would start to be characteristic of her.
"No!" The word is bellowed in an ungodly shriek, body already coiled like a spring and launched toward his mother as the creature rounded on her. The terrain underfoot betrayed him as his clawed paw was greedily swallowed by the stagnant water underfoot, muddy tendrils wrapped firm around the afflicted limb. He stumbled and it made all the difference. He's not in time to try and shove his mother out of the way to take the blow, but he's perfectly lined up for that swinging bludgeon to connect with him.
To him it happened in slow motion, crimson eyes wide as he thrashed to the side in a futile attempt to avoid those vicious talons. The noise which cracked through the air doesn't register that it's uttered from his razored maw, or the sudden wetness that definitely isn't the muddy water splashed up his scaled sides. The world turned on it's head, blurred at the edges with the sudden surge of pain and the Dragon Prince hits the ground in a crumpled heap with the momentum. A singular gilded wing is stretched skyward as the dragon coiled, desperate to find purchase and haul himself out of the water. Unsuccessful, he goes down when another stab of pain shook through his frame. His neck and chest are ribboned with flesh, threatening to encroach on his left front limb. Gruesome stripes slapped against muscle and leathery skin. Gold is drowned out by red and he uttered a disgruntled, disoriented roar.
"Healer!" Blindly called for as he settled on his haunches, hissed through gritted teeth. His blood and bones screamed at him to get up, but the adrenaline which pulsed through his body does little to dim the pain or urge him forward. He can do little more than that, he stood because his body and his pride demanded him to. His mind latched around keeping himself aware and his magic in place. "Najya, Tae." Either one, any one of them would do.
,eivom kcochctiH a fo dne eht m'I gnivieced tol a dna krad elttil A
Although Tae did not know that Tyrath was her nephew, her gaze nevertheless followed him as his body was unceremoniously battered by the bone monster. She watched, waiting to see if he'd get up, unable to deduce the extent of his injuries. Her Father had been a warrior and so despite the fact that she was not, she knew better than to run into the midst of battle to aid someone who may or may not need her help.
Healer!
Well. That settled that.
Tae leapt forward, Mal and Hel following her quickly. The wolf and hellhound formed a protective circle around her as she kneeled by @Tyrath, wings spreading defensively across his pale body.
Despite her rank, Tae had never actually healed anyone before.
"Hush now." She said, her voice demanding and confident even as her body began to wisp away, making her look like a ghost kneeling at his side. Her white eyes took in the deep wounds created by the bone monster's talons, and she couldn't help the small smile that slithered onto her mouth. The creature really was quite impressive.
Muttering under her breath, words in another language perhaps, Tae closed her eyes. She allowed her magic to seep into her nephew, finding the places where she was capable of mending, and knitting him back together. She focused on first easing his pain, and then seeing what she could do about ensuring that his wounds would not be infected or cause permanent disability.
01-23-2017, 04:41 PM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2017, 04:44 PM by Saoirse.)
“Shh, baby, shh. I’m here.”
The boy was scared to move, reluctant to feel the pain that so clearly traveled through his wing. It is the first true injury that appears to crush his innocence, shakes his confidence that it’s the only thing he can think of. Trapped between the confusing brightness of injury and the terrifying sensation of being lame and broken. Saoirse doesn’t even want to consider the possibility of losing his ability to fly – but it sneaks into his mind, and makes him choke on the tears that don’t seem to have an end.
He tries to look for the voice, searching for her. It isn’t mother, but her cool tones and coos appear to thread what’s left of the boy’s wits. The colt tries to lift his head, and winces under the bruising that strain, and impedes him.
“Saoirse.” Before he submits to the ground once more with his head, he makes out the familiar shadow that creeps into his periphery. Leaning into the ground, inhaling the dirt and the wet, he coughs what was meant to be a fond giggle.
“Lay still for me now, sweetling. You’ll be alright.” The kind mare’s touch is cool, soothing, even if the boy winces from its initial contact. Which had only been the touch of a light, calculated wisp of breath against his neck. He clutches his eyes shut, “O-okay…” he breathes out unsteadily.
The boy shudders for a moment, tense muscles unfamiliar with the sensation of magic that makes it way into his body. He whimpers as ears flatten against his skull. Saoirse wants to be home, in the heart of the dragon. Even if mother is absent; the island was safe, warm, of bright light and filled with the endearing smell of salt and seaweed.
He cries out as it makes its way to his wing – finding the young bone, reversing its material to preserve the initial structure of the wing. There are parts in other places that almost seem less battered, but those parts are largely ignored compared to the wing. Green eyes snap open, searching for the familiar face of the scraggly stallion – and latching on to his terse glare. Teetering beyond the comfort of the mare’s warm hums.
When it stops, he hears the stallion’s voice. “Ah… I- I don’t know…” He doesn’t want to try, doesn’t want to feel the pain – or face the condition of his wing.
