"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.
The adult’s discourse is barely noticed through his gasps, and shudders. Their glares and scowls rest above him, and all Saoirse can sense is the slight unease exchanged between them. A tightening of muscles, a constricting tone.
The body next to him is strangely comforting however. Despite how little he knew of the unicorn, or how ironic it was that he might be able to place any faith or trust in him. The warmth despite the bony prominences permeates past his pain. Closing his eyes when the black, velvety muzzle hovers above him. Warm breath that pushes the coolness that came with the mud stained against Saoirse’s left side, or the stink that follows it.
He mentions shelter and grove. The boy opens his eyes lazily to glance up. The boy’s mind is too frayed to wonder why they can’t just follow the other colts to the Throat. But perhaps he can’t make the journey like they can? In any case Saoirse’s thoughts are muddled, shuddering under the bodiless voice of Kaos; who could strike out at any second, if he felt like it.
Green eyes continue to stare at the stallion when he attempts to smile; the boy remains motionless. Holding back his voice, for fear of sobbing out. However finds pressed that he must answer somehow, when the stallion gestures his chin. And makes a few small nods.
Uncertain how far he can walk, or how much pain awaits their departure.
Saoirse looses track of the kind mare. And feels almost lost without her experienced voice, or gestures of warmth that leave him as quickly as she has fled. When she returns he allows her to take his wing, despite wincing from the movement – and fighting against the desire to guard it. Strange, to have the pulp rest against the thin layer of skin and feathers.
But he tries his best to listen to her words; her gaze has narrowed upon him, and she makes it clear what they must do. It reminds him of his mother, a healer as well.
He finally finds his voice, offering a nervous smile. “A-alright.”
The boy tilts his head at the old stallion’s retort. Confused by the accusation – doesn’t understand its harshness, or its purpose. The boy makes a quick interjection, as if feeling the need to come between them for the sake of pressing their angry tones away.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean… Please be safe.”
What if the monster began to rampage across the lands? What if no one could stop it? He balks and seems to grow pale; unable to imagine the thought of losing anyone.
01-24-2017, 10:53 PM (This post was last modified: 01-24-2017, 10:55 PM by Vesper.)
EVEN THE STARS THEY BURN, SOME EVEN FALL TO THE EARTH.
The Earth God had not come when we had gone to his shrine with questions about Kisamoa. Now I understood why. He was here, and he was angry. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach had intensified as we grew closer to the marshes that Kisamoa had ordered to be cleansed of bones and filth. My skin crawled as if insects had taken up residence beneath my skin. Kaos certainly proved to be appropriately named, for here stood the harbinger of chaos. That’s the only word I had to describe the scene - magic exploded against reanimated bones, bodies sent flying, the smell of blood heavy in the air - chaos.
Now I was happy that I hadn’t rounded up any bones for this...this monster.
I tried to stay in step with Papa as we came upon the strange tower amongst the bones, but Papa had other ideas. He quickly transformed into his warg and ordered me to stay in a voice that told me not to question him. I understood why - he was protecting me. But at the same time, Papa was all I had left. I couldn’t just...abandon him.
So I stood frozen on the outskirts, too afraid to enter the fray but too afraid to leave.
Many shouted at the monster. Others tried to fight with force or with magic. Watching the monster bat them away like playthings sent a wave of cold to my very soul. Bones. Blood. Death. And the only thing my mind could conjure was a question.
Why?
I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. I just knew that I was afraid. And for the first time there was a new emotion that burned hot in my gut. Anger. Fury even. Never in my life had I felt such a thing before, but it flashed hot in my veins like fire and smoldered somewhere deep within.
“Papa,” I breathed, though I knew he couldn’t hear me. I doubted anyone could. But then I remembered the last time I’d seen Kisamoa Kaos. On the beach. With Grandmama. And how her power had transformed the entire beach and his waned in comparison. I sucked in a breath at the realization. I looked over my shoulder back towards the shrines we’d only just been standing before. “Grandmama,” I breathed, wondering if perhaps the Moon would help turn the tables in this fight.
The chaos, turmoil, and bloodshed continue to rage around her.
