"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.
This is the closing defense round. You should not attack in the closing defense. Simply wrap up and action that was done against your character or post them observing if they were not directly attacked in the third round.
Those knocked out:
Argetlam has been knocked out due to the player's request, those from his cluster assume dual characters aided in his fainting.
Verenia Rinta has been knocked out by Peixos.
Quilyan has been knocked out by Gaucho.
Ktulu has been knocked out by Ariadne.
Birch has been knocked out by Locket.
Ailith has been knocked out by Archibald
She wears a coat of color, Loved by some,
Feared by others
PAIN. IT WAS ALL SHE FELT. SHE HAD MANAGED TO ONLY KNOCK KTULU OUT. THAT BITCH NEEDED IT. HOW DARE SHE COME AND ATTEMPT TO STEAL THESE LANDS AWAY FROM US? PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. IT HAPPENED QUICKLY. aryel HAD KNOCKED THE DOTTED HORSE AWAY FROM lakota AND NO DAMAGE WAS TAKEN, BUT THE BRUISES THAT FORMED SHORTLY AFTER THE HIT. lakota HAD CLIPPED ARIADNE'S CHIN. MAJOR BRUISING AND NOTHING MORE. IF THE HIT HAD BEEN COMING FROM THE SIDE, BLOOD WOULD HAVE BEEN DRAWN. ariadne HAD MOVED SO lakota'S HOOVES HAD HIT HER SHOULDERS. THE HOOF PRINT. HOOF PRINTS OF BLOOD. HER RIGHT SHOULDER MISSES ARIADNE'S CHEST. "fool. you are the cunt!" ARIADNE'S STEEL VOICE SPOKE. OUCH. A DRAGON CAME OUT OF NOWHERE AND FLAME BALLED HER SHOULDER. HER TEETH MAKING 3 THIN SCRAPES AS SHE RECOILED. SINGED SKIN AND MAJOR HAIR LOSS. BAM! peixos'S HOOVES LANDED MISERABLY HARD ON HER CHEEK. SCORCHING PAIN SEERING HER SKIN. THAN THE DEER HORSE.
EACH ATTACK HAD BEEN PLANNED, ALL, BUT gaucho'S. HADEN'T HE CALCULATED THE OTHER ATTACKS, ARIADNE'S ANGLE, AND THE PLACEMENT OF HER HEAD AFTER BEING HIT AND KICKED UPWARDS? STRAIGHT INTO THE SUN? HER CYAN ORBS SAWW HIM. IT WAS HARD, BUT SHE SAW HIM. MAYBE IF HE HADEN'T BEEN THE FIRST TO ATTACK? SHE HAD TURNED. HER PAIN SWELLED AS TWO EXTENDED HOOVES RAMMED INTO THE TOP PART OF HER RIBCAGE. HEARING HER BONES CRACK MAD HER FREEZE SOLID. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. THREE BROKEN RIBS. "was it worth it?" TIRED AND EXHAUSTED. IT WAS OVER THEY RETREATED INTO THE SKY AND LOOKED TO SEE WHO HAD WON. MOST LIKELY grey HAD WON. NEARLY ALL THE FOOTHILLS HAD FALLEN ariadne, locket, AND tharos WERE LEFT. ARIADNE, ALONG WITH LOCKET WERE THE ONLY TWO ON THE FOOTHILLS SIDE WHO MANAGED TO KNOCK SOMEONE OUT. ARIADNE HAD KNOCKED THE LEADER, KTULU, AND LOCKET HAD KNOCKED BIRCH, THE TREE SHE HAD ATTACKED.
ooc: Aryel's attack works and Ari was pushed away from Lakota.
Lakota clips under her chin and rams her.
The dragon gives her severe burns, but she recoils and misses his bite. (since Aryel had moved her, the flame went onto the shoulder.)
Peixos' hooves had hit her cheeck and sent scorching pain through her cranium.
Gaucho had passed, but since Ari turned his two extended legs cracked three of her ribs easily. >.>
OVERALL INJURIES: SEVERE BRUISING NEARLY EVERYWHERE! -I'd say this is critical-
One deep gash from Ktu -Critical-
One cut from Ktu -not critical-
AT LEAST a four degree burn on her shoulder. -critical-
THREEEEEE broken ribs -critical-
I'd say she's one bump away from passing out and dying xDD -stops laughing- IT ISN'T FUNNEHHH >.<
As the magic worked on Tharos, his mind was suddenly brought back to the time he was a newborn and the grown stallion was confused, as to where he was, or why he was bucking. He did not need a reason for it, however, as bucking out his legs seemed fun and he kept doing it. Although now without the intent to hit something. The body flashing past his was what got Tharos's infant attention. A blade gashed into his left side, the flesh hanging from the wound as blood splattered from his injury onto the gold-tinted pegasus as he passed. A scream of innocent agony ripped through the adult throat of the grullo as pain struck through his body like lightning.
