"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.
Ophelia did not know why she needed to be babysat by Archibald, and thus she did not speak a word. The alabaster mare walked in silence, her stride interrupted by the weight she carried around her center. Snow whisked around her face as they traveled through the Steppe, catching in her long, crimson and white tail, sending it waving behind her. Not often did she have to share the comfort of the north, but in the present company, she felt stifled, scrutinized in every move. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but either way, she clenched her jaw tightly to ward off the need to snap unnecessarily.
Her strange, dual colored eyes landed on the entrance to the Basin - the long, narrow stretch of a path. In her heart, she desired to live among the mountains near the never frozen lake which she had admired when she visited last. However, the desire for landscape could not make up for the hatred she gleaned ran rampant among their members. She had learned enough from what Mesec had told her to suggest that she would be unwelcome, despite the fact that her equine blood was not apparent in her physicality.
Granted, she was assuming that Mesec was bullied for having wings because the rest of this lot was racist. She would not put it past Psyche, having known her father's upbringing and the challenges he faced overcoming the desire to love only your own. Either way, her position was not one of judgement at the moment, merely anger at the fact that they had chased a child out into the snow, all one.
Yes, her motives were arriving were ulterior.
Each step brought her closer to diplomacy, and she exhaled the tension from her heart, settling into the cold. Ice crawled around her heart and steeled her gaze. She held her head high, but not proudly. In a way, she was unassuming, but certainly a force to be reckoned with on second glance. Ophelia had no reason to be haughty over Psyche and her kin; she was no better. She not only belonged to a band of spies and mercenaries, she ran one. She was responsible for taking contracts with a business-like stare, ignoring the morality of life and gentleness.
With her sister, they had turned life into a quantifiable number; they had labeled the worth of a herd in items and tangible things.
Who was she to judge?
The moment her hooves touched the borders, she stopped, not needing to relearn her lesson with Deimos. The pale figure stared out on the expanse before waiting for either Arah or Roland to go fetch Psyche or for one of her ever watchful crows to tell her of their arrival.
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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.
04-24-2013, 05:41 PM (This post was last modified: 04-25-2013, 06:44 PM by Archibald.)
Head to head it's all or nothing.
Archibald walked stiffly at Ophelia's flank, making wise to stay between her and the two unicorns protectively. The thoroughbred he had fought in the past, but he not of the white antlered mare. With that knowledge, or lack there of, Archibald was hyper aware of each movement their muscles made. He would protect Phi even if it brought him to his death, which he arrogantly decided neither could bring to him, but the sense of duty was there nonetheless. Loretta, feeling his nature and skepticism, stayed in stride with him between his bulk and the Basin citizens.
Archibald stayed silent, like Ophelia, though his silence was his demeanor, what he was trained for, and not from the anger that rolled off of Ophelia is sheets. The Chieftess was pissed, to say the least. He imagined her pride was bruised when Ktulu asked for the Dauntless to follow, but he believed it was a wise choice. It did not take an idiot to know Ophelia carried a child in her swelling belly, Archibald had been around his pregnant mother enough to pick up on the signs without being blatantly told. He was smarter than that. He wondered if that was the majority of the reason Ktulu had requested his presence, for the knight could have traveled alone or with his own selected warriors to go to the Basin and regard their contract.
Archibald stopped as Ophelia did, shoulder matching her's. The towering creature mirrored Ophelia, though not in admiration or desperation, but nature. His crown raised high into the sky and his golden eyes looked down on the horned pair darkly. Archibald did not have time to admire the mountains and the valley, but if he had he was not sure he would share the same love for it that the intelligence leader did.
Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.