The cries of anger and pain haunt her ears, seemingly piercing straight into her bones, and spreading through her body like a hot, searing acid. She wonders how it has come to this—how they could have let this happen. They had trusted him. Looking back, it makes her sick to think of how he (this perverted and barbaric monster) had led them so blindly, how they had been tricked and made into fools; the mare’s teeth gnash together as the tears continue to stream pitifully down her cheeks. Between the wildfire rage that burns and the heartbreaking despair that crushes her, Tiamat doesn’t know what to do next.
Suddenly there is someone standing next to her—speaking words of firm comfort and earnest encouragement. Tiamat recognizes the voice and turns her head, burying her face into the broad shoulder of the dappled mare, breathing in the familiarity of her newfound friend. “Wessex,” she chokes out, likely incoherently, while breathing haphazard sobs over the larger mare’s skin.
There is something about Wessex—whether it is her militaristic call to action, her steadfastness, or simply her presence—that rouses life into the wounded Mender again. She clings to the mare’s questions, anchoring them like a lifeline, like a sense of direction (of purpose) in the bedlam of violence that her world has suddenly become. Coughing and sputtering past the tightness in her throat, Tiamat pulls slowly away, trying to blink the moisture from her eyes. “Um—” She glances around, trying to separate the blurs of people that race around them, “Hotaru or Erebos, we need to find them.”Surely they will know what to do.
Stumbling forward, Tiamat searches for other familiar faces, glancing often to Wessex, as though she would lose herself in this nightmare if she lost sight of the large dappled mare. In one of her glimpses, she notices a dark figure—one that pulls even more on her frayed heartstrings—and skips forward in her desperation.“Erebos! Over there—” She is cut off when, suddenly, a bony appendage emerges from the marsh’s mists. The skeletal claw rakes across her neck and cheek, gouging parallel lines into her skin, and exposing ruby drops that mix into her salty tears. Tiamat is thrown off balance and staggers to her knees, gasping from the trauma that chills her body until she shivers, struck into shock.
notes; Clings to @Wessex then searches for @Erebos but gets hit by the Fido monster. “Speech.”
The massive God was underwhelmed by the scene before him. He'd expected magic, murder, kaos as the beasts name implied, and yet there had only been taunts.
The Earth God's blood seemed to chill in his veins.
"Leave this place." He whispered, and despite the low rumble of his voice, his words carried across what was quickly becoming a battlefield. "All of you. Do not listen to these lies. Do not engage."
He needed to find his siblings, to discuss this. How could they have missed this? For his part, he knew where his attention had been, but the other three? Had they similar excuses? The God swallowed. First he'd have to visit the Hidden Falls. The conversation he would have there would not be an easy one, but it was necessary.
Then he would find his kin.
The grasses around them wavered and a warm breeze gusted through the area. It carried with it his healing magic, soothing the aches and injuries that those who had assembled had sustained. It left the God feeling momentarily weak and dizzy, for such an outburst of magic required quite a lot of energy. But he would not have those he loved wallow in pain over a mistake he should have seen coming.
01-26-2017, 03:08 PM (This post was last modified: 01-26-2017, 03:39 PM by Tilney.)
Wander or leave
Turn into winter lights
The chaos, the booming and the bloodshed could be heard from miles away.
As Tilney cascaded down the hills and galloped through meadows that lead from his home to the marshes he had only one hope - that there would be no death, and that Maude and Arah would be far from this danger.
Upon his approach to the abhorred, filthy wetlands, Tilney was hit with a barrier of horrid stench. Was it the bones, the re-emmerged carcasses that created such a foul odor?
Blood littered the water, turning it from mud to a red mess of dirt and plasma while shouts and cries littered the air from further ahead. What on earth had happened here?
The monster in all its vile shapes would appear to be no match for the likes of Nyx and even the Sultana - both overpowered it seemed by its indomitable might. "FALL BACK!" The Moon doctor could only shout as his gaze landed upon his king. Surely there would be no wa to defeat this creature and his commander without further studying the obelisk and the ritual fulfilled to create it.
The chestnut made his way towards the Elephant King, stepping over splatters of blood and gore-riddled mud. "Sire!" The flaxen physician chanted "We must fall back! It is hopeless until we know more about the creature!"
It was hardly a moment later that Tilneys verdent gaze flashed upon a white tree, the same kind that littered his own shoulder.
Maude - this was his immediate thought. Upon further inspection he noticed it was certainly not. It was one of Nepheles colts. His son. Byron, or was this one Jude?