The magic faded soon after, but not fast enough to let him realize what was happening. He barely had time to shift to the side as Apollo made a charge towards the stallions unguarded chest. it was lucky he did, as the Horn buried itself deep into his right shoulder. Tharos felt the crystaline rod scrape against the bone of his shoulder blade. The wound was harmlessly on the outside of his ribcage, so the horn had passed through muscles and the bloody tip poked out through a second hole just above his elbow. The shock of it stilled his breathing for a moment as his eyes bugged outwards and defeat trickled over his expression. He let out another softer squeal which was cut off as the air around him grew suddenly heavy and hard for him to breath. Suffocating, the stallion fell almost gracefully to his knees and then sprawled onto the ground, his sides heaving as his lungs tried desperately to keep him alive.
He was far from death, but approaching it slowly as he bled out on the grass. When the battle was declared over, Tharos was barely aware of someone dragging him away to heal as he passed out. Mother.... is this what it feels like to die? were his last thoughts before he slipped into a deep, exhausted slumber.
346
Chaos Invasion
Last Defenses: The time magic of Loretta caused Tharos to go back to the mental state of a 2 month old foal, and so he could not defend against MIDAS's last attack and took the full brunt of the blade gashing along his left side. It faded, however, right before APOLLO made his charge and Tharos was barely able to shift and avoid a killing blow, although the horn did pierce into his right shoulder. Finally, the air-pressure magic of KRI caused the stallion to fall, and then pass out.
Overall status: Knocked out
Injuries: Cuts on his withers and bruises on his back and left side -noncritical
Bruised hip - noncritical
Large gash in his left side- critical
Stab wound in his right shoulder, exit wound above his elbow- critical
It had taken less than an hour. In a final screaming wave of horseflesh rolling across the battlefield, it was over. An eerie hush descended over the plains, punctuated only by the galloping thuds of hoofbeats and the cries of the injured. Miraculously, Aryel herself had suffered no wounds aside from a stinging speck of dust in her eye. The Foothills horses had been so badly outnumbered, though, that it didn't surprise her. The mare she had previously slammed stood a few feet away, tottering unsteadily on shaking legs. The roan pegasus left her alone. The fight was over, there was no need to push the injured mare any further. Instead, she swept her gaze over the battlefield. Many horses, most of them Foothills, lay on the ground, she couldn't tell if they were breathing or not. Oh gods, how she hoped she hadn't killed anyone. As she scanned the field searching worriedly for her herdmates, she did not feel the sense of glory and pride she assumed would be present after her first real battle.
Instead she felt sick to her stomach.
Did she regret helping Kri uphold their end of the deal with the Gray? No.
Did she regret having to push horses out of their home to accomplish that? Yes.
She tried to tell herself that if they hadn't helped the Gray, the mercenaries might have sided with Catallatio. She tried to tell herself that anything they could do to thwart him was justified. She tried to tell herself that it better the Foothills than the Throat. It didn't help very much. A change had occurred in the spitfire mare. She was not as naive to the ways of the world as she used to be. There wasn't just "good" and "evil" in her eyes anymore. Sometimes things were a confusing muddle of morals and points of view. It would take some time for the mare to recover from the reflective melancholy that would soon set it, but she would be her old self again, albeit more mature, when she came to terms with what had transpired today.
And it didn't change her loyalty to Kri. She still respected the brown mare, idolized her even. Aryel had know the fighting would not be pleasant when she agreed to assist the Gray. But she wanted to pull her weight in the herd, to prove that she could deserve her rank of Sergeant.
But was it worth it?
With a sigh, she set her face in an expressionless mask and waited for the Throat warriors to regroup. She couldn't let them see her waver, not for a moment. She didn't want them falsely assuming her loyalty was in question. No telling what they'd do if they thought she sympathized with the Foothills.
Walk walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk talk."
ARYEL</style> In blood and honor, we will prevail.</style>
image by gpabill @ flickr.com
Thanks for the good times, and no hard feelings for the bad times.
Cracking ribs, was not something you simply missed.
As Gaucho hurtled towards Ariadne, he became aware that her body was moving more perpendicular to him. Id-jit He thought, as his massive bulk swiftly impacted her much smaller frame. Although he could not hear the sound of her ribs splintering, given the chaos all around them, he certainly could feel it. At first, there was the delicious sensation of his hooves striking something hard and firm, and then there was the more, that accompanied it. The feeling of more impact, of more room, and of more damage. His hooves dug in farther than they should have, indicating the extent of the injury that he had caused her. Even as he spread his massive wings and flew up and out of her reach, he felt no pity; no remorse. Ariadne had chosen to be here, just as he had. The fact that the foothills were horribly outnumbered did not weigh on his conscience, as it did for others. If they had no allies, no warriors, then so much the worse for them - Gaucho was merely a foot soldier. He did what he was told, unburdened by the grief and morality of the situation.