Bellicose, belligerent and brutal, he was a tempest, a gale, an inferno, searing shadows, callously twisting, distorting, annihilating, the grind of humanity into demise, into quietus, into disintegration. Morality extinguished, leaving only the taut cords and sinew of villainy, irreverence and corruption, and as he sinuously stepped along the veiled eaves, he harpooned the deliverance of rectitude and ethics. He watched the world wither around him, decaying plumes dragged to their murky doldrums, slithering fronds atrophied, then perished, and as a particular scent carried upon the cool wind, he yearned for another to meet the Reaper’s scythe. The monster recalled the mare, drifting amongst the Edge in ignorance, draped in audacity and obliviousness, coiled in the reverie of the naïve and inane. Was he being offered another opportunity to choke and smother her in her own vapid noose? Was he being bestowed the chance to unravel her further, to drown her in the wake of turmoil, torture and anarchy again? Could he desecrate her serenity, annihilate her livelihood? The brief moment of longing, of bloodshed, of mayhem and turbulence, died alongside the flora and fauna; other scents followed, banked by Basin and Foothills redolence, and he would not be permitted to commit murder under some strangely ominous diplomacy order. Deimos was not one for statesmanship, his sovereignty was placed in realms of bedlam, assailments and assaults, but he would be present amongst the faction, as witness, as potential executioner. He followed the trace of smells lingering in the cold, touched, lavished, varnished the earth with his condemning motions, and only when he came upon the gathered, poised Basin Phantoms, Ophelia and some other draft soul, did he cease all movement. The refined poet laureate of desolation, of rigor, of puissance, of pernicious, antagonistic prowess, drew the lifeless hymns of his nonchalant exterior. He said nothing, because his stance, his figure, his countenance displayed the entirety of his existence, of his presence: portended, presaged, and augured menace, malice. Silent, unsung loathing curled amongst his stare, piercing, puncturing, registering solely upon the ivory femme; waiting for the purpose of this affair.
See the life I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad
If it wasn't for Aramis, d'Artagnan may have completely missed the movement and the drifts of new scents. He was quietly dozing in his cave after he had unconsciously made his way back to check on his poisons for no real reason. You could say that the many different shades of colours that were all dangerous in someway were almost as precious as children to him. The shade always felt calmer when he was surrounded by his poisons. Yet, his dozing was cut short when his bonded yipped and growled with his tail lashing from side to side, little heckles lining his baby back as he fumbled over large paws. With a hint of annoyance, d'Artagnan reluctantly left his cave of venom and stalked after the red glow of his marching companion, sighing at the dog's yips with a hope that one day they would grow into more terrifying barks.
He followed attentively, the familiar scent overriding the unfamiliar to which he immediately recognized was the presence of Deimos and Arah. There was another that smelt of the Basin, though he didn't know that one and he continued onward curiously wondering who the other two scents were. The ones that didn't belong to the Basin. Did they have intruders again? It wouldn't come as a surprise to the Nightshade, it seemed like the coolest thing to do these days. Waltzing into the territory of blood thirsty unicorns. Maybe everyone just had a death wish or had suddenly become suicidal. In any case, the reason didn't really matter to the Doctor and if they wanted to die then he would be more than happy to help them along. They would even get a choice of their proffered 'parting' from the world if they wanted. He stifled a dark laugh at that thought and rounded a few more bends until finally he came upon the scene that had awoken his bonded into a frenzy of growls.
Indeed, Deimos and Arah were there. Along with a chocolate coloured unicorn he had never met before, a strange snowy mare and an overly large bare head. The Nightshade grimaced and took a place up beside the General, biting back his harsh words as he noticed that Arah looked to have lead these here. So, who were they? Prisoners? Was Psyche keeping secrets? The latter wouldn't surprise him either, mares liked their secrets, it was why the shade preferred a male lead. He glowered at the chubby looking equine and then gave the alabaster mare a confused look. What a strange bunch indeed! Blood coloured ears swivelled as Aramis sat back on his haunches just in front of him, growling under his breath as red markings glowed.
The Time Mender stood silent next to Deimos, trying to keep some semblance of imposing presence against the General's over awing appearance. He didn't quite know what to say, there was a strange lack of hostility and it made him wonder just how important the two strangers were in front of him. The shade waited for Psyche instead, boring his eyes into the odd pair before him and letting Aramis' growls fill the void.
It's not the dog in the fight,
but the fight in the dog
Arah, regal as ever strolled beside Ophelia, the stag she assumed was named Archibald and Roland. The only sign of their approach to The Basin for a while was the drop in temperature. The trip home was silent and actually rather pleasant. Her golden orbs looked forward, her hair left small trails in the snow as they walked forward. Freezing wind blew, rattling Arah's bones as they wondered through the pass. It was definitely colder than The Basin. Her thoughts where rather cheerful through, Roland and Arah had been successful. Psyche was not an easy one to impress, although this achievement would no doubt do rather good things for her in Psyche's books. The Basin rolled out before her and Arah truly smiled for the first time. Relief washed through her and the smile was firmly settled on her lips. She wondered if Psyche already knew they were here, the border of Aurora Basin was never left unprotected.
