"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.
ideas are the bombs in your mind, a fissure in time
if you don't have a weapon you can't have mine
Their movement had begun while the world was veiled in darkness with only the moon to light their path to the Foothills. The group moved in relative silence, only their hooves making sound as they rustled grass and knocked against small stones. Ktulu walked at the head of the group, Eytan at her side. The young bear had sobered as he'd grown older and now he was even more so. His mental connected with Ktulu helped him to grasp the gravity of the situation they were placing themselves in. He could feel the twinges of sadness at leaving his home of the deep forest behind, but at the same time he felt excitement of gaining a new, more permanent and more easily defended home. They would be complete.
As the night wore on Ktulu took time to allow her warriors rest, not only because she was concerned about their stamina in battle, but because she wanted to be knocking on the Foothills' front door at a certain time. She was restless during the times she allowed the group to rest, itching to begin the invasion, but biding her time like she should. When the time once again came to be on the move Ktu roused her warriors and they began their trek once more.
"Halt." Ktulu murmured to her warriors as they reached the edge of the Foothills land sometime later. The dark mare turned her head and looked behind them, to the East. They had circled around the Foothills' boarder as they had approached. The sun would be at their backs and in the eyes of their targets. The horizon was beginning to brighten and color the sky in different hues of pinks, oranges, and yellows.
The Constrictor stepped forward and turned her body so she stood facing her faithful warriors. "We fight now for ourselves." She began. "For one another. We are brothers and sisters on this battlefield as we have been from the day we all joined together. We fight for our future and the future of our children. No longer can we live in the shadows of the forest, living off of scraps that others would turn their noses up at! Do we not deserve better?" Her tail flicked against her haunches as she spoke. "We do! We deserve better than what we have! We deserve a place to call home! We deserve security and comfort!" She now walked before her warriors, looking them each in the eye. "I have faith in each of you. I trust each of you with my life, I only hope you hold the same trust in me. Should the unthinkable happen I will leave no one behind, for we are one. We will attack as one, win as one. Should we fall we will fall as one." But that would not happen. They were strong. They were determined.
Ktulu took her place once more at the head of the group, but before she moved she turned her head once more and looked back at her warriors with one crimson eye. "This is war." She said. "Protect yourselves and take no prisoners."
With the sun now risen from its depths and not a cloud in the sky to obscure it Ktulu led her warriors into the foothills. "Jackal!" She called out for the the Chief. "Come and face us!" Her voice was carried by the breeze that made the foothills' grass ripple and sway like a sea of green.
ooc://
Chaos style invasion.
Weather is cloudless, cool, and breezy.
Invasion is taking place at sunrise with the sun directly at the Grey's back.
It had been almost a year since his last march into war. He remembered it like it was yesterday, and he had relived the horrors of battle time and time again in his dreams. He had fought alongside his family members, the other warriors who he had trained with and regarded as brothers. Was today really so different? He looked around himself, his gaze settling on the other members of The Grey and those who would help them to invade the Foothills. He had been a part of their ranks for such a short time, yet already he felt as though he could call them family. He had never imagined battle would find him so soon, and he was both excited and reluctant to be amidst the fray once more.
They travelled under a veil of darkness, the moon lighting their path as they made their way north toward the Foothills. Their footsteps were muffled as they passed through the tall grass, a gentle breath of wind brushing along their faces and playing in their hair. Murdock kept his eyes trained on his leader, watching her every move as he walked alongside the others. He felt secure under her lead, placing all his trust in her as she led them to battle. He had found a strong leader once more and he was eager to serve his new family and prove himself a capable warrior.
Every time they stopped for a rest, Murdock found himself growing impatient and eager. Painful memories of past experiences flooded his mind, and he recalled the last battle he had fought before his capture. He remembered looking back at his mother one last time, unaware that it would be the last time he ever saw her. How could something as trivial as a simple disagreement lead to such bloodshed and loss? But this time it was different. This time, they were fighting for a home, a place to call their own. Their cause was worthy and he would devote every ounce of his being to their purpose.
They began to move again as the pale blush of sunrise bled into the sky, streaking into the heavens from the horizon-line as dawn approached. They were growing quickly closer to the Foothill’s border, the steady beat of footfalls sounding like the rhythm of a war-drum. They halted a final time as the distant scent of snow reached them on the wind, the sun at their backs to the east as they faced the place that would become their home. Rolling hills of green stretched out before them, the land sloping up to form grey mountains that reached up into the brightening sky. It was different from the sharp cliffs and snow covered treetops that he was used to, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
He watched intently as Ktulu stepped out in front of her warriors, turning to face them as the time for battle grew near. Excitement gripped him as he watched her, clear words ringing out across the field and filling his heart with courage. The light of the rising sun fell upon her like a spotlight as she made her speech, adrenaline pulsing through his body as she walked along the lines, looking each and every one of her warriors in the eye. This time, he would not fall to the enemy; this time he would be coming home again. They could win this, he knew they could.
"talk talk talk"
Wind me up, put me down
Start me off and watch me go
"It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for;
It was time.
Never in all of his days had Apollo thought he would take part in something so brutal, so profound and dangerous… He had always been the cautious one, someone who thought intently before acting, weighing the pros and cons of every situation… And yet here, he was, following the Grey into battle as they marched as one towards the Foothills.
He had left the Deep Forest with a heavy heart, having grown rather fond of the thicket of trees that he had become to call home. Where he once feared the twisting, dancing shadows that lived within the archaic trees, the black and white stallion had soon learned that shadows were nothing to be feared. He had grown in-tune with his home, and those around it, and even though he was sad to be leaving it behind… It was for the betterment of the Grey. Their family had grown far too big, too large to be accommodated by the giving forest home, and it was time to move on.
Apollo had remained silent since leaving the woods, missing Phaedra’s company immensely. The earthly Pegasus had been cursed by the Moon Goddess, he knew that much, and despite that, he still loved her, even though her looks weren’t near as stunning as before. She had given him a gentle kiss farewell and a few muttered words of good luck, and as the Grey approached the Foothills, the words she whispered replayed over and over in his head, like a mantra to help build his confidence.