No; he knew Jude always stayed at home dwelling in illness and loneliness. This had to be Byron.
No child of his would be left to watch this horror.
"Byron!" Tilneys voice boomed over the brontide of Kaos's threats and growls. Leaping over the scattered bones, the blood and the gore, Tilney attempted to collect the small colt with a great nudge to the shoulder. "You must leave! now!"
Nudging the colt fiercely away from the scene, Tilney looked to his elder sister, one he knew as Verro. "Keep him safe" The stag growled, green gaze piercing her own before he gave one last glance to his son.
With that the stallion was gone, leaping back to the kings side and conjoring the smoke of mother moon in order to heal any that might need its restorative effects.
Civilians! Wessex rolls her eyes whilst the tender-hearted woman chokes grief into her thick neck. Ah, but then a softer part of her relents, and wants to comfort her with quiet ’there, there’ - except that they’re in the midst of a battle (of sorts), and is there really time for such comforts? Probably not. So she is thankful that her questions seem to keep Tiamat from getting too embroiled in her emotions, and instead, sends the two of them into action.
Except for the teeny, tiny issue that Wessex has yet to meet Hotaru or Erebos, and therefore cannot tell Tia to leave, while she looks for them. But now, the soldier has a chance to do what she is fairly good at - guarding and protecting. Tiamat stumbles forward, further into the melee, and Wessex is at her side. She is not as agile as the warmblooded unicorn, but she is practiced in keeping a wide area of focus, and manages to stay by her as they weave around others. While Tiamat calls out their names, Wessex looks for reactions from any others - but they are all either involved in their own problems, or do not know where the Basin’s leaders are.
Suddenly, her companion sees one of them and lunges forward, excitedly, and she is too far ahead, and the mists in this area too thick, and Wessex is on the wrong side of her. As the ivory blur sneaks in an attack, Wessex too, surges forward. She is too late, too improperly positioned to take the hit (as she will later criticize herself for, though there was no way of knowing from which direction danger would come). The claw rakes forward an up, and had Wessex been in the lead, she might be the one now half on the ground. Instead, she is the one bowing to her knees after the gasping mare, giving her gentle (yet firm) instructions as one would a child.
“Breathe, Tiamat. Breathe. Lean against me.” She offers her mottled shoulder once more as a resting place, and tries to encourage her patient (it’s ironic, almost) to keep moving with a little white lie. “Erebos is going to meet us back at the Basin, but we have to go first. So up and at ‘em.” On the count of three, Wessex attempts to guide the injured healer to her hooves, and set a course for her - no, their - valley home. She couldn’t tell if Tiamat was badly injured, but it was clear she was surprised and potentially in shock, and if so, it was best treated off the battlefield.
Wessex, herself, had been carried out of battles by comrades, and vice versa. There is no shame in it - only a practicality that ensures they will live to fight another day, and not take their fellow soldiers down with them.
I had almost rejected the stallion’s offer when he had asked if I would accompany him. The question came unexpectedly, jarring my mind as an impact would jar my bones, and I remember fumbling over my words before simply shutting up and nodding. It began as a gesture of politeness. While my interactions thus far with Sunjata have been relatively pleasant, and he has done nothing to convince me that he is anything but a gentleman, I cannot help my wariness. I have known too many gentlemen that, ultimately, wanted nothing but a romp between the bed sheets.
I am well aware that my expectations are as critical as the judgements I fear against myself, and I loathe my own hypocrisy, but the world cannot change my mind now.
Even still, for all of my insecurities and my judgments, I find myself grateful that I am not alone when we stumble into our destination. What I assume had originally been a marshland is now a battlefield. Bones and blood are everywhere, screams of pain and cries of war are clashing against one another, and the crowd of bodies is a throng of chaos. I fall a step back, shuddering as my eyes grow wide. My senses are overwhelmed, trying to make sense of the monster and his betrayal, but there is little that I understand about this new world.
Some people order an attack on the ominous black spire in the distance, while others command everyone to regroup and work together, whereas even more call a retreat and flee from the terrible bloodshed. This is not my fight— I gasp to myself. When I look to Sunjata, there is both confusion and fear written across my features. “What do we do?” I choke out, unsure if he can even hear me above the bedlam of anger that rages around us. I feel detached from their conflict, not invested as they are in their home and their gods. I don’t know what to do.
notes; Arrives with @Sunjata and is in shock of the chaos. “Speech.”
