"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.
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
"I wonder what's got her riled up?"
A crooked grin in the shadows, two intense eyes meeting; a message conveyed in silence, understood only by the likeness of the minds that spun beneath skulls. Their thoughts ran parallel, and they both knew it. "Who knows?" A grimace accompanied the words. "But I have a hunch."
"I think you're right." A sigh.
"Well..."
Their eyes met again. "Yes."
"Go."
His right thigh was hurting something damnably. Blood marred the white, mingling with his sweat and trailing like pink rivulets disconcertingly far down his legs. He blamed the heat, and the fact that the gash was deep enough to bleed. It wasn't just a scratch, and the messy edge towards the left of it told the tale that it hadn't just been a clean cut, but the tip of whatever had caused it had torn out sideways, forcibly tearing up the half-inch so of flesh and skin. The long journey had it aching in a way he couldn't even pretend to be fond of, each step causing the muscles of his jaw to tense. He was tired — he'd been traveling for a while, pushing himself to cover as much ground as he could. The billowing heat of the Heart had told him he was near, and he'd skirted around it to avoid the brunt of the hot air, but sweat still darkened his coat and now that he stood far enough away that only the faintest warmth could be felt he shivered slightly. The sun had set about half an hour ago, and was taking the warmth with it. It was not often that Mauja disapproved of the cold, but he knew that, unless he moved closer to the Heart, tonight would be hell.
In all honesty, he didn't want to move, neither north nor south. His muscles ached, not just his wounded thigh, and his breathing was rugged, but his mind was clear despite it. He knew that it was best to stay here, on the off-hand chance someone would find him.. and if the company was hostile, he didn't want to be too exhausted. Above all else, he needed to be able to defend himself. Blinking, he peered around himself, knowing that he had to keep alert. He was tall enough to see above the grasses, but shivered again as a cold breeze rippled across the meadow. Distantly he could hear the roar of the Heart, and part of him longed to go a little closer, but the fire was dangerous.. and while it burned very cleanly, he was afraid it'd have the effect like smoke had. Cursing silently under his breath, Mauja tried to find his inner calm, soothe the rhythm of his breathing and of his heart. Adrenaline washed out of his system and he trembled slightly, and turned to peer closely at the gash across his thigh. Like he thought — dirty. Dust and filth had stuck to the blood, kicked up by his hooves as he'd traveled the drier parts of Helovia.
Gritting his teeth, Mauja gave his head a shake to try and get his sweaty forelock off his face, but it refused and stayed plastered to his forehead. Tossing his head around only made more of it tangle in his horn or fall awkwardly across his eyes. Frowning, he focused, touched the ice in his soul and felt it uncoil. Thinking little of what he was doing he only meant to place a few ice crystals near the edges of the severed veins, a few of them still leaking blood but the others coagulated. He'd just meant to clean himself up a little.
A yelp broke the otherwise stillness of the oncoming night as he flinched aside. Small flames had licked the edges of his skin instead, but the moment he'd released his hold on the magic in surprise they had faded. Feeling more than just his legs tremble Mauja winced slightly. What the hell had happened? Nothing good, that was certain, but the edges of the wound were seared black and it just ached even more than before. More spooked than he cared to admit Mauja kept his head high and his eyes on the horizons, wondering if the Gods were playing more tricks on him. But one thing was certain: he wasn't going to get the rest he'd planned on getting, and each time the wind touched him he shivered, for more reasons than just mere cold.
The world circled us in an autumnal spiral of deep, rusty clouds, streaked with the weak, golden fingers of a dying sun. I poured the colors into Sumä, who with a courteous yawn, ruffled her feathers inside the leather pouch slung around my neck and wing. Her downy body, still only the size of a nostril, lay down underneath the forming stars, watching with my eyes the world around fade black. I felt the wind brush past, cooling the amber air, sliding along the lithe structure of my tall frame while catching slightly in the brown-touched ends of my wings. It was simply simplistic, and with that, my little eagle dreamt.
My patrolling hooves stretched much farther than the northern border. Seeking some extra breeze, perhaps? I found myself quietly absorbed in the southern territories, hooves scratching grass rather than sand. I plucked a few away from my reach quietly as not to disturb my little sleepy thing. She would care for a worm in the moments of which she might wake. Feeding her in the Throat was almost impossible. She cared not for the crunchy scarabs and their armored exoskeleton, but preferred the soggy insides of smaller sandpipers and squirrels which hid in the oasis foliage. I wasn’t going to be seen chasing squirrels. I made it a much easier task to dig up juicy grubs and other disgusting slimy creatures from the darkened outer soils. One could say for the both of us it was a win win solution.
I wouldn’t fiddle with worm-digging until the little bird woke again.
We moved slowly, merely strolling out in the quiet. It felt good to walk on my hollow bones and use the hooves for something other than pushing myself into the sky. My right front cannon was stone bruised and the real reason to walk was to stretch out the muscles that Murdock kindly took to hitting. They each ached a dull moan in the back of my mind as I lifted every hoof. I was heading to the place of the dangerous, airborne rain fight. It was a rare day, and on that day I did rare things.