Saoirse winces as he lifts his neck, squealing when he gathers his limbs underneath. “It hurts! Why?!” The wing is fixed, for the most part, but the pain is nothing like he’s experienced before. It weighs heavily on his mind, like the arrival of the monster and the terrible force that is Kaos. With a ragged huff he lunges up, unsteady as his breaths heave; able to clutch both wings closely into his sides.
Shaky, sore, he teeters towards Albrecht and leans against his side.
@Enna @Albrecht
[thanks kels ;P wings mend together - still in a lot of pain, but manages to fold the wing in close to his sides. Staggers up and leans against Albrecht.]
Every squeal and squeak of protest drags the stallions attention away from the monster and down to his sons limp form. The boy’s clearly in pain, his left wing bent at an unnatural angle, his body undoubtedly bruised by the impact of both bone and ground. He hovers over the mare and her tiny patient, agitated, wanting more than anything to leave this place of danger and uncertainty. Thankfully the Time Menders ministrations seem to be taking, because between his writhing and piteous bleating the boys wing finally starts to fold properly back to his side, his spidery legs to find traction beneath him. In another moment he’s upright, teetering, and the stallion moves to support him without hesitation, lending his shoulder and side as a crutch.
He bends his thin and unmuscled neck around to his side, breathing over the boys disheveled forelock, supporting and protecting him with his own sallow form. The boy seems so much smaller now, frailer, without his laughter and exuberance. It pains the old stallion to see him this way, a physical prick of his senses somewhere deep beneath his narrow breast.
“We can shelter in the Grove.” He murmurs, “It’s not far.” The old stallions weathered face attempts to smile, to lessen the gravity of the boys wounds. He reaches to nose gently against that tiny, beardless chin, to encourage him and convince him of his own ability, because no matter how much support his father may lend him, only his own will can move his legs and fill his lungs.
01-23-2017, 06:56 PM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2017, 06:56 PM by Enna.)
You are too focused on helping the striken child to notice the senile man’s arrival at first. He cries out, and you flinch against it, closing your eyes to make it easier, to keep yourself from his wriggling form, from your guilt for hurting him even though you know it is necessary to make it better. Soon enough, however, he stirs, and you pull away, turning your head to find the man hovering like a lost puppy. Your mind does not make the connection, and his familiar face is met with a snarl, your ears flattening against your skull. The boy’s cry elicits your attention, however, and you turn from the man on a lingering glance, a look for him to try anything, not understanding their obvious relationship in the haze of the moment.
“That will take time. You need to rest.” As he springs upwards, the crotchety old man mirrors your actions in rushing to support the boy, though your heart still skips a beat in the face of it, distrusting, until the tenderness in which he touches the child, cradles him, becomes more than apparent. You step back, teetering on thin limbs within the mud as the realization finally dawns on you. You never thought the man capable of love, capable of taking care of anything except himself (and what a poor job he’s done), and yet he has a child, if not by blood then at least by choice. “You’re welcome.” It is hushed in your surprise before you blink, smiling down at the boy before the man speaks again, of a grove and shelter. “Wait.” You do not stay for a response from either of them before you pirouette away, searching among the debris for a particular plant.
Before long, you find the long leaves, the tall center stem tipped with a furry brownness, and immediately begin digging in the filth, the rot, until you expose its roots. Several are carefully plucked and carried back to the pair in your mouth. You place all of the pieces except one, which you patiently chew in to a pulp before reaching for the boy’s wing to apply the poultice along the bone’s thin line. “It will help with the inflammation,” you begin to explain as you move away, eyeing the pile of exposed root before looking to Albrecht, stifling the sneer that begins to surface. “Do it just as I have as he needs it, try to keep him quiet and calm; he needs time to mend. Make sure you do not eat it, it will make you sick.” The last part is said to the both of them, your face softening momentarily as you look at the child. “He’ll be alright?”With you? It is not said, only implied, your features turning back to its usual indifference, despite the worry, the lack of confidence in his ability, that lingers underneath.
@Saoirse@Albrecht
mar, hope you don't mind me slightly pping, it was really hard to word it otherwise since... yeah XD <33 if so just let me know and i'll do my best to word it appropriately
tl;dr: gives roots for them to make into a paste to apply to the wounded wing, applies some herself to show them how and just kinda stands there all derplike.
please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death
She was late to the chaos of the Kaos god. It was all too crazy to believe what was going on. A creature made of bones and remains that they brought to the very spot stood alive ( well dead alive) and moving. Teal eyes watched in horror as bodies were being thrown and maimed. Turning her crowned skull to Tin she shook her head. This was not supposed to happen. Everything was crumbling down and breaking apart in front of Helovias eyes. Teal orbs flared with silver flecks as she looked around to the gathering groups. Pale ears picked up the call from her King. Cream hooves floated towards the elephant king standing with the crown.
Turning her gaze to Iona, Ally, then Toulouse she dipped her crown. Now was the time to put differences aside, no matter how she felt. The god spoke making her turn her skull to listen to what the beast had to say. A young boy was hurt, and nothing they were doing helped. "We can't keep on letting others get hurt like this. I do not know if anything we do right now will help. Look around and see the suffering and pain. Maybe we all need to regroup and recover before we attack or choose a plan of defense. I am not saying we should not fight for our land, but I do not think anything will come from our small attack. I just do not want to see anyone killed. " Her attention fell looking to the faces that were gathered around. Maybe they would listen, maybe they wouldn't.