Staying in the rear of the group, honeyed eyes watching everyone else that had assembled, the stallion inhaled a deep breath and then let it out slowly, allowing his tail to sway. Despite the apprehension he felt, the unicorn kept his head poised high, horn pointed outwards. When they arrived at the borders of the Foothills and Ktulu called for them to halt, he did so without question.
His gentle eyes, orbs that were not meant for war or bloodshed, watched the ebony mare as she spoke, emotion and power rattling her vocals. His ears twitched and his heart swelled; they were lucky to have a leader like Ktulu, ready to lead them into battle, and die for them just as quickly. Even though he was far from warrior-material, Apollo couldn’t help but feel energized by the Constrictor’s speech. As he had promised to Phaedra, once upon a time, he would die for the Grey if they so asked it. Yet now, he had progressed to the Medic of the Grey, and he was there for any of his brother’s or sister’s should they need his abilities. Mentally, he thanked the pale stag who had bestowed the gift of healing upon him, for now… Apollo was certain that they would need it.
The Grey had become his family, and he would do his best not to let them down. All they had to do now was wait for the members of the Foothills to show.
I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill."
"NO!" The anguished cry of Argetlam rung out across the hills, to any of the Foothills that remained, and had not been so cruelly torn from the land of the sweet green grass and steady mountains by gray shadows. It was a physical blow that the dark gray sire saw- painful, heart-rending, and it tore him to pieces. His stomach twisted, his heart contracted furiously, and his vision seemed to blur as he heard the words of the black mare. Black in body and mind, Argetlam told himself bitterly, emerging from the loose, spread out forest that he had been wandering about. How? How could they tear the family of peace from its roots, cast it to the wind and let them fall apart? How can they invade a land with fragile foals- Nayati- and gentle healers? How could they attack the gentle families? Jackal had warned them, as had Aaron, and nevertheless his heart nearly burst, and his ever-gentle amber eyes were watering desperately. If horses could cry, the crafter would likely burst into tears there and then.
As it was, he could not, neither could he begin to return the grass settled in his stomach to the earth, even if he were to colick for his nerves. If only they had been warned earlier... if only they had gone to save Romani and Willow... if, if, if. Argetlam had had a relatively peaceful morning, rising extremely early, when the sky was only just turning gray, not yet the palette of pinks and colorful, vivid reds and oranges. Birds had not yet begun their sonnets and thrilling, sweet, little choruses and melodies; all was silent in this lovely land. Home. He had been wandering, looking for metal, when he had seen the first bodies flitting through the trees, to the border, vague and indistinct against the glowing sun.
Now, weak-kneed, he stood before them, eyes desperate and ears pinned to silver skull, metal still weaving and bending at his great hooves, totally at a loss. He longed for Nadira, and Aaron- Aaron, the comforting familiar friendship, and the sweet scent of earth they all carried. For Jackal, for Nayati, for Romani, for Willow. Anyone and everyone, he wanted to have by his side. Surely the Chief would be coming- but for now... all he felt was bitter sorrow and regret. To fight or not to fight? He had fought at the Moonlit Tides, but in vain. Again would he fail? No time for that. Buy time. He must get time for his family to arrive, to face the foes. Argetlam had not been eavesdropping, he had been aware. When one sees numbers entering their borders, or at the edge of it, even the least curious will be piqued, and come a little closer.
War. It was the thing he sought so desperately to stop, to eradicate, to erase from this world entirely. Ailith said it impossible. Argetlam could not deny it would be hard, but right now he was mostly fussing. Wouldn't this be a poor- no. This was his home, the sweet familiar smell of earth. The pounding of metal. Around him everything seemed to become sharper, brighter- the light was brighter, the birds were singing louder, there was the quiet stamp of restless feet, and his heart was about to fall out of his great gray chest it was beating so hard. This green grass and rocky soil was theirs, and nobody would tear it from them, no matter their numbers.
This was home, and he would not leave it.
"This is our home!" Argetlam cries out, and he prepares to march into battle for a forlorn second time in his life.
Gravedigger, when you dig my grave can you make it shallow? So that I can feel the rain..
The thrill of battle, was something that seemed to envelope Gaucho's very soul - the only thing that stirred his emotions, vaguely resembling what you might know as love. It called to him constantly, and though he satisfied the cravings most of the time, by frequently sparring, and conditioning himself endlessly, it still could not compare to the tangible anticipation of a battle.
Kri had called them, and they had answered; Aryel, Midas, himself and their Sultana Kri. They were a force to be reckoned with, and would aid the Grey so long as Kri gave the word.
Kri led their charge in the still of pre-dawn darkness. Their soft flight feathers allowed for a mostly silent flight, as the warriors took to the skies, heading North. They flew in a tight formation, their three bodies moving seamlessly following their Sultana. She took them past the Heart, veering down towards the tree's of the Deep Woods, using the trees to dissuade any prying eyes from viewing their arrival. Skirting to the East of the Windtossed Foothills, the Sultana deftly brought the group of warriors around to the West. Signalling their descent, Kri guided their formation in a small grove of trees, placed strategically at the most southern point of the Heavenly Fields. He was sure that they hadn't been seen - the group was fairly dark in colour to begin with, and under the cover of pre-dawn, there were only a few beginning rays of light to gently cover their bodies.
As Gaucho landed, buffeting his wings against the still air to slow his descent and land as silently as a creature his size can, he looked at Kri with respect and excitement. Although Gaucho had been in many a battle in the past, the warrior never lost the taste, or the pleasure that he found in the moments right before battle began. He let the thrill washed through him, calming him into a stoic meditation as he focused on what lay ahead. Mara, his black-mamba snake, had initially been annoyed at having to wake so early, especially when her body was still slightly stiff given the drop in temperature. However, as she sensed the bloodlust coming from her bonded, she immediately coiled herself around his antlers, scenting the air with her tongue. Gaucho was well prepared for battle, with a number of amulets around his neck, a studded leather collar with sharpened bones protruding from it, and of course his magical antlers. He had been conditioning nearly ever day, and had already found that he was more resilient and quick than he ever had been. In a way, Gaucho would looking forward to putting himself to the test.
Stoically, Gaucho stood silently, scenting the air. While Gaucho was a force on the battlefield, he would rely completely on Kri's direction on when, and where they would attack. Patiently, he looked to the Sultana, a childlike twinkle in his steely-gray eyes.