Massive wings folded roughly into his shaggy sides—even the warm Birdsong weather could not entirely thin the vulture’s thick coat. His sharp, bright gaze swept, nearly predatory, around those gathered to hear Kisamoa speak; except it wasn’t Kisamoa.
It was Koas—though the Vulture had not been present for the rift wars, so some of this was lost on him. However, what was not lost on him was the seemingly invincible bone monster (cunningly named ‘FIdo’ by a striking mare; one with bubblegum pink lips that, for a moment, entirely ensnared the man’s attention). However, the ensuing bloody attacks stole his attention back.
And the vulture’s wings spread, ready to leave the carnage and take his body someplace safe—“Edge, to me!”. His huge wings paused, mid-flap, hot eyes pinning the Dorobian stallion (—‘plainsfilth’ his father’s sharp, harsh voice cut through his mind; his sub-conscience giving him a reason to flee—). But he was not his father.
So his wings folded, thickly feathers limbs and huge hooves slowly stepped behind those already gathered. With back-tilted ears and a deep sigh, he waited. But he didn’t willing approach the monster. No. He wasn’t an entirely changed man.
I do not want to repeat my innocence I want to repeat the pleasure of losing it
The lemon drop shuffled forward, eyes wide and watchful—and no part unexcited as Kisamoa admired their handiwork in gather bones and debris.
However, that was where her excitement ended. Quickly.
The girl had remained in the vicinity of her mother. Not because she wanted to, but her mother had been wary and insistent. And it was not until her mother’s enraged shouts that the lemon-freckled filly understood the reasoning for her dam’s distance and caution. Instinct sucked her close to her mother’s side, bright eyes widening even more—this time from shocked fear as she had yet another interaction with death, her head whipping to see the steel-grey mare slammed through the air.
Her eyes then squeezed tightly shut, feeling and hearing (rather than seeing) her father come near them. She ducked her head into her dad’s pepperminty skin—time and genetics had stolen her ability to smell it, but he still felt like her pops. And then she waited for this nightmare to end, feeling a false security between her parents.
There was so much more to life than tricks and pranks, the small filly was quickly (and perhaps unfortunately) learning. She swallowed, hard, lips tightly pressed and puckered.
For several seconds—or minutes, or hours, since time seems to have warped and stopped all at once—the ocean mare can hear nothing but herself. The thundering of her heart races in her ears, pounding and screaming, and her breaths rasp in choking, feverish sobs that are wrenched roughly from the tightness of her throat. Everyone else has been muted—still they run, still they charge, with mouths parted and teeth bared in silent, wordless cries—and for a long moment, she hears none of it. Sweat beads along her skin, but the mare feels cold, as though even her bones have been frozen by this numbing, terrifying shock.
Tiamat fears that this is how it will be forever—that she will never be able to escape this cruel hell of anger and pain (the fiery jaws have opened, swallowing her world into their infernal pits of brimstone and misery). She fears that she has been lost.
But then they are there—her herd mate and her bonded, anchoring her like a lifeline of sanity. Nimue, with anxious squeals, clings to the Mender’s side, blowing into her face to try and rouse her from her stupor, before nudging her towards Wessex. “Okay,” Tiamat manages to choke out, her willpower to fight having dissolved into bitterness and pain. Forcing herself to stand on trembling legs, she ignores the glimpse of blood streaming down her leg, and resisting the urge of her healing magic as it sparks in wisps across her skin (this is a fight she must weather alone).
She falters only when the voice of the Earth God booms over the bloodied marshland, her broken mind clinging to the security that his familiar presence offers. His is a command that she can follow—leave this place, leave this monster and these lies—and with the power of his magic to rejuvenate her, Tiamat knows that they will make it home safe. At least until then, they will be spared.
After that…she doesn’t know what to believe anymore.
notes; Leaves with @Wessex <3
(and I don't mind! xD I adore threading with you!) “Speech.”
From the ground, previously scattered in bones, the dark silhouet of an altar had grown like an ominous shadow. Wings of chaos unfolded from the bones; a monster sounding so corrupt, so mad. Kaos - she should've listened to her instincts, her theories; her suspicions. How could she have ever thought that that such things could've actually become true? What kind of diviner was she, except a failing one? She felt her breathing stagger before its previous disruption got caught in a dizzying speed that equaled the beating of her heart.