She looked over to Roland wondering if he was as happy as she was to be home again. No doubt he would also be over the moon that they had been successful. Arah eyes wondered over The Basin's borders and one thought entered her mind. Home. Her eyes turned to her company from the foothills wondering if they minded the cold weather. Well it really didn't matter all that much, they shouldn't be here for long. But where was Arah's leaders?
As soon as the thoughts entered her mind the stallion she thought was named Deimos came into the scene. Arah was quite sure he was a leading warrior of The Basin. He studied the small party and Arah bowed her head in greeting. Arah was even happier to spot d'Artagnan. Arah assessed his look that he sent her way as confused. Arah glanced at Ophelia then set her eyes back on d'Artagnan. "Brothers," Arah glanced at the Grey stallion, still a little unsure of his name. "This is Ophelia, leader of The Grey and Archibald, their head warrior." Arah frowned and turned to Archibald not sure what his actual title was. She looked back over to her two brothers. "Psyche needs to know of our arrival as soon as possible." Either that or they should all head into The Basin now and find their leader. Her golden eyes rested into the distance for a moment and wondered if Psyche would appear any moment now. She always did seem when to arrive at the correct time. Arah then also wondered if Psyche would call a herd meeting soon, so far everything had been kept on the quiet. She wondered if Roland would mind going and getting Psyche if she didn't appear soon, if not Arah would be more than happy to go fetch their leader.
Her orbs turned on Roland. "Would you like me to go fetch her?"
Roland was beginning to feel weary as they made their way through the pass, keeping a steady pace so as to make the best use of what daylight remained. The dun stallion’s legs ached from maneuvering over the uneven trail, and he looked forwards to resting after the long journey to the foothills and back. Despite his fatigue, he was happy, for they had accomplished what they had appealed to the Grey for, and his first task as a Phantom was nearly complete. It felt good to work again, to be a part of a larger machine. As they neared the border that separated the Basin from the rest of Helovia, Roland looked out across the valley and the grey mountains in the distance, before his eyes fell to the approaching figures.
Two stallions stopped before them, both unfamiliar to Roland, but obviously from the Basin though the stallion had never set eyes upon either of them before. Their party stopped at the border and Arah called out in greeting from by his side. Roland nodded in acknowledgement, remaining silent as the white mare spoke on behalf of the both of them, introducing their two companions. He glanced towards Archibald and Ophelia, noting that the former had placed himself protectively between himself and Arah and his Chieftess. The head warrior was large and intimidating, no doubt stronger than both the Phantoms, but Roland knew they were not trusted.
He turned back to Arah as her words reached his ears, leveling his sapphire gaze upon her before dipping his head. “Please,” he responded in a low murmur, though not unkindly. The Phantom’s eyes flicked down towards the hellhound as he spoke. It was not the first one he had seen, for he had witnessed Zar’roc’s pup attacking Leyra, but even if it had no reason to harm him it still made his skin crawl. Straightening, he turned back to the stallions before them, deciding that he would let Psyche fill them in with what details she wished to tell; but to quell their curiousity, he said, “Ophelia is here to speak with Psyche about a contract. ”
The shadow-mare was not unused to it, for she had seen her share of battles. But that was quite a while ago. What was the last battle that she had participated in? Was it the invasion of the Edge? Yes, it must have been, though she had indeed sparred in the time since. But even that last battle was nothing in comparison to the riots that Riekahn had incited once, that she had participated in. And won. Oh, what had happened to her? Had her time as a leader caused her to grow soft, to lose her skills? I must practice, she told herself as she walked. It is a necessity. Her gait had a slight limp to it; her hind end was rather sore and bruised from Kri's harsh blow. It ached considerably more than the rest of her body, which held the almost-pleasant soreness of use. A wound along her jaw oozed slightly still, as the challenge had ended only a short time ago.
They had fought not far from the mouth of the pass, and so she was aware when her guests arrived. It was a matter of simplicity to walk to them - or, rather, it should have been. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her limbs, cursing herself for allowing such stupidity to take place on her end. Well, it is what it is, they say, and this was no different. She would have to face the Grey as she was, battered and bloody, though it wounded her pride to do so. She arrived outside the strange group composed of twice as many of her own as the Grey; she overheard the exchange between Arah and Roland, and spoke: "No need to fetch anyone, darlings." They had done well, the two Phantoms, and they would be rewarded accordingly.