Today, hopefully, won’t result to an explosion.
I saw the red flames arc over the grasses blurred in an orange mirage near the horizon. The sun fell slowly, whining with tragic colors and shadows that reached from my side to draw attention. The warmth of the Heart was worth a brief trip to escape the cool nights. The absence of daytime clouds told me that this night would be colder than most. The heat of my body probably wouldn’t serve as satisfactory warmth for a bird that had nearly nothing to her but a rumple of pale down.
Something yelped like a fearful pup, crows leaping from the scarlet grass in just as much surprise. I stood on edge, my body growing like the hackles of a protective cougar; head beautifully defined lay parallel to the sky while my intense hazel gaze scanned the horizon line. A flicker of ice in the orange sea of fire instantly caught me. Body pressing through the tall blades with haste, I desperately tried to catch another glimpse without moving to disturb my sleeping bonded. What felt like I pouncing – I pushed into a clearing to meet the dazzling creature. He was blessed with superior height, crowned with the throne of winter. I saw a chilled radiation curl into the air from the deadly, ice-like horn. The chill seemed to linger even from his hooves. The stallion’s eyes, strikingly cobalt, shimmered their hue even in such an orange sunset. Admittedly, I struggled desperately to keep my outer confusion from slipping. But something about all of this first-glance grace was all wrong when I noticed the flash of coal waning from a hot wound. His thigh was swollen, gashed with a terribly long strip of exposed tissue. Tissue that was fizzing from a blast of flame? I caught my eyes drift out to locate the heart, but it was much too far.
Was it something in the grass?
I drew aback, hazel gaze sweeping the floor, searching for danger that didn’t fear the thought of harming Sumä. In the passing seconds, my hackles descended, and I could only stare with bewilderment.
“How does one burn himself when the Heart is so distant?” Now relaxed, a chuckle escapes my honeyed lips.
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
Someone came bursting through the grasses, probably startled by his call. Feeling another shiver pass through him, legs and soul trembling, he turned to face whoever it was and planted all his feet firmly. At least, he tried. His right leg was trembling, and after a few seconds he gave up and let it come up, the hoof resting its frozen tip against the warm earth beneath. What had he attracted now? He caught flashes of brown in the early night, and as he waited, heart pounding with adrenaline, she finally blurted out of the surroundings and stood before him. Tall, elegant, pale — long, slender legs fading into warm brown at the joints before becoming a patchwork of white and some dark, grainy tan. In less than a second his gaze roved from her bare forehead to her folded wings and back to her hazel eyes. She seemed worried, or just startled, and kept looking around as if expecting more, some assailant perhaps. He fought down the urge to laugh bitterly. If she knew... But of course, she didn't. Couldn't.
Mauja waited in silence as she looked around. There was little else he could do, and as another breeze made the grass ripple he shuddered. It was leeching in the warmth out of his sweat-soaked skin, and with no movement to pour heat into his blood he was rapidly growing uncomfortable. The physical memory of fire against his skin remained, a twinge to accompany the dull throb of the cut. She looked pristine in the cold light, and he felt dirty. He was dirty, and something about it irked him slightly.
Then she seemed to decide that no angry dragons lurked around them, and looked at him with simple confusion. She chuckled and asked a question, and he snorted, vaguely amused, in response. It was odd, how bright her muzzle was when the rest of her was so pale. "If I knew that, I probably wouldn't have done it," he responded dryly, a lopsided grin curling the corner of his mouth upwards. Truth to be told, the memory of fire answering his call instead of ice still unsettled him, like a lingering unease in the corners of his being, but he kept it down and away. There was no need at all to let her know he was worried. "Any guess?" His pale 'brows rose up, and though he remained stationary, his injured leg still held up, he extended his muzzle slightly and drew in the cool air. She smelled of sand, and he felt his heart skip a beat before settling again in his chest. Little as he liked the idea of trying to draw his magic again, least of all on himself, perhaps he would have to, since it seemed to have become the subject of their conversation.
The dark would soon close us in as the line of words escaped my lips. My eyes ran for the weak sun, watching it gurgle on a lack of air as the dark suffocated it. It went out like fire, and the stars emerged. They were the dead, and they watched us with keen eyes, probably controlling us from up there. I mentally chuckled, rolling my eyes downward to little Sumä anticipating a weak yawn. But luckily the dark must have covered all fire from her dreaming like a blanket. She was out cold.
I rolled my wings back to let them stretch in the socket, relaxing the joint awkwardly against the tendons that held it together. It was probably the sun’s death and the lingering chill that created a lilt to my mood. I always felt lighter in the darkness. I watched my shadow disappear and the spotted stallion speak, lifting my eyes to remember the smoking wound. Thinking about it made my own thigh skin twitch in a twisted form of thought.