She wears a coat of color, Loved by some,
Feared by others
IT WAS NOT OFTEN THAT THE FROSTY MARE WAS SEEN DURING THE INVASIONS THAT TOOK PLACE, BUT SHE HAD BEEN RESTLESS, AND SLID INTO THE OPEN WITH A SILENT STRIDE, HER NECK ARCHED IN HIS FAMILIAR TRAIT OF TYPICAL PRIDE. THE TASSELED LUSH OF HER TAIL LASHED AGAINST THE BEAST'S ANKLES AS SHE MOVED AT A STEADY TWO-BEAT TROT, EARS PERKED FORTH ATOP THAT REFINED SKULL AND NOSTRILS FLARED TO CATCH THE FAINT SCENTS OF OTHERS NEARBY. SHE SWAYED AMONG SOME OF THE LARGER BOULDERS THAT STUCK UP IN THE FOOTHILLS, AND THUS CAME INTO VIEW, CYAN EYES FALLING UPON THE INVADERS WITH AVID FASCINATION, THOUGH IT WAS THE LEADER, KTULU, WHO KEPT HER ATTENTION ENRAPTURED. A LOW SNORT RUMBLED FROM THE BEAST'S CHEST AS SHE STUDIED HER, EVIDENTLY CALM IN HER CONTENTMENT WITH A HER GANGLY BAND OF MISFIT ORPHANS WHOSE BUILD SUGGESTED THAT THEY WER NOTHING MORE THAN A FOOLISH BAND - AN UNRULY YOUTH THAT DID NOT YET KNOW THEIR PLACE IN THE WORLD. WITH A LOW GRUNT, ARI MOVED CLOSER, HER NAPE ARCHED AND POSTURE ASSERTIVE, A SILENT DEMAND FOR THE YOUNGER FOOLS TO STEP ASIDE FROM THE LAND OR ELSE GIVE IN TO THE INSTINCT OF FIGHTING FOR THE OH SO GOLDEN PRIZE. WHAT WAS FASCINATING WAS THAT SHE ONLY BOTHERED WITH KTULU AND WAS STILL STANDING A GOOD TEN FEET FROM THE INVASION LEADER. ”WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? AND YES, YOU ARE UNWORTHY YOU FILTHY, GRIMY, MUT, HIDEOUS, SPAGETTI MUSCLED RUNTS.” AN ICE COLD PURSUIT OF TONGUE TO FOLLOW THE INTIMADATING STARE. THEN ARI WHINNIED AS LOUD AS SHE COULD AND CALLED THE FOOTHILLS. SHE NEEDED TO ALARM THEM OF THE ONCOMING INTRUDERS. THE.. UNWELCOMED PITY PARTY.
”If it is the land you selfish migrating nomads want, you’ll have to fight me and everyone else for it.”
OOC: Ari was about to see if she could join FH, so this is now how she will ask.
Ophelia felt the chill of the northern wind dim as she wound her way down from the Frostbreath Steppe. The stone had shattered, gathering pieces of sparkling dust into her mane and tail with a sense of increased power. She wanted to test them out but knew that the time was too short to hone her new abilities. The hour was growing close in which her band would be tested. Together they would attempt to claim a small and lethargic herd as their own, and she could only hope that they would succeed. Failure not only meant a future left in the deep forest that would no longer contain their numbers, but it would set a precedent for the Grey and their abilities. To fail meant that they were not worthy of their titles and status. To fail meant that they were ineffectual.
The alabaster mare steeled her heart then and tucked her compassionate nature carefully in a corner. War was no place for mercy; no place for the gentleness that had already been damaged to come crashing back in her face. With every step taken, she felt her lungs expand, the emotions settling beneath a surface of action and reaction. Tinek felt this change within his bond mate and responded accordingly. The young dragon, vibrant, playful and rather dramatic affixed a grim expression on his face and flew with purpose. Ophelia was preparing herself for the future, and he followed suit.
Would Kri come? she wondered. The mare had promised them warriors, but would she follow through? Ophelia had faith that she would, but the questions always lingered, a doubtful hesitance. Would their opponents have gathered substantial numbers? Such time had passed since Aaron escaped their grasp, and she wondered if an army larger than she anticipated would arrive - though what unsettled her the most was the thought of her father there, the look of disappointment in his eyes. The sheer thought of that expression being directed at her personage as she was trying to do the best for her band would be crippling.
How much resentment would she draw from the other herds? Certainly Kri did not mind, but the others? She did not want to burn so many bridges that her band of mercenaries and spies were no longer considered neutral, but with their chosen homeland crumbling they had no choice. The options before them were death by starvation or forcing everyone to disband and find other homes to sustain their actions. Certainly they would understand?
Most likely not. And so she traveled from the north, the Sun rising to greet her. Whether he listened or not, she cast up a quick prayer to the god who had abandoned her, hoping that he would be merciful. It was, however, more likely that he had his cheeked turned to their plight, uninterested anymore in her comings and goings no matter how violent. Finally, her cloven hooves hit the familiar ground of the Foothills and she saw her sister and the others gathered slightly opposite of her position. She narrowed her eyes from the strength of the rising sun, her strange irises barely visible beneath white lashes.
"Though fighting for your home is honorable," she called out to those gathered, "You may forfeit this fight without bloodshed. Know that choosing to fight against us will result in a merciless battle. Any who wish to leave with their lives and strength intact will not be thought of as lesser - only, perhaps, wise." Ophelia then smiled at her sister and Tinek came to land quickly on her back, peering out at the growing group. "Today is not a day of vengeance, but of survival."
OPHELIA
I have burned my tomorrows and I stand inside today
sdrcow @ DA
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.
Archibald moved with the Grey, a unit of military precision ready to take down its target. His heart thrummed with the drums of war far before they reached the Foothills borders, his body tense and less eager to rest than the others. As they rested, Archibald waited with Ktulu, letting Loretta take her rests as need be. The Dauntless, however, was ready.