After watching Ariadne for a time, to ensure that she no longer posed a threat, Gaucho circled rather gracefully towards the earth, landing with a dull thud next to Aryel. His shoulder throbbed with a dull ache, as his full weight was finally placed upon it, but it was a minor thing. Perhaps ommmmnnneee would be kind enough to heal him again, once they returned home. Turning his dark muzzle towards the blue mare, his steely gaze washed over his sar-gent, ensuring that she was alright. By the look of things, she was even less damaged than he was. Folding his wings to his sides, he stood stoically next to her, scanning for Kri and My-dus.
They had come, like toy soldiers, and fell, just as quickly.
Gaucho did not take any pride in what he had done on this day, for pride was a selfish and strange emotion that a simple creature like Gaucho could not comprehend. What he did feel, was a sense of relief, that all of his recent training had allowed him to aid in herd in this invasion. Yet he knew there was much more work to be done - he had allowed the painted pegasus to hit his shoulder, which would now require Gaucho to train that muscle, or to burden ommneee with healing him. He could have done better. Sighing, he flicked his luxuriously long tail, as Mara slithered down onto his spine; covering his dorsal stripe with her gun-metal body. She cuddled against him, as much as a snake could, stealing all of the heat rising from his dark frame.
[WC: 496 Closing Defense 1/1
Summary: Lands next to Aryel after ensuring Ariadne is no longer a threat]
I HAVE BURNED MY TOMORROWS, AND I STAND INSIDE TODAY At the edge of the future, and my dreams all fade away
Ophelia watched as if everything before her was occurring in a vacuum, decreased in speed torment the perfection of her mind. She watched as Murdock shoved LOCKET backward, and her bones jarred when her pearly horn met unprotected flesh along the top of his croup. Blood dripped down the tip, and she quickly removed the weapon before turning and lashing out at his face with her hind hooves. No impulse was met with her joints this time, so she turned quickly to remove herself from the fray and regroup. Immediately her two toned eyes latched onto LOCKET, but not before MURDOCK managed to take advantage of his powers of flight to overcome the delicate stallion. Two toned eyes watched, not interested in further destroying their opponent in this unfair battle of numbers.
What she did not expect then was her opponent to be equipped with such a strong power. What emanated from his body hit her like a shockwave. The strength that traveled through the earth from a single step off his hoof was supernatural in power, and she stumbled backward on her long, slender legs. Off balance and struggling to regain her footing on splayed toes, Ophelia's strange, dual colored eyes caught a flash of reddish movement, and she knew that without help, she would lay helpless at her opponent's abilities.
She reached out with her mind to embrace his own once again, cradling his memories and thoughts so delicately as she attempted to leaf through them all. Ophelia found a recent though that piqued her interest, and she reacted on the half-formed desire to go for her jugular. The mare immediately tucked her chin to her chest, protecting her delicate throat and turned her body to the side. She felt the skin on the back of her leg pull uncomfortably as she stumbled to the side, gathering her slender legs beneath her as quickly as possible. However, she had not escaped his well formed attack unscathed. Even as she dodged and tucked her chin, she felt his ivories catch the left side of her jaw, nicking the thin skin on her cheek. As the cut on her back leg coagulated, the one on her jaw bled, staining the pale fur with a symbol of her own mortality.
She took four, large, racing steps backward and then stared as the heavy breathing members of both sides began to come to a rest. What was the point of this mayhem? The large grey stallion, Tharos, had fainted before her eyes, leaving ARIADNE and LOCKET to be the only two defenders of the Foothills standing? And ARIADNE was not even affiliated with the herd they were invading! Jackal had set up the entire band for utter and complete devastation, and that was now what stood (or laid) upon the battlefield. Ophelia was not proud. How could she be? The Grey had only proven that they could demolish a tiny force without a leader. No victory was won.
Finally, she let out a bellowing cry, seeking her sister among the few remaining. Ktulu was also asleep on the grass, and Ophelia could not help but feel... a strange sense of unsettling in her heart. What were they fighting for? Finally, with a tight grimace on her lips, the alabaster mare jumped into the large group, pale tail flashing at her hocks and brushing against her small injury. "Stop." She commanded. Ophelia's strange eyes stared into each one, trying to find LOCKET among the group. "As the remaining fighter for the Foothills, I beg of you to surrender," she said clearly. "You fought valiantly with no leader to guide you and little to come to your aide, and no one will look down upon you for your understanding of simple and brutal logic. At this point, you cannot emerge victorious. Under no measure of reality can you hope to control what remains of your broken band."