My expression hardened at the odd response. The cold stallion left me to wonder at what he meant by "If I knew that, I probably wouldn't have done it." He seemed harmless to me. Though enormous and odd he seemed to be rather dull at first glance, but I felt something eerie about the way he seemed to forget the pain sizzling in his open thigh. The way his icy eyes tore through the night to glimmer over my figure and hold a starlit glow. His eccentric appearance seemed to have a character about it. As did mine. I took interest in him because I could use a dull mind and tolerance to pain to Sargent the Throat, throw off the weak Levi and Aryel to replace with a much more exotic role. My eyes glittered as the moon slid out from behind a cloud.
He dropped another trail of words, brief but telling. ‘Perhaps he was clever,’ I thought, smirking into the thickening dark. But oddly enough, I opened my nostrils to any drifting scent and I only smelt traces of lands like I would smell off an outcast. He was much too thick to be an outcast, but I wasn’t able to get a second glance as the blackness around proved too thick to see his exact proportions. I could tell he’d been traveling a while when I saw his eyes, strong but tired. There were veins mapping out his injured thigh, though they could have sprung from the wound itself, drawing immediate blood and adrenaline. I didn’t understand the vagueness of our situation and I wanted an answer to the quick fall of night and the oddity to his remark. So I spoke out to him, voice floating over the grasses:
“I have no guess, traveler. I think it wise to drop the riddles. I am Sumati the Sinbird, hailing the Dragon’s Throat as Chancellor,” it was too natural to drop my identity. Here I felt as though I’d spoken perhaps too much about my hierarchy in the closeness of the sands. A creeping pang of red angst flooded my head, and it swirled as my composure, rarely, slipped out of my grasp in that one instant. I was shockingly terrified. I bit my tongue and hoped the stallion would respond at the unlikely chance, as if not fazed by my identity. I hoped he would generously offer up his own without suspicion. I felt stranded in that moment, mind whirring enough to crack the beak of my resting eagle. She lifted her head, gently crying out; quiet enough so that perhaps the taller stallion wouldn’t find the hidden vulnerability about me. Dusk cloaked my dark face, and I thought in hope that the dark was dark enough.
Sumä, again had my attention, and I coddled her in my thoughts, spreading a warm honey taste in her mouth to sooth the child’s brought-on nightmare. I kept my eyes up at Mauja, resting them on where his cut was placed on his body, though I couldn’t see a thing. She whimpered mentally and returned to the dreams as soon as she’d been startled. My heart rose a little bit, thankful for the recovery in my composure.
I only wished he wouldn't notice.
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
It wasn't so that it didn't hurt; it was more so, that his leg wasn't about to fall off. He could ignore it for now, the quivering tip of his right hind hoof resting against the warm soil, and eventually the lack of movement dulled the pain to a throb just on the edges of his mind. As long as he didn't call upon the nerves they would only simmer, but the moment he'd move, they'd flare up again. Mauja was no stranger to pain, least of all to being burned. The memory threatened to make him shiver again, but he forced the instinct down as well as he could; a tremble passed through his body and he winced slightly when a few burned or severed nerves recalled their brutal treatment.
The things you did, sometimes. He could've shook his head if it wouldn't have sparked more questions.
She seemed to take her time deciphering his words, and each time his heart beat he felt the echoing throb of his thigh. As he remained motionless it faded to the back of his mind again, and Mauja blinked his blue eyes in the darkness. When the moon came out to light her eyes he was surprised at how.. predatory they seemed, as if she was sizing him up. Surely it was not polite to watch strangers with such an intense gaze, but he remained stoic even as she studied him. Did something about his appearance invite such scrutiny, or was it only the fact that he showed up dirty and wounded? Somehow, he found himself torn between being annoyed and flattered by it.
But then the moment passed, and she seemed to think better of studying him in silence; the few seconds of quiet they had shared were broken by her voice, and as he listened, he felt his heart slow its rhythm in wonder. First off, she didn't know who he was — secondly, by the name she called him, it had worked. Third.. she was Chancellor of the Throat. Though he wasn't sure which rank it was, he assumed it was a high one as she gave a title along with her name: the Sinbird. It sounded pretty enough, but why was she called such a thing? Did she have a dark, crooked mind? Obviously she wasn't spitting at his lack of wings, but then, the next heartbeat a little of her confidence seemed to drain, as if she was appalled by how much she had told. A low cry teased his ears.
His eyes didn't shift. He let it pass. Found his own smooth voice.
"I am Dreven, of nowhere," he told her, praying to whoever would listen she wasn't toying with him. Not that things could get much worse. A slight hesitation had been in his voice as he gave his name, as if he was reluctant to offer up his identity; not because he was uncertain of who he was, but because he didn't want his whereabouts known. In a deliberate movement his gaze and head lowered, though his eyes flickered up to peer at her for a moment from underneath his lashes. "An honor meeting you, Sinbird. As for riddles..." He grimaced, and cocked his head for a moment to peer at his wound. He didn't understand it; only the connection between the fire's beginning and end and his own call for the magic. It was too precise to ignore. "I had only meant to clean the injury a little, but seems I managed to produce something hot instead of cold." He gave a cautious shrug of his snowy shoulders, not wishing to disturb the sleeping nerves of his thigh too much. The fact that it kept quivering was bad enough to keep the throb going. "Beats me how."