Archibald moved like a machine on the right side of Ktulu, keeping stride with the younger mare. She was the spitting image of her father, and the last time Archibald had rolled into war was on his side. Snorting as he stopped, the black knight let his muscles bunch and his ears pin against his head. Ktulu's words rang deeply, and with passion. Thrill shot through the draft as he waited the approach of his, now, enemies. The warriors that would appear today were, more or less, warriors he had fought beside before, as an ally, and had lead, as a Chief. The Dauntless felt nothing for them now except pure anger. The drive to take back his homeland with raging hooves and teeth was overpowering every other thought he had. The Foothills was his in the beginning and it would always be his. Archibald and his brother, Evers, had been a few of the founding members of the Foothills after leaving the Mystic Woodlands, and Archibald had been one of the first warriors. Now, over a year later, he stood as their enemy, waiting to take back his home and draw the blood of those that took it from him.
Members of the Foothills rolled in, and they each spoke. Rolling his shoulders forward Archibald's neck arched and his muscles bulged with an intimidating roll of anger bursting forth from his scarred body. Golden eyes narrowed as a foolish mare stepped forth, directly challenging Ktulu. Loretta opened her mouth and snarled visciously, body appearing larger as her hair stood on end. With an amused smirk, Archibald wondered if the idiot mare could even see him as she called them runts. Archibald would enjoy seeing her fall today, among many others. Narrowing his eyes, the mercenary stayed silent, waiting for the rest of the Foothills to emerge from the heart of the land to take on the hurricane that was the Grey.
The sun rose behind the Grey warriors, and it warmed the black knight. The coolness of night was fading and, soon, the warmth of Tallsun would reach the warriors and hold them tight--unless the battle did not take that long. Flashes of the Qian invasion rolled through Archibald's mind, and at the same time Loretta's, as Archibald gave her images of how to react and fight. Her magic would be useful in this battle, as well as his own. Today, Archibald would take a position into the rightful lands.
ARCHIBALD the DAUNTLESS The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me
War was on our horizon. But it was not a war that had to include ourselves—no it was for the sake of others, much like the pack we made with our sisters now living in the Edge. A few of our ranks would swell the bulk of another group, a group that held a closer position to my heart.
Ktulu.
She would be among them, the Grey, leading soldiers to a new home by robbing strangers of their security. I felt no small amount of remorse for what was about to happen; this emotion had been felt during the last invasion. Though our intention was bittersweet, because I knew that only the strongest could survive in this world, and only with the help of brethren; those that struck out alone often lost their life or spirit in the process survival.
Ktulu’s family needed a new home, or they would face starvation, disease, and countless threats. Safety was the very reason why we fought to protect territories, it was the reason our kind banded together.
We flew through the night for them, sleek and powerful against the starlit sky. Four warriors, tested and ready for battle. There was one other Pegasus that came to mind, yet he remained absent from us. Though my moral eyes couldn’t see him, I felt that he drew near. Azzuen. My fallen brother, my role model; I pleaded to the heavens as we went along with silent whispers. “Give me strength to lead as you once did, and courage to pass onto others.” Honestly, I didn’t know if he could hear me, but it was nice to pretend that somewhere—he was watching over us, and today my intention was to make him proud.
Finally, the field came into sight, but instead of joining the others who appeared to be approaching from the east. Kri lead us silently around, into the trees--until we were facing northeast of were the battle would be taking place. Pumping strongly, and landing as quietly as a Pegasus could land. I did as the others and tested my weight against that of a live oak branch, finding it accepting of presented bulk I lowered slowly. It groaned softly in rejection but proved capable of holding firm.
Turning attention toward the field, I begin my search for a familiar figure that was sure to be front and center of everything. Just as the sun started to rise I saw her and others standing in the distance, their bodies outlined by a rising fire. Silently I prayed again, this time for her safety. It pinched heart to realize that my dear mistress was going to enter the fray, possibly getting hurt or worst....she would bite my forelock to hear such womanly worries.
I was forced to remind a troubled brain that the woman could handle herself.
But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride...
Quilyan
...he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.
They are outnumbered.
He can see it clear as day from his position high above the land. It is dawn, and the sun shines brightly in the eyes of those that he has allied himself with. It is cool, a slight breeze stirring his banner as he glides. The day promises to be warm and sunny, just the kind of day that he would like to spend with Resplendence. But she is not here, and for that he is glad. She should be safe somewhere. She should be away from this madness. She is the reason that he is here. He has no herd affiliation, no reason to be in this fight save her safety. He would die for her, and the feeling is a revelation to him. But she must be kept safe, and as this was her herd, the deposed prince would fight with them for their land.
He banks, bi-colored pelt glinting slightly in the sun's rays. His heartbeat is a steady drumroll in his auds. The calm before the storm brings with it a sense of deju vu; after all, hasn't he done this before? Hasn't he flown over chaos, waiting for it to lift its ugly head? Isn't this just like the revolution? No - it is not the same. Before, he had run with his brother, fled to the safety of this unknown land, hoping that perhaps their royal blood would return home. But he will not run from this fight, not when there is so much at stake. Not when he fights for her. How ironic is it that he escaped anarchy only to be thrust into it once more?
He does not want to land, but he sees only two of those that had rallied to the cry of the Foothills Chief. Two against the seven that he can make out in the early morning light. Perhaps it would be beautiful under different circumstances, but the brilliant colors of sunrise seem to be only the bright color of newly-spilled blood, and he wonders if this land's rivers will cry red tears today. He thinks again of Resplendence, and how afraid she must be, and he knows that he can turn back, go to her, take her far away. But it would be cowardly to do so, and he was once a prince. It is his duty to stand on the front lines of battle, to throw himself heart and soul into it, and to depend on skill to get him out. A little prayer never hurt, though, and he quickly mutters something to the God of the Earth, said to be the kindest in this land.
His bonded is buried in his mane as he lands gracefully beside the dappled grey stallion. She quivers slightly, and he knows that she is afraid. She is young, far too young for such a fight, but what could he do? He could not simply leave her somewhere, alone and afraid, and just as likely to come to harm. Nor would she let him. When he had considered such a solution, a wave of panic washed over the tiny marmoset, and it had been difficult to calm her. Where he went, she would go. It had been decided, and here they are. Still, he is more afraid for her life than his own, and again he finds himself wishing he could have left her in a tree somewhere. He has been trained for battle, and he knows that some of the aerial combat he might meet on this battlefield would leave her scrambling. For the umpteenth time, he reminds her to hold on, tightly, and she chitters something that sounds like an agreement.