Ophelia shook her head and winced. "I had expected a challenge, and Locket, you tested my skills like a true warrior. But you are only one drop in an ocean raging against you, and I... you are too skilled to be damaged beyond repair for a loyalty to a leader who is not even here to stand at your side now while you bleed for him." The alabaster mare's face dipped into a sorrowful expression, and she exhaled roughly through her gray muzzle. "If you do not hold such ill will in your heart for me doing what I believe is right to provide for my family, then I would like to extend to you an invitation to join our ranks. Though, I understand if you cannot - especially on such a day of mourning as this one."
Then, Ophelia regarded the Grey, her family. "The Grey," she said fondly. "You have made me proud beyond measure. I cannot be more impressed at my family and your abilities. You fought well, loyally, and though I know that taking pride in this moment is difficult, do not let your hearts be weighed. Reflect. Learn."
Heterochromatic eyes then sought Kri with apology. "Had I known the forces against us would be so few, I would have never asked you to leave your homeland. I thank you, for bringing your warriors to our aide, and I wish you a safe return."
[[(defense) - (899 words) - (2/2 magic) - (2/2 companion)
(Damage Taken: Bruise on right shoulder from Ariadne. Hairless scrape across right shoulder behind the first bruise. 3cm, bleeding nick on the back of her right canon. Nick on left cheek from Locket.)
- Uses her mind reading magic to anticipate Locket's attack on her jugular, but is disoriented by his war stomp. Takes a nick to the jaw instead)]]
Image Credit: haiinee @ sxc.hu
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
The thought of being alone on the battlefield, vulnerable to the enemy as they outnumbered you and your allies fell around you, was bound to destroy morale. Murdock wondered how LOCKET felt, one of the last men standing on the side of the Foothills as the members of the Grey closed in around him. The battle was coming to a close and the fighting had begun to die down around them; only time would tell what the fate of the chestnut warrior would be. Now was neither the time nor the place to ponder such things, however, and he returned his attention to the Arab stallion in front of him.
Murdock’s fore-hooves connected firmly with LOCKET’S slender chest, the force of his weight knocking the wind out of the Arab and sending him staggering a few paces back. Pleased with the success of his counter-attack, he backed away as Ophelia rushed into the scene, spinning on his hind legs as he circled the small chestnut. As the white mare kept his adversary occupied, Murdock launched himself into the air with the intent of striking LOCKET in the center of his spine. However, the light-footed warrior was able to dance out of harm’s way at the last second.
Silver hooves plunged down through empty air onto the wet grass, heels digging into the soft soil as he skidded a foot or so away from his opponent. LOCKET reared back on his hind legs as Murdock lashed out at the chestnut’s right knee, his rear hoof meeting nothing but air as he struck out. Frustrated, the Pegasus cantered a few paces away from the chestnut and turned so he stood facing him, legs splayed slightly as his chest heaved with each deep breath. Cool air filled his lungs as he inhaled, powering his tiring muscles and fuelling his weary body.
Murdock braced himself as LOCKET turned back around toward him, his injuries clearly catching up with him as he broke into a slow and choppy canter. Somehow, he felt a twisted sort of pity for the chestnut, but he didn’t have time to harbor such feelings of sympathy. He jerked out of the way at the last second as the Arab approached him on his left side, finely carved head reached toward his shoulder. However, the warrior was too quick for him and he felt LOCKET’S teeth pinch the flesh below his left wing joint. He recoiled from the sharp pain with a gasp as his flesh was torn, a thin trickle of blood blossoming beneath the cut to trail down the muscle of his shoulder.
Backing away from the chestnut, Murdock grit his teeth against the sting of the wound. He struggled to keep his left wing as steady as he could, reducing the tension in his muscle to relieve some of the pain. Glazed eyes followed the slender Arab as he turned toward Ophelia, stomping the earth with his hoof once more to produce a miniature earthquake. He wondered if it would be much harder for one to stay upright without wings to aid your balance, but he turned his head back toward his leader as her clear voice rang out across the field.
His gaze rested upon Ophelia as she called out to both sides alike, and though his mind was still geared for war he found the patience to stand still and listen. He turned his head away toward the shadowed forms of the mountains as her voice died away, weary eyes tracing the sharp outlines of the distant peaks. Would this place become their new home? Dawn was well behind them now, and a golden sun beat down upon his sweat-dampened coat. A dull ache resided in his elbow where the chestnut’s cloven hoof had struck him, but apart from minor wounds Murdock had managed to remain relatively un-harmed. This battle had been different from his last, and regardless of whether or not The Grey won or lost, he had not fallen to the enemy and Murdock could satisfactorily tell himself that that was a victory.