( This post died after the first sentence ;___; Sorry for the wait too. )
I was cautious of him. I was cautious of only my little eagle, wishing her home in such an uncertain situation. The spotted stallion seemed only injured, but it was the why that evoked such suspicions. I wasn’t worried for my herd much, only worried for myself and Sumä in the presence of such an odd soul. He was injured, and yes why was always a question, but what were his intentions? What a beastly horse roaming so close to my relaxing stroll. It seemed almost vaguely coincidence. A predator after him? Maybe he’d kicked its guts out.
It was a curious reason.
I scanned my body for visible tensions, and relaxed them. His eyes grew paler in the moonlight, a twinge of soft blue nestled into the light of them. He seemed only curious to me, taking his injury lightly – it was a normal thing to him. He seemed to shake it off so well when obvious pain could be dulling his mind, but he was still all there. Lacking signs of obvious pain intrigued me. I could tell from his eyes. He held on to such a stoic grace, speaking politely, unfazed by whatever just occurred. I was still wondering why he’d chosen to burn himself. Maybe he was emotional.
He spoke soon enough. He spoke his own name, which in itself made things so much easier. I quietly exhaled, pleased with my composure.
'Dreven, of nowhere.'
He had a nice name. It fit his regal build, but not the dirt and grass stains that mingled with his charismatic spots. I could definitely see he was from this ‘nowhere’ because of how completely disastrous his coat was – dully and stained, the blood that seeped from his would. Completely disastrous. My lips curled in a smile, however, and I tried to seem pleased by his presence. He went on in speech, and he spoke of how he’d not meant to burn the injury, but ease it with a cold touch instead of a hot one. He was magical, and at that point I was confused at how someone could so easily lose trust with their magic. The God of the Sun could just be toying with him.
“Dreven, you may have been gifted a new ability. Perhaps you’ve done something to please the God of the Sun? He often works in mysterious ways.” The way he left the veins was mysterious enough, I wondered if he decided to bless magic manually. It seemed like a reasonable option. I would be tired of answering mortal calls. Despite the newly aroused question, the question of where he'd been injured was still lurking.
“I hope you don't mind my curious asking, Dreven, but how did you come about injuring yourself in the first place?”
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
[ no worries! <3 we're patient. and I'm supertired. and this is like 75% rambly crap. sorry. >____>; ]
Beat, and throb. Curious, how the body settled into a rhythm, something that easily fell into the back of his mind. Pain was, after all, nothing but an alert, and why listen again, when he had already heard it once? In this state where nothing changed, merely standing up, it was pointless. He knew, that if he would get it into his head to walk off, he'd remember the pain before he'd even taken a single step. Funny, how it worked. He also happened to know that he was out on very, very thin ice. It probably was rotten, too. Any moment it could give way beneath him and the game be lost. He tried to not be too troubled by it, to not let the fear of it tense him up and send his heart hammering. Dreven would not fear falling through; for him, no ice existed.
A pity Dreven didn't exist, either.
But the name, the greeting, made her smile; he offered a small one return, as if, perhaps, hesitant, unsure of if it was impolite of him if he did smile in the presence of the Chancellor. And in all honesty, something bothered him slightly. She was, he could tell, largely in control of herself. It made her hard to read. He couldn't know if she spoke lies, pretending it to be truth, just like he did — and how he could seem genuine, well, it was hard, under the circumstances.. like smiling as you walked across that thin, rotten ice, as if utterly oblivious to the danger. Either that, or over-confident, but he didn't want Dreven to stray too far into that.
The easiest way was to take as much of himself as he could and cram into the name. What he could, without giving himself away. For now, he would have to trust her words, and play along to the best of his extent. With the way his mind spun, spinning suitable tales, preparing for what he could.. it would not be hard to explain the slight caution that was the base of everything he showed. It hinted even behind the smile, the rapt attention on his gaze. Oh, yes. Dreven was not quite sure he wanted to be found.. at least not by anyone else. And she mentioned the Sun God; Mauja laughed bitterly inside, knowing full well that the God wouldn't give him something except a nice fat scar if he could, but Dreven only blinked rapidly a few times, bringing his head up and tilting is slightly to the side. His dirty, matted locks clung to his sweaty neck. "I - maybe..." His voice trailed off into silence, 'brows drawing together in a frown as he pondered the possibility. Wondrous, that a God would take notice of such a creature as Dreven. Highly unlikely, and Mauja wanted to shake his head. If anything, the Sun God was just fucking with him, exchanging his magic just because he could. He certainly wouldn't put it past the arrogant, hotheaded deity.