And they wait.
[W/C | 620]
Walk walk walk. Talk talk talk. Think think think.
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>
We started out travels in the dead of the night, soaring on north as the sun crept its way around the world which turned, finding us soon with our sides against it. We were a small band, but I was not so foolish as to leave my home vacant in the face of a threat. I had not held the seat of the Dragon's Throat for so long by being easy prey to unfriendly faces. Instead, I gathered few close, heading our group with locked wings, my wind rushing behind us as we sailed, a flotilla of dangerously armed warriors across the sky. Three midgets and a giant, we were an odd company, but one should never look down upon odd company. The unknown often held many dangerous surprises, and I would believe that my company was no exception.
My heart began to beat steadily, a drum in the middle of my chest as we arrived upon the crest of the Foothills, flying low behind the trees to avoid unfriendly eyes. Skirting over the tops of the trees, we come to rest with the view of the Heaven's peak in our eyes, with the field down below expanding under the pale golden light of the sun as it painted the sky with unusually red colors, a bloody sky to match an equally bloody day. I catch sight of a thick branch of one of the ancient trees, finding my bulky body landing unceremoniously upon it, balancing precariously as I look out toward the battlefield as the warriors begin to spill in.
My head turns to view Midas peering with longing eyes out toward the battlefield. I know not of his lady Ktulu, only the lady of war. She was my mistress too, for I was born with a warrior's heart, and surely I would die with one in my chest. I can almost feel the reverberations of din of war as it settles on the horizon, a smirk in my eyes as I notice Gaucho staring at me with frustrated silence. At a dull whisper, my gruff voice still sounds strong. "A bloody sun rises," I begin, peering behind me at the trio. My family. "Let it fill with the blood of our enemies and not ourselves. Watch the backs of your kin and our friends. Let us not lose anyone to this day." I smile, a misplaced gesture with rough edges and a sharp glint of my eyes.
"We will return home with our heads held high in victory."
""
KRI the RESOLUTE</style> MY FRIENDS, I'M ONLY FLESH AND BONE, BUT I WON'T LET YOU DIE ALONE.</style>
They move as one, for they have always been one. They are a family, a unit, tied so deeply that they cannot be ripped apart. Among them she strides, a woman of power and grace with eyes of violet that survey everyone around her. She knows what lays on that horizon, and she hungers for it like a man starved for months. They march, and she glides between them like the mists that lie within her veins, the ones she wields so effortlessly to bring those around her to their knees. They do not tire, for though Ktulu is young she is wise, and knows when they need to stop. Excitement, eager anticipation thrums through her pillars. If her mistress had demanded it Lakota would have charged all the way there without one rest, for she is a faithful servant to a woman that had essentially changed her ways. The night is cool on her back, breezy but not harsh. Aodaun trotted, young and unwise, at her heels. He is scared and confused by everything around him, for Lakota is not one to be around so many others. He clings to their bond, and walks with pride that flows between the two. He may be young, but he knows what they intend to do in some way. Lakota still carried scars, faded as they were, from battles so similar to the one she approached. The multiple times her original homeland had devastated herds, claimed members and land alike with her leading them on with her crown gleaming. Then later when she had fought, unwanted as she was, for her Queen so long ago when she had tried to warn the peace maker of her ways. Lakota knew of battle and yet was not dissuaded, for gazing upon Ktulu and Ophelia, she knew that she would die for them.
They had a purpose.
The poisoner trusted every member that followed in the shadows. Nameless or faceless they may be, they were her family. She would press her back to them in an instant, would rip the throat from any soul that dared to hurt them. Pain was nothing in comparison to the force of her love for the ragged group she walked amongst. They halt as one, a slow motion that ripples from their leads to the very back. Intently they watch her, Ktulu, and in her words and stare Lakota senses the love for the Grey that they all hold. Violet eyes stare back at her when they meet as she walks along, a promise of victory within them. Lakota will fight until she is unable to walk, and even then she will never give in. Until the last cry has echoed over the hills, she will fight.
Others come. They speak words of venom, but it does not stir the anger or annoyance within her. They are afraid. They do not want to give up their home, but they are also aware of how weak their leadership is. They know, somewhere inside, that they have always been the weak link. But the pride, the love of their herdland, the instant hatred directed towards those who want to take it from them...Lakota understands that. She cannot hold that against them, for she has experienced that emotion many times. It is simply something she accepts, and she views them as equals on the battlefield. They are both fighting for love, for necessity. But she will not be merciful simply because of that.
From the skies come the others, on wings that are ironically angelic, a force of warriors that smell of sand and heat. The Dragon's Throat. Lakota stood as a silent force behind Ktulu and Ophelia. They both gleam beneath the moonlight, garnet and opal. They are her precious twins, just as Hotaru and Raeden are her precious twins. She is their servant, but they are her charges. Lakota would go to the grave loving those two sisters, and she feared that her own rage may overwhelm her out on that battlefield should either of them be harmed. Ao twisted uneasily between her legs, sensing her growing agitation and adrenaline. Kri is speaking then, and her heart is pounding in her ears. Ebony cloak fluttered about her hocks and shoulder, and she stares them down in the moonlight. So many whom she will likely never know. They all have stories, friends, experiences, reasons for why they stand there and prepare themselves for war. They all nurture a flame within their breasts, and if Lakota let her gaze mist over she could almost see the glow of a thousand firefly fires within each of them. It does not change the fact that she will fight, for she must. It is something she loves, battle. But this time there is emotion, reason behind it. She will fight for Ktulu. For Ophelia. For Phaedra, Raeden, Hotaru...Apollo, and Hototo. For Rafe, Osiris, and Archibald (the big lug he was). All around her she saw family, and within her heart she felt their pulses join with hers, and the roar of every soul she cherished swelled within her ears.
They were one. They were ready.