"Talk."
raeden
"I want someone with secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows"
His ears pin, head rising over top of the child to bare curling lips at the antlered mare as she rounds on him. His immediate instinct is to move away, to avoid the conflict and threat of teeth and hooves altogether, but with the teetering, heavily listing frame of his battered son pressing into his hollow flank he’s unwilling to give any ground for fear of the boy falling. A low, unpleasant sound escapes his throat as air is pressed through slitted nostrils, bracing, but just as quickly as her challenge rises it seems to dissipate, leaving the mare silent and slack amid the commotion.
She blinks at him, then addresses the boy, seemingly as gentle and benign as before, and the stallion relaxes somewhat, though his eyes remain hard and distrusting at her back as she rushes away, commanding them to wait over her shoulder. The black scoffs, glancing down at the boy once more to check on his condition, but before he can rouse his charge into movement the mare is back, offering a pre-chewed poultice and some non-masticated roots for later use. She gives instructions, and then a question.
“Shouldn’t you be reassuring me?” He snaps unkindly, not quite deaf enough to have missed the unspoken accusation in her voice. Resentment surges as his own questions fire off in the back of his mind; Aren't they on the same team here? Aren't they herdmates, or does that not count for anything despite all the emphasis placed on Basin versus Throat versus Edge? Can't she see him risking his own fucking hide in this cluster, or can she only see her own dislike of him projected? He shakes his head, stifling a 'fuck you,' and tucking the proffered roots into his scarf with a glower.
The boy had always been taught that effort, that motivation, that drive, tenacity, and defiance meant something, that no matter the trial, no matter the tribulation, it could be conquered by trying, by attempting, by digging in, by forgoing weaknesses, by forgetting flaws. Grim faces and miserable words didn’t win wars, and pleading and begging didn’t forge battles.
But as he watched the world tip on its axis, as he witnessed and felt his magic be deliberately cast aside, ignored, disregarded, as he stood still and stared into the avenue of absolute chaos, mayhem, bloodshed, and ruin, the reality began to slowly sink over his mind.
They weren’t powerful enough. They weren’t smart enough. They were nothing in the face of this God. They’d believed they’d conquered them – and they’d been led straight into their snares.
Enna whispered something to him (attack the altar, but then others did it and that didn’t matter either) and then was gone, striving to heal one of the many who couldn’t get out of the way in time. Rikyn wandered somewhere nearby, just as out of place, just as shorn, just as shocked, rendered immobile. Aithniel and another seemed to be clawed out of the sky, ripped from the heavens, torn by belligerence and abhorrence, by the unknown they seemed incapable of defeating.
There had to be a way, but he couldn’t see it, couldn’t understand it, couldn’t sense it through the patterns of warfare, through the murky calls and the oaths of warriors; and perhaps it would only be later, when they’d learned, when they’d retreated, when they’d returned, licked their wounds, and tried to comprehend what had just occurred.
But retreating sounded like failure, and he couldn’t accept it. Not again.
So instead of wandering, instead of glaring, instead of dropping to his knees and wishing for salvation to Gods that couldn’t hear them, he chased after Aithniel’s fallen form, down into the rivulets of dust, dirt, marsh, and blood, incapable of doing anything other than standing guard, gazing down at a figure he’d once thought of as a friend, and wondering when the mayhem would cease, useless all the more.
[Goes to stand guard by @Aithniel. Brief mentions to @Enna and @Rikyn.]
Erebos
i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want
They continue to fight, though fighting seems hopeless, and Duir’s insisting that I do more than emotionlessly watch them struggle grows more and more obnoxious.
I do have to admit, watching it all, that it’s a bit frightening. If Kaos really is the murdered Gods from the Rift, I should probably be afraid, too; I’d helped, after all, and had even relished my victories. I still did, to some degree, proud of being a God Slayer, as the rest of us were, and only now thinking about the consequences of such actions.
Staring at the tower they cannot topple, and the bone beast which diverts their every attempt to slay it, I begin to pick back through what I know of this horrible moment, to find a way to best understand it. Four Gods, all in one being, and all but the Moon (and that little woman with the braids) had been blinded to his presence, it was starting to seem like. Sure, I’d suspected something peculiar about him, but I’d trusted the God of Time, and his brethren, to look out for us.
Was that trust poorly placed? Or had the Gods trust been poorly placed upon us?
Regardless, the wonder as to whether the Time God even knows what the hell is happening crosses my mind like a weak deer fleeing a pack of wolves, and I find I can’t ignore the situation any longer. Promptly turning away from the entire scene, I gallop south, towards the Shrines, leaving only a small prayer that my friends do not die in the interim.
[ Summary: Continues to be useless until he realizes that maybe the Time God isn't here cause he's oblivious, too. Leaves to go amend this. ]
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