And just as the burn had been approached, he knew it had only been a question of time until she touched the next; the wound itself. Still frowning slightly he turned his white head, cautiously, to peer at the clotted blood and diluted pink streams. As if talking about it invited it to come back to life a pain spike shot through his system, and a half-formed grimace flitted across his face before it faded into the same dull throb again. Mauja was hardly scarless, whorls from fire-burns already visible across his back, and several other clean, straight lines which obviously came from unicorn horns. Most were from spars, a long time ago. "No harm in asking, Sumati, no harm in asking," he replied lightly, the gears of his head turning as he let his blue eyes fall back to her face. "I am, ah, not so easily offended.. in most areas." And if he didn't want to answer, he just wouldn't. A small sigh followed his words. "Let's just say I had a run-in with someone who has a grudge against me," he hedged, suddenly careful again, like when he'd given his name; his eyes watched her intently, trying to read what he could. Whatever his reasons, Dreven was careful and private. Not necessarily distrustful, but it was clear that he was not about to say everything to someone he'd just met.
I could feel a rugged tension pulling at me by the air around. It was subtle as the swaying of grass but the way our eyes moved in this night caused a darting discomfort that piled embarrassment to settle in my stomach. He seemed to display an eerie cockiness that spoke hidden words, however it wasn’t wise to accuse. His spotted grace stayed rooted in the night and he seemed capable of equally dividing his focus on his thigh’s stab wound and my own characteristics. I found it common in a warrior to execute their pain through the use of brutish, feral malehood, in this case it seemed through the use of words that blabbered unpleasantly in my ears. Even Kri had possessed such a talent… I’ll never completely understand the gesture; it definitely isn’t my way of showing pain.
His state of filth was a question of its own, as well. I wasn’t sure of what kind of answers I’d be getting to my obvious queries relating to such small talk. I knew a leader who would ask questions about one’s appearance and he, unfortunately earned a few stabs of his own from my belt. I assume that speaking in his tongue would perhaps give the spotted brute a reminder of something he knew, perhaps an absolutist sort of stance would work here. My tail swished in thought, pale ends stroking the twilight grass.
Dreven’s answers seemed so suddenly protective. I wouldn’t have thought that a lowly outcast could have a vital opinion in the presence of a chancellor. It calmed me as much as it heated me. I felt a coolness (the wind, perhaps) brush between my wings and over my spine that my name and rank seemed to fly beside him. It was easy to speak in my voice. Despite the sinking of my pressure, I was still unsure of the mysterious quality in his language. His own aura seemed devilish. One tawny ear relaxed to his remarks.
“Let's just say I had a run-in with someone who has a grudge against me.”
That seemed his closest yet to formality. I shrugged gently with my wings, mindful of sleeping Sumä in my shoulder pouch. “Well, Dreven, you poor creature,” I said, returning his ruggedness. “It should be awful that you’re injured. Once that heals, it will be an astonishing addition to your collection.” With a nod of my head, I slid my eyes on his other scars, seeing into the night enough to catch a glimpse of a few around that were lit by the moon. I’d need to be back in the Throat’s grounds by early morning, and by the looks of it the night was drifting away from us.
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
It was startling, and very uncomfortable, to realize that he was nervous. It wasn't the giddy excitement of some filly having their first foalhood crush, but a deep, uneasy churning in the pit of his stomach, a visceral clench; the stroke of luck at having the Chancellor herself come greet his miserable self was rapidly turning into extreme discomfort at dealing with someone he couldn't read.. and of all things, someone he desperately needed to like him. Someone he needed to please, without groveling; someone who had eyes of a naturally warm color, but they seemed so cold. Each breath Mauja drew was deep, an attempt to steady his rocking self, but steady, to mask it. A night on the run, pain he hadn't expected, setting fire to himself (if only briefly); the odds were stacking up against him, and he'd set himself in the worst conditions he could've thought of. Why? It had seemed like a good thing at the time, but he was sorely starting to regret it.
Ever so slightly her demeanor seemed to shift, and one of Mauja's ears flickered forward, gaze lightly turning sideways to scan the still-dark horizon. Her voice seemed almost mocking, and he rifled through his brain for some experience relating to this — some way to tackle her, to figure her out and shift himself without seeming obvious... But the way he couldn't seem to see past her skin had him stumped, truly at a loss, and he could only counter it by keeping up that vague sense of hesitation, of caution. He let the starlight lie like a mask in front of his blue eyes, forced a flare of curiosity into life. It felt like a losing battle, but knowing how pessimistic he'd been the past few weeks he was willing to put it down to his own nature. He tried to let it roll off with a slight shrug of his sweat-and-spots-stained shoulders, feeling another twinge of pain through his nerves. With the way things seemed to be going (or at least, the way his doubts said they were going), he'd have to rely on his inherent tenacity and try to slog through.. somehow.