WE ONLY EXIST IN TERMS OF THIS CONFLICT In the zone where black and white clash
He stands at sunrise, a figure in pink and red. He seems painted- almost ethereal. He is a being drifting in and out of space and time. He looks and feels wrong; he does not belong among the ranks of such passionate creatures as these barebacks and featherkind. In the heat of a Tallsun morning his sunrise coat is splattered with snow. He is a paradox. He is unwelcome. This is omnipresent. This is overpowering.
Though he is nature at its finest, bearing upon his back the sturdy, sienna bark of a birch, the metal boot confines him. He is wild but never free; patient but untamed. He looks formidable in the way a caged bear is still a threat. Dangerous in name only, broken on the inside.
But today he will fight, even if it is not for the same reason anyone else here will. The defenders will do what they can to hold onto their land, and the Grey will fight to obtain. Birch will fight to kill. Kill to the point of no recognition- to bash in heads until there is no expression left, only one last whisper before the end comes. He feels he must decide whether it is his own life or another's that leaves this world.
Until he remembers this is not his choice. No death is his choice, no life is his purpose. He exists simply at the whim of some higher power. He could have died in the Steppe. He could have died in the Threshold. He could have died on the journey to Helovia.
And had he stayed behind to fight, he could have died in his father's stead.
But these are all inconsequential things. Things that did not and will not happen. Whatever the future holds, that is what he concerns himself with. And as he approaches, remaining at the back line, lurking in the shadow of Archibald's (Fuck the brute, powerful as he was) left flank, he lets the understanding of a complete lack of control wash over him.
Que sera fucking ra.
[[ WC:354 || MU: 0/4 || INJ: None || SUM: Birch stands behind and slightly to the left of Archibald. || N: May the best herd win! ]]
Home. Home... This was it. This was her home now as she had been here for quite a while now. She was home, with her new family. Yes. Family. She had heard the spirits whisper to her about danger - danger - and the little mare had looked it up. Yes. It had been true. Danger had come.
Danger was here with them. Daaanngeeer.
Verenia stared at the group of soldiers, open-wide eyes to observe each and every one of them little details. Pegasi and unicorns. Horned and winged. Also equines. Wingless. Hornless. You could call them anything. She was an equine.
Equines. This was not their home? Everyone was welcomed at the Foothi... Foooothiiillssss... Yes. Everyone.
Why armors and bad auras?
She didn't understand why they had to ffiiiiight them. Why not welcome? "Because bad horses steal things from others. They steaaaalll, not welcomed....." The spirit before her made her jump but the mare calmed quickly. She knew this one. He was nice.
Nice.
"JACKAL!" The voice that called was piercing her ears and she squeaked in discomfort. Spirits hovered around her, comforting her with mumbling words and sounds. Weird.
They didn't comfort her otherwise.
Verenia started to walk down the small hill she had been standing on and stopped about 30 hooves away from a strangely looking winged. Completely black with white wings. She tilted her head, staring at him with her dual colored eyes.
He was gonna fight for theemmmmm? She was gonna fight HIM then. Attack her home? No.
No one.
"Go. Leaaaavee... Leave usss aloone!" The Welsh mutt knew that her talking abilities weren't the best, but she could make her point even with her limited inventory of words.
She wasn't crazy.
Just... Special.
But these would never know. They would never know her story, her mother, her father, HER. They would never wonder about the mare with the skullface, the mare who had one white and one black eye. Never wonder about the little mutt mare who had a gray ratnest for hair.
They would never know her, just like she would never know them.
How would she fight? Would she fight? She had never fought anyone in her life - no no, she was innocent.
Maybe.
Verenia was just another mare in the herd, just someone who was seen but not heard. Just like her mother liked her. Seen and not heard.
But sometimes not even seen...
Could she even fight? Yes, she could. Not good though. She had no horn in her forehead or wings on her back. She just had her special mind and her sharp hooves together with stocky legs that could carry her fast forward. Verenia was no warrior, but she was smart.
"Speaking in riddles."
ooc: Standing right in front of Murdock, about 30 feet away, staring at him. word count: 453
02-25-2013, 06:20 PM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2013, 06:34 PM by Aryel.)
Aryel had not said a word since they took off in formation at midnight.
Lost in her own thoughts, the mare remained sullen and silent even as they descended into a grove of trees to wait for the Grey's command. She trusted Kri, she really did. And she wanted to help her herd by volunteering for this fight. But as they flew, doubt had begun to worm it's way into her mind. What glory was there in taking the home of an innocent group of horses? What honor in ousting foals and elders? What justice in destroying a herd that didn't deserve it?
Even Java, her loyal companion, had been unable to elicit a response from her. The night flight had enthralled the nocturnal creature, and he rode clinging to her mane with his nose in the breeze. But when his excited squeaks hadn't prompted a smile or a kind word from his bonded, and he caught snatches of the turmoil she felt, he lapsed into a confused silence, peering at his bonded, who wouldn't meet his gaze, with concerned eyes.
Now, she walked over to a nearby tree with a low-hanging branch, and lifted her head high so that her nose brushed the bark, allowing Java to clamber up her face to the branch, where he hung from his foot claws and frowned at her. "It'll be all right." she said, trying to reassure the baby bat. "Just...stay here." She accompanied her words with a mental command as well, hoping he would get the message. Java gave her a look, but wrapped his wings around his body and stayed where he was.
Aryel turned her attention back to Kri as the brown mare spoke. Despite knowing better than to do so in front of her superiors, she scoffed quietly, making a silent pledge not to take a life today. Enemies? Where were these enemies? All she saw was a herd trying to defend itself. It was ironic, really. When you thought about it, they weren't so different from the invaders Tio promised to send upon their own herdland. She looked away from the Commander, her expression bitter, yet thankfully difficult to see in the pale, early morning light. Damn coming back with pride in her heart. The next few hours were going to be bloody, unpleasant work that she didn't want to remember. Ever.
Walk walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk talk."
ARYEL</style> There is no honor in thievery.</style>
image by gpabill @ flickr.com
Thanks for the good times, and no hard feelings for the bad times.
Our breath was stale – we could taste it there in our mouths as we breathed. Serrated teeth, I could hear, clinched tightly in my mind pressing into my soft brain, blue blood tasting areas it shouldn’t. A throb arose and jumped with each step I forced. Each and every step. God bless us. God bless the beautiful connection between us, sharing colors, sharing satisfaction, sharing a corrupted form of delirium. Sharing the yare we thought we had. The blood in our muscles felt stagnant, a loss of liquidation. Something in our hearts would not function, and it was as if we were dreaming. As if the Dreamscape, so lost in eternal mishap, was here now, forcing us to believe. How did it know that we wanted to believe this war was right?