(Summary: Murdock takes Locket's bite on his left shoulder, and his flesh is torn slightly. He backs away as Locket turns toward Ophelia, and listens to his leader speak.)
"talk talk talk"
Wind me up, put me down
Start me off and watch me go
There is no pain in her body, merely pain in her heart.
It is a shriveled, well-guarded thing, the beating vessel in her chest. Far too many times has it been wounded, and so it is blocked by ice and steel. And yet, somehow, Ktulu and Ophelia had cracked open a tiny seam that every Grey member had wriggled into. Seeing her leader cradled by the vibrant green of the blades around her, unmoving, had struck a chord deep within that resonated emotions she had not felt in years. Those emotions had driven her into a furious attack against Ariadne. Everything was fuzzy with anger and despair. Was Ktulu still okay? But Ophelia was showing no signs of mourning, and she hoped that was a good sign. Ophelia was harder to read, Lakota did not know her as well merely through lack of presence in her life. So she threw herself at the mare who smelled still of the Threshold. Was she truly fighting for a herd she did not belong to? Had she harmed Ktulu in the name of a family she was not a part of? Anger bloomed rapidly in her breast as her neck connected fiercely with Ariadne's chin, sure to bruise the both of them. Her body collided with the other mare's just as quickly, and yet there was no retaliation other than words that could not hurt her. Violet slivers were all that could be seen through the glare of her eyes, colder than the most untamed corner of the Steppe. The ensuing collisions with Ariadne's body normally would have made her feel the tiniest bit of guilt for her being subjected to so many foes at once. But she could not dredge up the emotion, watching silently. It may have been an unfair fight, one she did not take pride in, but she would never regret the pain Ariadne went through. She deserved all that and more for so much as misplacing a single hair on Ktulu's body.
Slowly she surveyed the battlefield.
Was it even a battlefield? Sure, Lakota had participated in raids, pillages. Takeovers that had been just as one sided if not more so. All this with an illusionary crown. Even then she had not taken pride in it. They were thieves, and it made her sick with rage at the leader of this god forsaken wasteland. Ktulu and Ophelia had led them with the best intentions, wanting them to have a home and the protection of a herdland. They had fought side by side with their family, protecting them. Yet the king of the land they had invaded had not even poked his head into the fight. Lakota wished to drag him in front of all of the Foothills, beat him down and spit on his face and let the wild have him. He did not deserve a crown, a title. He did not deserve the land she now stood on. A leader that abandoned their herd was worse than trash. Jackal did not even deserve to live, simply because he had been too cowardly to be there and protect the warriors that had rushed to bleed upon the ground he reigned over. They had suffered for him, and he had fled.
Ophelia's voice kept her from attacking once more. Normally, Lakota would have never leapt back into the fray against someone in the condition Ariadne was in. But rage and love were intertwined within her heart at that moment, and the rage was born from an emotion so precious to her that she cared little for the life of the mare. Obsidian ears flickered uneasily as she backed down, obeying her leader. It was hard to resist killing the mare, but her magic soon calmed itself within her. She had good control over it, but her emotions sometimes made it spiral out of her control. When Ophelia spoke, everyone listened. It was a power her leader had always had, one which Lakota had been privy to many times both in her lurking and in her direct encounters. While she spoke, Lakota slowly moved away from the trio that had taken on Ariadne with her.
Aodaun appeared beside her, weaving between her legs to comfort the inner turmoil she felt as she approached the still body in the grass. Lakota feared for what she would find, unsure if Ktulu was alright. Ophelia's words were taken in despite her distraction, always respectful of either twin. The first breath Lakota saw Ktulu take in made her own shudder out in a half-sob of relief. She had not failed her completely. In the future, she would rectify her mistake, never let her mistress out from under her watchful gaze. Ao was clearly distressed by her jumbled emotions, and slowly Lakota knelt in the grass. It wasn't often she let her companion ride upon her back, for he always ended up clawing her up or nearly slipping off. But today she needed his comfort, his boundless love. Slowly he clambered up, the white of her spine connecting with the similar color of his body. Her legs ached both when she knelt and when she stood again, Aodaun growling softly in her ears his love. That was when she took guard over Ktulu, uncaring of the two warriors left in the equation. Nobody would get past the poisoner without either killing her or being killed.
---
WC: 900
Damage Taken: Sprained left leg from avoiding Verenia. Scraped left foreleg from Ariadne. Small bite and a few missing hairs from Ariadne. Bruised neck and shoulder from Ariadne.