"Another ache on winter nights," he replied; despite the choice of words, there was nothing of bitterness or regret in them. He would not whine to a stranger about the way scars could make your flesh ache with memory, but rather offered it as an observation, coupled with the hint of a half-smile — a different way of viewing it, all those black streaks across his hide. Besides, what was the point of educating the already knowledgeable? She was hardly unmarred herself, and with a downward flick of his gaze he added in a deferential murmur: "As you already seem to know, Sinbird." Her title rolled smoothly off his tongue, and as unnerving as his tenuous, fragile position was, he had to admit it was a name he quite liked. He stuck to it, trying to find something solid to hold on to, and wishing that the perceived sound of ice cracking was not real, but simply the echo of his pulse. He hadn't come this far to fail, and fall through into the murky waters.
[ based on her past I assumed she's not scarless herself, correct me if I'm wrong and I'll edit! ]
It wasn’t quite the oddity of him that confused me. I felt a nervous impulse retreating from my brain, and perhaps it was completely inspired by the way I’d approached him through the autumn grasses of the hazy heart. I knew it wrong to disrespect him by his own reaction to me, but a thought that only lingered overwhelmed my sensations and pulled me down to him. I was pulled in somehow by him, and that itself I couldn’t manage to get over. His eyes floated in the night, swimming to mine to examine as a colt would to his first drink of snowy lake, and I didn’t know the thickness of their ice. His subtlety was something I wasn’t used to. Most stallions held brashness to their arrogance, but his, as tiny as it was, reminded me of something too familiar to place a hoof.
I’m sure I didn’t like how unspecific he was.
I watched him study me and it occurred that he may be simply learning from the authority. I could tell by the number of his wounds and the thickness of his shoulders that he was seasoned, and much more mature than my physique gave me credit for. He was out of the stage where they thrashed their young strength to play power, now he was learning to use his tongue. He was a quick learner.
‘Another ache on winter nights.’
In his rebound of words, the ice in his voice was much smoother; he melted it down to snow. My ears pricked out of interest and my tail swished in silent agreement to his observation.
‘As you already seem to know, Sinbird.’
Then I realized he was poking at me, feeling around for the right softer spots of me that brought an unspeakable amount of composure to withstand. He couldn’t break me. However I remembered myself and sighed deeply, and exhale that softly whispered a croon of vapor into the chill of the night. I wanted him to feel like he caught me. I wanted him to think I was honest.
“Ah, well I’ll agree we’ve all had our handful of unfortunate run-ins,” I said sadly, letting my head droop a few inches from my crooning neck. “I assume that’s what happens when we’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I looked up at him and he was surely still studying. I studied back, feeling almost true, letting him see an arc of sadness linger in the hazel mix of eye colors. My ears fell from their standing. Oh he hit a truly hard spot of me to think about. I remembered my sleeping child and chuckled mentally. I had a feeling I could put this boy to good use in the desert mirages. Perhaps he could find a way through the blinding sun just as he could find his way to me in an hour as dark as this.
“Dreven, may I ask where you’ll be going tonight?” His thigh was in a dire sort of state of attention desperation. There were plenty of medics I could wake, especially in earning a prize of strength and power as he owned. The Throat needed it. The Throat needed him.
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear because there's ice in my heart.
[ when I first saw your reply to this, I got such an adrenaline rush I promptly became exhausted afterwards and couldn't reply. xD ]
He was sure she had a lot of thoughts going around in her head — just like he was. Like chasing smoke or shadows. He was sure she was thinking a lot, the neurons firing as rapidly as his, keeping her balance on the high-wire without giving a single hint of effort away. What are you thinking? He wanted to know. He wanted to worm his way into her skull and learn her, inside out, so he could adapt. So he could feel secure. All he felt now, was like he was talking to a Pegasus who could be a soul-eating monster for all he knew. It was rare, to meet another master of the trade. Of course, a lot of the Plague unicorns rarely showed their true colors, but there was a kind of honesty to them — Psyche was volatile, Deimos always silent.. or was it just that he was so used to them, that he "knew", in a way, where he had them?
Perhaps that was the thing. He didn't know what Sumati wanted of him, what she thought, what she might do if he broached the subject of the Throat. Was he nothing but an outcast she conversed with on a lonely night, drawn by the flicker of fire and his yelp of pain, or did she want something from him? He hoped so. It would make it easier.
And, uncomfortable as it was, he realized he needed to pretend to trust her. He couldn't show her more wariness than he already did, couldn't second-guess every movement, every little bit of information she fed him. He wouldn't rely on it, because that was just stupid, but he would have to assume what she said was true — if only to remain sane, and to have a solid board to play on. But it was hard, when everything told him that she was a master at what she did.. when everything told him not to trust what his eyes saw and what his ears heard. For she could not trust what he said and did, could she?
No.