How did something so lost and dishonest find us, and rape our minds of mercy love?
There weren’t enough reasons for me. I would take lives; to know that, without having a real purpose disturbed me. A foundation in my raising was shattered like glass, little shards of gratitude looking up at me with clear eyes stained with hope. But this hope was in vain. I felt it clogging my windpipe, driving nails into my skull to pin a board with letters I couldn’t read. But I still marched, my pale forehooves dragging evidence in the sweet grass that would so soon redeem its native grazers.
Despite my reflux building, Raimo still spoke to me. He held my face in his mental grasp and shouted words that I didn’t want to comprehend. He blared them in my eyes, and he scathed my brain with images of my foal hood, digging them up with his claws so sharp. Showing me images I refused to admire like I once did, the fateful day the Tides were cast away choking on the blood of my brothers, and my father. The day treason blemished my eyes and growled at my chest. The day I lost my first love.
War took all the things I loved most. First it spit me into the arms of a valley that was green with the shiniest envy; away from the calm sea foam that raised me and held me in the lukewarm waves, current playing with my hair, and salt playing tag on my taste buds. This was everything I was born to be, fallen asleep in the sugar sand, cradled by the royal skies. I only have one reminder, and it is the dancing sparkle above my head, racing now to scan the horizon from lofty treetops, a flicker of blue glory traced yellow by the morning. He was my guardian, and I loved and hated him all the same. He made me believe things that on days like today were not phony, that were all more encouraging than degrading. He played the softest, most melancholy songs for me that only I could hear and comprehend. He reminded me of how war took all the things I loved most.
Because war took Aërwen.
I would never forgive war for that, even if I was walking in her son’s hills.
I did this because she would have. She would have been blessed to feel these lush grasses touch the dark nooks of her pasterns, the sun a mirage on our backs, hiding the vibrant orange of her irises filled with the beautiful lust of butterflies swirling in her war-made bones rather than her stomach. She would have wanted to be here, walking beside me, valor etched in the glow of her ridged face, comma star warped slightly as a smile tightened across her lips. I imagined her as I walked, emerging with the rest of the Grey, my thoughts a daze, swirling around the imaginary her beside me like the shades of the night that took her life away. This was the day I would have them. I would fight like I had them.
I would fight like she taught me to, not too careful, not too fearless – all a combination in the good of my mind, energy frozen until the first leap of charge.
It was frozen now, the sun barely touching me, barely melting the fine edges of my frozen nerves away. The world grew confident in that moment, Raimo’s voice stopped as he found I wasn’t listening, and I came to speed with all the rest of them, confidence in my stride now. Coming up on the Foothills army, ready to steady myself on the front line. I was a pale ghost in these grasses. I had no idea who I’d be hunting down, but I knew this:
She would be hunting them down with me.
skyfall is where we start
a thousand miles and poles apart
where worlds collide and days are dark
you may have my number, you can take my name
but you'll never have my heart
No matter what we breed, we are still made of greed This is my kindom come, this is my kindom come
So it was true, every rumor and every hushed whisper into tilted ears was true; invasion was upon them. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating steadily upon the cavernous walls of the narrow cavity as her mind worked to convince her legs into motion. They trembled beneath her like willowy branches in the breeze and it was just as well because what she faced ahead was not something that would inspire courage from any heart. Daybreak was upon them and she was sure that they had traveled by nightfall as it would appear that the background was fitting enough for their cause. Even now as the sun began to rise from the depths of slumber, a vicious trail of darkness seemed to follow in their wake. Each one of them wore a wild look of siege within their gaze and she could not find sympathy written upon their smiles as much as she would have liked. She wasn’t sure if the sight of them borne a small fire of hatred or fear within her gut because she felt so heartbreakingly lost. Even the sea of grasses seemed to shrink away from their onslaught as this land was not meant for them. It was not meant for their evil or their carelessness. It was a land that belonged to this earth and those residences of the Foothills as much as it belonged to the honor of the Earth God, but it did not belong to them.
She had not yet entered the fray in hopes of finding something other than war within their words but of course no such courtesy ever came. Instead they spoke of freedom for their people and the happiness they would find within the sprawling dunes. She doubted that they would find happiness here for the land itself wanted them gone as much as she did. Whatever sense of knowledge she held about its expectations were enough to influence her decision to move forth into her own numbers. Perhaps they did not come with strength or the ability to persuade an alliance with the Dragon’s Throat, but did they not come with heart and soul and mind? Did they not come with feelings and hardships too? Were their lives so unimportant that they could be so easily displaced? She couldn’t think of a plausible reason that would allow them such an advantage over the current Foothills members. They needed security too.
Argetlam’s cries were inferior to the quiet that engulfed them all. The Grey showed no mercy and she was certain that there was nothing she could do to convince them otherwise. She feared that they would all go down in this fight but what could she do? She wanted to walk away and tell them to follow. It wasn’t her decision but then again- whose was it? Jackal hadn’t appeared amongst their ranks yet and there they stood a mere few to their many. She thought that there could be life beyond these hills and she wanted each one of the current members to recognize that before making the mistake of ruining their lives altogether. After all, what was to come of this? Would they plunge headlong into their own demise? Would their efforts go unrecognized? The thoughts pained her and twisted her core into a mottled bleeding lump of flesh. Where was she supposed to turn?
A hint of blood crossed over her tongue before she was able to comprehend that she had been biting into it for some time now. She stared back at their adversaries and smiled with a realization. She had come here hadn’t she? She knew that there was truly no way of convincing anyone to back away from the land they loved. Maybe she had known this all along and somewhere in the depths of her mind she knew that today she would fight. Today she would throw away her insecurities to adopt a hardened shell of determination. It didn’t matter whether you were male or female now; it only mattered that you were here to contribute to the whole. She was a part, no matter how small and she planned to give her all even if the Gods chose to close her eyes on that day. Would this be reason enough to fall in glory? Would she be satisfied with how far she’d come? A biting terror started swelling up from her stomach, one that made her hiccup on a breath. She was afraid… no, mortified. Was this a moment that would define her life forever?