WE ONLY EXIST IN TERMS OF THIS CONFLICT In the zone where black and white clash
"It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for;
There was a moment of peace, a brief second of silence before Apollo felt his horn make connection, the pointed tip puncturing THAROS’ shoulder and ripping through flesh and skin. The ice-blue color of the crystal upon his head became stained and marred with blood, red specks dripping onto the overo’s white blaze. When THAROS finally fell, seeming to succumb to the barrage of attacks he had experienced, Apollo took a step back and shook his head, gritting his teeth as the pulled muscles in his neck gave a painful tug of protest. Oh, he would be sore for quite some time…
Apollo admired the Foothills stallion for a moment before looking away with a disgusted snort. Was he bothered by them trying to defend their home? No, he wasn’t. It was an honorably thing to do, there wasn’t a question about it, but didn’t they see that this was a pointless battle? Their leader had abandoned them, left them to die… It would have been better for each and every one of the Foothills members if they had just accepted their defeat and had surrendered. At the mention of a leader, the black and white unicorn’s ears twitched when the sound of Ophelia’s voice rang out amongst them, demanding a halt in the fighting. A snort left Apollo’s quivering nostrils. Who was there even left to fight…?
As the adrenaline and blood-lust slowly trickled from his system, Apollo allowed his breathing to slow, the barrel of his chest shuddering and heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Too deep of a breath caused his left side to sting from where THAROS’ buck had grazed him. It had been a fight unlike any that Apollo had been in before… If he was even honest with himself, it had been his first fight. He hated having to hurt others in such a way, but it was for the Grey, his family.
I did it today, and I’d do it again… I did this for my family, for Phaedra.
Regarding THAROS once more, Apollo turned slowly on his haunches and moved closer to where Ophelia was standing, the daggers of his hooves stepping lightly in the plush grass. The morning dew that had previously been a hindrance was now gone, evaporated in the unmerciful temperatures of the Tallsun heat. With each step that he took, the unicorn’s head drooped lower from both fatigue and the pulled muscles that he had retained. Even though he found that he wanted nothing more than to rest, Apollo knew that his duty wasn’t complete yet. He was the healer of the Grey, and this was a time of war… His family would need him, and if Ophelia would allow it… Apollo would heal those of the Foothills as well.
Even though they were the Grey’s enemy, they were still living souls, still equines of all breeds that had families of their own. Apollo wouldn’t be able to leave in good conscience if he simply up and abandoned them to their wounds. Their leader may have been able to abandon these faithful fighters to their fates, but Apollo wouldn’t.
“Ophelia,” Apollo called, his voice breathless due to the aftermath of the fight and honey-brown orbs resting on the form of his alabaster leader. “If there’s any who need services of a healer, I’ll gladly help them… And, if you should deem it okay, I’ll help mend those of the Foothills, as well.”
[Wordcount: 573.
Injuries: A few muscles in Apollo’s neck have been pulled from Tharos’ attempt to break his horn, and a has received a bruised, hairless patch on the left side of his barrel from where Tharos bucked out at him. Also has a bite mark on the high-point of his cheekbone from Tharos’ bite.]
I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill."
Locket snorted in surprise as she expertly tucked and dodged his attack with minimal damage to her jaw. Snapping teeth returned under snowy lips and green eyes widened as he tried to get his head around how she had guessed his attack. Sooty legs brought his charging pace to a halt, wincing as bruises ached in his body and cuts flared against his flesh. He turned to face OPHELIA with an unfathomable expression before his gaze looked to the rest of the battlefield. It seemed in his raging attack and use of War Stomp he had somehow managed to knock BIRCH to the floor, Locket grimaced at his fallen form and eyes swelled with sorrow. So many others littered the battlefield, both sides had taken their casualties, but it looked like the battle was over for the Foothills now as another comrade fell to the ground leaving himself and the strange mare ARIADNE, whom he did not know or know why she had come to fight beside them. Not that he was about to complain. A sigh escaped his maw as sticky curls adorned the saddened curve in his neck, they were too few and they had been soundly defeated. Locket ceased his attacks just as OPHELIA spoke, the stallion had done his job, but he wasn't about to die for a cowardly Leader.
More to his surprise she addressed him, begging for his surrender for a cause that was now clearly lost, though the act of giving up was often bitter the stallion had already realized the point of him fighting had gone. The warrior took in each word she spoke, dipping his head at her compliments with a gaze that was open. Slowly an understanding dawned in his eyes as she explained that she fought for her family, the ones she called The Grey. Locket considered her words as she now addressed her own fighters and others from the Throat, he looked at the fallen ones and then he tried to seek out the face of Archibald amongst the fray. The draft who had helped him become a better fighter and his former Leader. With wonder his head tilted at the thought of Archibald and what OPHELIA could have said to earn the allegiance of such a soul. Once more he looked to the ground, even though they fought on the same side, there was not one he knew well enough to speak to and it saddened him further. It seemed now was the perfect time to severe his ties to Jackal and once again stand beside Archibald and the admirable OPHELIA.