Her head lowered somewhat, a sigh slipping into the night; a trace of regret, a hint of sadness, lacing both words and eyes. He had a hard time believing this regal creature in front of him held regrets about the past, but with nothing else to prove her words untrue, he had to believe her — for now. "Indeed," he rumbled quietly in answer to her statements, though it was, perhaps, not the story he had devised for Dreven, but the less specific he was, the better, perhaps. He did not plan on keeping up this masquerade forever, and one day she would know part of the truth. A spark of excitement ignited in his blood. Who knew what the coming days and weeks would hold? Who knows anything at all? He wasn't home yet, he had a ways to go.
“Dreven, may I ask where you’ll be going tonight?” He fought the urge to give her a smile and say you may, and instead tried to decide what to say, what to do. Why was she asking? What did she want to hear? If he called a place home? If he had any plans? "Where the wind blows me," he said coyly, his blue eyes flickering meaningfully to her wings for a moment — it was half-joke, half an attempt to buy him a little time. At times like these, he really felt like strangling himself, but instead he let the brief spark of mirth fade from his eyes and sighed. "I was thinking about finding some water, actually, to clean myself up a bit," he added in a lower voice, wondering what she had in mind.
My, how his composure stood against mine! The tension, nearly visible in the thick dark between us kept me from snapping my teeth at his spotted jugular. His murky, ice eyes seemed to contain as many musky secrets as the muddy depths of the Spectral Marsh. There was no proving what he was hiding; it was mostly that his use of a tongue intrigued me by the familiarity. How dare he hold the superiority against the beautiful deceit of a chancellor? How could he contain that kind of recklessness? It made my skin curl like a stallion’s lip and a chill tingle its way down my legs. The sensation was new to me. I’d been in many tight conversations, but this, it was a daunting collision of unknown worlds – they were coming together fast and I could already see the sparks igniting against the pale moon. He terrified me as much as he drew me into his mocking grasps.
He was a tease as far as I could guess. Teases unfolded my exterior and shot missiles into my softer spots, eroding my own game. I could feel confusion break through as my ear twitched. He was challenging.
I didn’t know much about feelings, but I liked it.
I enjoyed his attempts, if they were attempts at all. He slowly evolved into an abundance of intrigue. The way he looked was sure ragged; however the tensely throbbing muscles between silky, spotted skin spoke of someone powerful. His eyes, they were the blue that would glow in the dark, and their color seemed irrelevant for such an illusory spitfire. In the very details of himself he didn’t make much sense, as if he’d simply made the wrong choice between bringing fire to his vital wound rather than ice. In two words I could sum him up but I felt something deeper in his eyes, there was something beyond just the fire in his mouth and thigh. I could nearly taste the mysteriousness that broke through in his decorative spots, clinging to their pallid owner like leeches, sucking the dark out of him for everyone to see. Something about him put a stain over the clarity in my mind; it was too dark to see though it anyway.
I thought that I would relax on the way. There would be a breeze. I could wake Sumä and pour colors into her brain, watch her react to the ones she liked. Now she was dreaming badly. Our flight home was black and I clipped her bag on a tree and she crushed like a twig sculpture. I shivered inwardly to break the black blanket between us and she slowly rose, tweeted, and stretched her wings. She looked up at me but I couldn’t look back because I was intensely occupied on Dreven who dropped his own words into the air.
“Well, I’ll be heading home soon,” I spoke, finding his lower tone replicated into mine. “It seems that I never get the right amount of rest I need to open a day like tomorrow.” I lifted a forehoof, and swung my haunches, facing a wing towards the Throat. It was an attractive place, certainly a place for a spitfire. “The Dragon’s Throat is an awfully bad place to find water; it wouldn’t make sense to go in that direction. However,” I paused, and my eyes snapped up at his, “the Dragon’s Blood is where most warriors soak after training, and where our citizens relax and drink. If you’re willing to give away your reckless outcast living, you’re welcome to join us.” My voice was soothing, it felt good to talk. I turned a lifted my head over my shoulder, folding a wing so I could see him clearly. I had no idea what kind of decision I was making.
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
She was terrifying; how could she not hear the fleet beat of his heart? How come she didn't know how he trembled within, a deer pinned by the unreadable gaze of a wolf, cornered by it's smooth advance? If anything, it was proof of his own resolve, that he had not lost all his touches. His body was still his own, doing the bidding of his soul, betraying nothing that he did not ask it to betray. If she touched him, perhaps she would feel his pulse rocking beneath his skin, but — he thought, that his eyes carried nothing but those hints of mischief and mirth, the traces of respect and intrigue, cloaking the vast depths.. cloaking the way he felt, as if the ground was slipping out from underneath his hooves, ready to tip him into the fiery pit. He was still the master of himself, no matter the words of d'Artagnan and Prometheus harassing him in the backdrop. This connection was still whole, flawless. The weakness lay within — as he already knew.
Kri had not picked badly when she made Sumati Chancellor. Much as he disliked it, he had to give her credit for that, and more so if she'd managed to bend this fearsome creature to her will. That was a question he would not ask today, but one he kept thinking of between his heart beats: is she loyal to Kri? For now, he had to assume she was, but all the same, did Dreven even know of Kri?