She watched a white mare being broken, slashed by the bonemonster (she looked dead), all to protect her kin... perhaps; the youngsters that Maren had always thought so stupid and dumb. This was just like the time they fought the Rift Gods, yet, it was not the same. Covered in the radiation of their unearthly, unhelovian homeland, they had not been killed before. Why would they now? They had been living on borrowed time, but something borrowed must be returned. More experienced fighters threw themselves at the God of Kaos, who'se voice was so venal and rotten, it washed her brain with coldness. So, so cold. She couldn't think - breathed only half right. She half heard Volterra and Tembovu and others' voices, but she couldn't make out the things that mattered from that which did not.
She felt her companion shuffle beside her, anger filling his normally so peaceful mind. Mr. Teatime's grown catbody was pressed into an agressive stance before her.
There were so many bodies present here, charming the air with their screams. Above all else she heard them call names of the ones they wanted to rescue from harm; names of their loved ones. She half realized that she had no one to call. That was what it meant to carry the weight of religion on her shoulders. She was a follower of the Gods, her fate was not to lead into battle and not to protect her mortal kin. Her fate was to protect the history that was made, and the deities that it carried within. It sounded so easy, so stupidly doable for someone like her. She hated everything about the Rift, about its people. I knew it - She had known that they had been the source of this virus all along, the source of this corruption. ...But as the God of Kaos says -- this fight cannot be won today. So she stepped back into the shadows.
01-29-2017, 08:52 AM (This post was last modified: 01-29-2017, 09:02 AM by Kianzo.)
Kianzo & Kiada
The dark prince knewfelt the rift that existed between him and his sister since his return. She was apart of him, and so this feeling of… separation between oneself was… dismaying.
There was even physical distance between them, now, as Kisamoa appeared along with his bone monster and revelation that he was Kaos. Kianzo’s darkening blue eyes swept from his sister for a few breaths, surveying the chaos that began to erupt around them, before settling on the fiery vortexes that leapt from his twin and shielded them both from view.
Though the now-yearling was enraptured by power, there was one thing that ensnared his hopes, aspirations, and desires more: Kiada. So, despite this great display of power by the newly amalgamated god, his first instinct was to protect his sister. Maybe from herself, maybe from the bone monster’s sharply slashing appendages, maybe from the Kaos God—maybe from all three. However, he shifted closer to her, navy eyes darting towards the direction of her pledge to the God.
Truthfully, there was no dissension in him as his long limbs walked forward. He could easily support Kaos, and gladly devote time to him—should Zo reap the benefits of power. However, there was no verbal pledge that fell from his dark lips; only squared proud shoulders that stood abreast with his fervent sister.
And this was for two reasons: one, the colt was turning to talk to Kiada; two, a stray swipe of the bone monster’s tail stole the opportunity for avowal from his lips.
Keusi, forever the watchful predator for her bonded, gave an eerie scream and leapt forward, her bone-crushing jaws seeking to grasp onto the creature’s tail and jerk its trajectory away from her dark prince. However, the bone monster was the creation of a god, so the young companion’s body and jaws had no effect—except her thick coat served as a cushion as she slammed into Kianzo.
Both hyena and colt hit the ground with an audible thud, a sharp cry coming from Si as she sprawled onto the ground and a low grunt from Zo as his long, strong legs instinctively scrabbled for purchase. His entire right side was in spasm and bruised and scraped, and he felt the broken bones in Si’s limbs and ribs. A low whine pushed out her lips as her incoherent curses bounded through his skull from their bond.
As he unceremoniously lurched, limping, to his hooves, his eyes swept from monster to Keusi to Kiada— finding her untouched. How? Was she more worthy? Was her adherence to power and greatness more than his? …in the din of screams, shouts, and ringing from his head bouncing against the earth, his young mind churned all strange amounts of thoughts.
Finally, he croaked, “Kia,” before limping towards his hurt companion.
But then the Earth God’s healing settling over them like a thick blanket of warm moss. And, though it healed the body, it did not heal the unsettling thoughts in his mind.
Keusi growled as she healed, while Kianzo turned his dark, sharp blue eyes to his sister. There was much to be done.
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[O] SWP :: The beginning of something new entirely