"No you are right. My job is to protect this land and I did all I could until defeat. I do not intend to die for a coward like Jackal." He offered a weak smile that spoke volumes of the nagging pain his injuries were causing him. "Your fighters must think great things about you, Ophelia of the Grey, for each was willing to lay down their life and their spirit never wavered even when their comrades fell. If you can put up with a hopeless vagabond like myself, then I think I will accept your invitation and continue to guard these borders." Gentle eyes sought out the form of Archibald then with a weary smile. "Maybe now this poor land will now stability."
With that he fell silent and accented lids closed over his vibrant eyes as tongue rolled around his mouth. Images of a sparkling pool entered his mind and all Locket could think of was bathing his wounds away.
---
[w/c: 596] [magic uses: 2/2] [Injuries: Locket sustains flesh injuries to right crest, left hock and back as well as bruising to left rump and chest.]
[Summary: Locket received no attacks on him from the last round. He stands in confusion and thought at how Ophelia anticipated his attack before surveying the battlefield and responding to Ophelia's words.]
Ultimately the painted draft fell, as I knew he eventually would. Who could stand against so many with so few warriors? Tharos had been stubborn, foolish and a little stupid; but he also proved very hard to put down. As a team we had thrown everything at this stallion including, magic. It was yet to be decided if my thoughts toward this man where that he was courageously brave, or just plain dense.
My blades dripped with his blood, and only when shoved into a state of pure agony did he finally realize just how futile it was to stand in opposition. Ophelia’s bitter cry filled the air signaling that this fray was concluded. I felt no shame, nor remorse—this was what war did. I stayed my weapons and lunged for the sky again after passing the fallen warrior.
This had been a lucky day, by far I was one of the least bruised and battered; moaning about weariness wouldn’t be a privilege. Body angled mid-air, turning to find Apollo also intact; and though he likely didn’t notice, I smiled. For him, and our victory. His steps led off toward his white mistress, leaving me alone with my Sultana. Scanning the fallen and those that still stood by, attention was captured by the sight of an ebony form laid across the meadow like a fallen angel.
I had expected to rejoice with Ktulu, and instead I find her among the collapsed. My heart seizes with panic, pitching forward these appendages push out what little speed they have left. I flew toward the only girl who held my heart. Legs extended on approach caressing earth with gentle thumps as armored face falls toward her sleeping head. Velvet voice, soft and tender whispers gently, “Ktulu?” as I scan the girl for threatening injuring, not bothering to hide a relieved sigh when none could be found.
Words:: 314
Injuries:: None
Summary:: Goes to stand next to Ktulu, to protect her from further injury.
speak of all the love we lost and what it cost us</style> left us to beg our breath would stop, but we kept on</style> AND WE WERE STRONG.</style>
The magic flies from my body and drains my energy, but since this battle has hardly been a stress upon my own resilience, I am rather unaffected. I hover above the pandemonium below me, which begins to fold into a silence as the bodies that were the targets of my violent wind fall. One by one, the valiant ranks of the Foothills which met the invaders fall to their end, ceasing movement and drawing heavy breaths from their still bodies. I am out of their reach, but even had I been an available target to those last standing soldiers on the ground, they were already swarmed. Really, the power of my magic stealing their breath and silencing them was a favor. It saved them from the more painful and powerful blows, leading them into a dreamless sleep - a night black and rid of stars. When they awoke, they might find themselves in lack of a home, but not without a lack of heart.
As the gray draft falls to the floor, heavy in spirit and head, I let out my own sigh. There was no triumph in defeating an opponent that you had no difficultly battling. Truly, the few who rose against the Grey were worthy of praise, as I have mentioned before. However, there is no spirit that surmount those who fight with just as much heart but more strength. Had the Grey not been in need of a place to call home, these brave souls might have persevered. It was not so today.
I do not move from my position in the air, but instead look out across the field to see only two remaining figures that were not familiar to my eyes. One mare, who looked like a strong breeze might make her keel over (which I have to resist the urge to test my theory), and a stallion who looks worn but not hopeless. I feel that he has accepted defeat cleanly, but maybe I am wrong. My own heart feels heavy in my chest as I hold tight in the air. Surely, Ophelia had not needed my warriors to arise victorious here. If she had, we would not be so disparate in number. I look for her vision of white in the crowd bloodied and broken, seeing her own pristine coat smeared with crimson blood. Her eyes look heavy, her face drawn. Once more, the filly I knew in the Throat grew. Life has a way of beating you into maturity, whether or not you are willing to be sculpted.