Best not ask about her yet.
Sumati's hazel eyes, both stormy and calm to him at the same time, were fixed on him with an intensity that would've had him blush if he'd been two again. Now, he simply bore it in a stony kind of silence, a faint smile of amusement curving his lips before his eyes dropped to the pouch she carried around her neck. A young bird stirred within, the sound not created by an owl's beak — that much Irma told him, having listened through his ears as her body perched upon a tree further away than she'd been in a long, long time. They both knew she would have to keep her distance during this escapade, even though it bothered them both. Interesting to find that they were not so different, Mauja and Sumati, both bonded to birds. Much as he wished to peer into the depths of the youngster's nest, he took his eyes back to the Chancellor's when her voice tumbled out into the night. Smooth, elegant, confident, yet it seemed it was she who rambled now. Was she nervous? Or starting to relax?
Still, he found he liked the way her voice sounded, the small nuances hidden within it, and he would've listened even if she'd said words he couldn't understand. But as it was, he did understand, and had to force himself to keep breathing evenly, because he felt like choking — amazed, and surprised, that something worked out for once. One step at a time... He did not want to lay his head in the dragon's mouth only to find she'd been playing him all along.
Their eyes locked, before his gently slid aside to peer into the darkness, the way her pristine wing was pointing. The Throat. He'd seen it before, walked its boundaries and conversed with Kri, and.. he'd seen it a lifetime ago, an ocean and a forest, the massive tree rising above them before the sandy floor eroded and the forest withered away. He knew more of it than Dreven would, and as he sensed her speech ended his lips curved into another small smile. He wanted to skip around in glee, and felt much like s self-satisfied cat, but he wrenched those emotions aside. They would be too out of place in Dreven, who was nothing but a rather quirky nomad, half-mercenary half-renegade, or something.
"I am honored by your offer, Chancellor," Dreven said, something more humble in him now, amazed that someone like the Sinbird would take him in. (Didn't she feel the wind of foreboding, the chilling touch of destiny crawling up her spine? Would she regret it, label it a mistake?) He couldn't see the outline of the Throat on the horizon anyway, so he let his eyes, enigmatic and alive in the dark, return to hers; she was clearly ready to leave, and he, so ready to follow. "And I will, gladly, accept." Would she think him weak, for relishing the prospect of security? Would she think a nomad weak, for relishing the chance to lie down and sleep guarded?
Not that he would; he was Mauja the Frostheart, and he knew more than one in the Throat who would recognize him. He would have to plan his words and actions carefully, and Irma would have to be his distant eyes, warning him when someone he could not risk meeting came too close. Oh, how he wished to leap into the fray, set his plans in motion, but there were things he had to do, slow steps he had to take — and speaking of that, he hobbled forward, barely twitching as the pain blossomed up again, flaring through his wounded thigh and into his brain. A mere wound would not stand in his way, not when so much was at stake.
Barely a moment had passed since his accepting, his eyes seeking hers again, the slight smile curling into somewhat of a grin, as if he said, for you. I'm sure we'll do great things together.
And then he waited, to either be led to a new home, or ridiculed for even attempting to play a game with the all-knowing Sinbird.
Fervently, he prayed for the former.
My façade was not harmless, seeing that he was the one troubled now – ice-chip eyes freezing as I turned and lifted a tipped feather. Something spun within him, but it was too early yet to see what was lying beneath the injured bed of spots; however I believe his eyes told enough of the story. He seemed… driven to make a decision, almost overwhelmed. It would make sense, though, if he were telling the truth. The scavenging days seem to be the most enjoyable ones, those days where the mind could experience great things. I looked out towards home, trying to imagine this spotted creature maintaining himself in the mirages of the desert. He wasn’t well equipped. I glanced at the heavy mane, the thick feathering. If he were black it would be out of the question. Lacking my wings, he couldn’t even find the misty shelter of a cloud. Even winter, cold as the nights were, the day could still manage to lather a good foam in your neck. The desert is rough.
Dreven’s eyes suddenly seemed relieved, lips tugging into a smile. ‘Is this what he’d wanted all along?’ I half expected him to refuse rashly. A home in the Thoat? I smiled back, eyes glimmering. He’d only made it half as easy and a part of me frothed usually absent guilt, because he had no clue as to what would come for him. The handsome Dreven could think he’d like me and so I enjoyed every grin I received. His voice hummed humbly, full of gratitude and honor and I shook my head, smiling, as if not receive such formality – but I simply chuckled as he accepted. I glanced up at him with friendly eyes recognizing now he’d be officially family.
“Good choice,” I nearly sing to him, beginning the walk back under the moonlight with a swift step, beckoning him after with a noble swish of my tail. We watch our hooves press across the charred ground until it widens out into the deep, red sands of home.
“Welcome to our family.”
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