She felt there was something that needed to be said, something that needed to be shared before her family crossed the plains that day to find violence and bloodshed. Even now as she glanced around, her eyes finding each and every one of them, they were scared. No one knew what was to come or what would happen to them if they did not succeed. Like a candle in the wind they flickered in moments. Should the wind grow too strong, their flame would be extinguished; but that did not mean that they had given up. No. They were far from giving up. Against her better judgment she withdrew from her place near the back of the crowd and moved boldly to its head. She was not Jackal, but she cared for her family enough to know that she needed to share parting words with them before the battle... She did not come to direct them or command them but merely to encourage them. She wanted them to take up their swords and fight with their hearts and not with their minds. After all, there was too much at stake to think anymore, too much to consider to let logic get in the way of what lay before them. As she reached the threshold she swiveled on her haunches to face them, eager to see them, eager for them to see her.
They had come together this day and if they must, they would fall together this day. “My family… Your determination has seen you through much worse. There is no backing down no matter the outcome because this is ours!” She gestured with wild eyes back into the depths of the Foothills. Their lives and loves all rested there in the balance and they were something worth fighting for. “This is where our pasts have been laid to rest and where our futures intend to rise. Do not let them mistake their numbers for strength. I say, once more into the fray, into the last good fight I’ll ever know- live and die on this day!” Her voice shook from the adrenaline, from the fear, from the power of her words. They would take this land, but it would not live. They could drink from these streams but their thirst would not be quenched. They could graze on these fine grasses, but it would not be filling. “Live and die on this day…”
They would not know the meaning of the word “home” from this moment on because they had clearly left their own behind, but she would not.
Tharos had only just arrived at the foothills not one day ago and had yet to be accepted into the herd. That did not mean, however, that the son of Catillatio and Gabrielle would be sitting out of a fight to protect his potential home... and his potential mate, and their theoretical offspring that he had dreamed about overnight. He flattened his mismatched ears against his skull as he looked up at the line of dark silhouettes lined up on the border to the territory. He turned his head to look at the metal worker he had seen the night before speak about it being a home and stepping forwards with a resolute expression on his forlorn face. The grullo draft moved to walk alongside him.
"You are right. I may not have been here for very long at all, I may not even be one of the herd yet, but I will stand and fight alongside you. I've lost a home to war once before. I'm not going to stand by and let that happen to me again, or to anyone if there's anything I can do about it. You stand to protect your families, you are not going to face this threat alone." The stallion snorted and pawed his hoof into the ground eager to repay the Foothill's hospitality towards him thus far.
As the sun rose, he realized the strategic position that the attackers had taken. He flicked his white tail and turned to look at the horses who had grown lax in a time of peace. They were slowly rousing, and alarm was spreading. He wondered if they had a commander, and if he could share his ideas with the higher ranks. Their invaders had taken up a position that would blind the defense and weaken their ability to attack. Already, his militaristic mind was coming up with strategies to remedy this disadvantage.
His ears pricked to hear the mare's speech, and a sneer of disgust rose on his face. Her insistence that they should surrender early was beyond insulting. He snorted and pawed at the earth with his right foreleg, the feathers around his hooves quivering with motion as he did so. His unrestrained strength caused the ground to quake under the strike of his hooves, cracks appeared on the stone he'd been standing on and eventually, the stone beneath him shattered into a pile of small, sharp stones. When this happened, he stamped his hoof down on the ground again and bared his teeth at her.
"You mock our spirits if you think these horses will give up their home without a fight. They have families to feed, innocents to protect. You insult them by assuming they will lie down and die at your feet. I'm not part of this herd yet, but I don't care! I'd rather DIE than let your lot take power here! Why don't you do US a favor and go home before YOU get hurt?" he retorted to the white unicorn with disdain.
The peacefulness of the Foothills was soon about to come to an end, the haven Locket had sought for a quiet life after years of travelling was about to come crashing in around his alabaster ears. The warrior had to admit though, it was about time he got up and did something. Their enemies voices came in waves across the land of rolling hills and blue skies, a statement of war or an opportunity to retreat. Locket wondered just how many would retreat, he wouldn't blame them if they did, even as the little panda horse danced to the site of battle he could tell by the scents that there were many of them. Still, the rank Locket held would not allow him to retreat, there were innocents here that needed protecting. Children who didn't deserve their home destroyed. He wasn't sure if they could win this battle, but he wasn't about to turn a tail and runaway before blood had been spilt. Locket could only pray that if they were defeated and truly routed that their enemies would have mercy on those unable to fight.
Adorned in masses of curly hair, the lithe warrior arrived on the calm field, squinting into the sunrise before gaping at their odds of victory. Poor. Too few had showed and those who had Locket did not know if they had the experience to defeat such an army that now knocked on their gates. He looked around for those he knew, not even their Leader had shown, it seemed that so far the King of Thieves really had been all talk. Nor was their Mason in attendance. Too few, way too few. Locket would have to put his faith in their strength as individuals. Swallowing any fear that may have plagued him, Locket stepped through their ranks and to the front of the Foothills army. He realized quite suddenly that he was the only one who held rank, and if/until Jackal arrived, he himself would have to stand as a figure head.
Silently he faced Ktulu and Ophelia, sadness in his eyes as he wondered how on earth this had happened. He listened to the screams of defiance from his comrades with a nod, at least they had the spirit to fight if nothing else. Many wars he had seen in his past as a lonely traveller, but never had he been apart of one, only a spectator as he watched them descend upon each other in their own versions of righteous. "'ocket, warrior. My job is to protect the innocent, wise or unwise. The Foothi's wi' stand unti' defeated." His voice was laced in remorse, but he was firm in his words and held an honourable respect for his enemy.
A brief glance was offered to Archibald, who he had sparred with once and learnt a great deal from. He wished he didn't have to fight his former Chief now, so much admiration he had for him as he nodded in respect to the Dauntless. Surely he must know, that Locket couldn't run from a battle. Even one with these odds.
[w/c :: 510
Locket stands at the front of the Foothills army.]
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