I wait for her words, listening to them carefully. She offers the stallion, sole in his upright and fit position, a home within the land of the Foothills. I feel happy that she has extended this gesture to stay, not forcing those out of their homes. However, I grow weary. The battle is over, and my kin have served her purposes well. We have no need to remain here absent of healers, as Onni and Cirrus await us back in our crimson stained home in the desert. As she offers her dismissal, I nod quietly.
"Brethren of the Throat," I call out, looking for the three faces I had brought with me today. "We return to our home to remedy our wounds and see that our borders are still secure. We never know if that parasite has tried to ransack our home while we were away." And with that, I turn tail, heading back toward the south, waiting to hear the sound of wings whistling in the wind behind me, launching out a farewell without looking back, a soft breeze to cool the heads of the warriors still upon the ground. They would need calm minds to deal with the aftermath of a battle, even if they are victorious.
""
[ WC: 669 ]
KRI the RESOLUTE</style> MY FRIENDS, I'M ONLY FLESH AND BONE, BUT I WON'T LET YOU DIE ALONE.</style>
As the earth shakes beneath the feet of the warriors Archibald bends his knees and balances himself skillfully, like he had done in his battle with Jackal. Archibald had his magic for a great time now, and he was used to bracing himself against the shaking tremors. His muscles, now tired from the vigorous kicks and movements of the battle, pulled more uncomfortably than normal as he stood from his magic. In mere moments, each warrior knew that the battle was over, and Archibald calmed the ground beneath them, sucking his magic back into his thick, socked limbs. Lowering his head, the Dauntless let his body stand heavily, ears flicking and eyes hard. AILITH had fallen behind him, knocked out. Snorting Archibald lifted his head, standing victoriously amongst his allies. The left side of his neck still bled, slowly but surely, from AILITH’s bite, and the bruising he had received from her lashing hooves throbbed dully in the back of his mind.
Loretta, pleased with her aid, tossed her head back into the air, paws dancing jovially as a howl ripped from her throat, tearing the world in two before OPHELIA spoke. Archibald silenced his bonded then, lifting his head to watch the bloodied white mare. She extended a home with them to LOCKET, and Archibald sighed in relief. The Dauntless knew that Locket was an excellent warrior, and he trusted him even though he only knew him on a shallow level. Grunting, the dark knight moved forward and made his way to LOCKET’s left side, touching his pale nose to the chestnut’s shoulder. The draft was generally a silent beast, one not known for his endearing words or praises, but LOCKET deserved something from his ex-Chief. “Well done.” The words were simple and clean, no pride or venom in them, but merely truth. LOCKET had fought well against Archibald in the past, and now he had fought against the Grey forces to defend the Foothills—LOCKET was doing exactly what Archibald had tested him to do.
Loretta was silent as she approached her bonded’s side, but her whine that followed pulled him from his praise. I can help. She pleaded, and lowering his head carefully, Archibald let her. Her salmon tongue rolled over the bite on his left side. The action stung slightly, but the Dauntless kept his face hard and stoic, letting the pain flow through him. At this point in life, Archibald had come to accept pain with an open heart—it was a part of him as much as his own blood was, it flowed through him and kept him moving. Pain reminded him that he could feel something deeper, better than what Mandrake had taught him. And the Grey had taught him that, too, even in his short time among their ranks. The Dauntless was changing, and he was sure those that knew him would see it soon—for he was only beginning to recognize it in himself.
When the malamute bitch was pleased she took a step back, looking around the bloodied land. Likewise, Archibald lifted his head and surveyed the area. Turning his neck, which groaned against him, he looked upon the fallen THAROS and AILITH, as well as several other Foothills members. The Dauntless snorted again, quietly, before noticing KTULU on the ground as well. Instantly the draft’s ears pinned and he moved stiffly towards KTULU and MIDAS, watching the pegasus guard the hybrid. Giving MIDAS a small nod, Archibald lowered his head to breathe into KTULU’s nostrils. “Wake up, child, victory welcomes you.”
The sun shone brightly above him, and the rest of the warriors, and the Dauntless felt the full heat of the Tallsun reign. In the crevices of his body sweat pooled, mostly unnoticed by the black knight until this moment when he stood incredibly aware of himself, his white feathers bloodied by the grass on the flat land around him, knowing MIDAS would watch him coolly. Archibald neededKTULU to move, to take pride in her warriors. She did not deserve to be down, no, she deserved to be standing valiantly next to her sister, claiming their new—well, old really—home, welcoming their family in with pride.
[WC: 700]
ARCHIBALD The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me
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