She held her head high despite the uncomfortable stretch of the broken skin along her jawline, and she forced herself to lose the limp, though it pained her to do so. A cool smile leapt to her features as heads turned toward her, acknowledging her presence. Let them see her as a mare fresh out of combat, and ready to go again if needed. In reality, her injuries were not bad - they were only fresh, and had had no time to rest. She nodded to her own first, her amber gaze seeking each of theirs in turn. And then: "Welcome, Ophelia, Archibald," she greeted the newcomers, though it irked her to call the hornless swine by a true name. "I do hope your journey was a good one. I take it that Arah and Roland have told you of my request?"
"Talk talk talk."
CRUX
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
04-26-2013, 04:30 PM (This post was last modified: 04-26-2013, 04:30 PM by Ophelia.)
Annoyance briefly made an appearance on her features before she cooled them once more, slightly irritated at the male nature to stand in front of a female. Ophelia knew this land and its inhabitants. She and Psyche had a mutual respect, she felt, and with a contract in the balance, none of the Basin members would dare inflict trauma upon her, especially not pregnant as she was. Phi supposed she should be appreciative, but she was not in the mood to be considered an invalid.
Especially not when Deimos approached, simply standing there imposingly. Ophelia had not broached the borders, so she was not fearful of his wrath, especially when they had the power to rip a useful contract out from the hooves of his herd. And, considering their defeat to the Qian before, even with Deimos' death magic, Ophelia was betting that he was intelligent enough to understand that help, even in distasteful forms, was better than losing, again.
Another face approached, one she had not had the opportunity to scrutinize before. He had a glass horn and one broken glass horn on a blood bay frame. A dog growled at his side, markings of arcane red glowing. Tinek decided that he too would have to appear threatening in order to balance the scales, so the silver dragon spiraled up Ophelia's leg and onto her back, peering around her neck with bright, crimson eyes. His scaled tail swept back and forth, ready.
"Bad dog," Tinek muttered in her mind, and she nodded once, the gesture subtle and easily missed.
Ophelia met their eyes with her strange, dual colored ones, her gaze not impolite but firm. Arah and Roland exchanged unnecessary words as a bloody and beaten Psyche approached. Phi's brows furrowed and her lips folded into a tight, compassionate frown. Bringing to everyone's attention her state was not something she was willing to do, but she wished that she could help.
The alabaster mare's respect for her father's sister grew exponentially as she lifted her frame, proud despite her injuries, and Ophelia dipped her head. "Yes," she answered quietly. "My sister is in charge of the executioners. She has agreed to offer warriors only in the event that you need defenders, and she asks for half of the payment up front. In the even that no attack is made upon you or your kind, your payment will be returned to you. Consider it to be collateral," Ophelia relayed clearly and politely.
Ophelia's brows furrowed, only a little. "If you need any of the other skills of the Grey, however, you may ask me now. I told the other herds a bit of information we had gathered. A small group called the assassins is desiring to take over the Edge, but they are scattered and their leader is captured."
The pale creature paused and then frowned. "Also, I ran into a colt from your herd, a boy named Mesec," she said, expression strained. "He expressed that others his age were bullying him about his wings and appearance; I invited him to live with us. When the time comes and he is of the proper age, I will encourage him to make his own decisions." A frown crossed her lips. "Though it is not my place, I would discipline those children for their cruelty."
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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.
Deimos was not born with a serpent tongue, full of policies, daggers and lies. For some stretch of days his mouth wouldn’t move at all, silenced and unsung, hushed and muted in the dim, blighted, plagued shadows. He was not carved for diplomacy or foreign affairs, couldn’t find the purpose of sequestering himself in the chambers of ambassadors and couriers, pouring over letters written in deceitful ink. His talents, his aptitude, his finesse, laid amongst the crueler fixtures of the earth, the dust, the demise, worn swords and shambled shields, the devil’s outcry for war and the bludgeoning of enemies. He didn’t play the charade of an consul, he didn’t echo the sentiments of the world’s polite uncertainties, he didn’t position himself into the miming dance of monarchs and sovereigns; he ran rampant across shadow and ruin, blinding, scarring, ripping and tearing. Amongst the gathered brethren, the kin of guile, bluffs and pretenses, he should have been lost, searching for a line that would never be tossed his way. He was not the sinuous charmer, he was not the argent lure, the charismatic spectacle woven into segments of entangled fabrications, but he listened and stole, plucked and scattered the syllables and speech of the inept, ivory mare. In her careful words were the measures of violence, were the promises of bloodshed, were the discrete caricatures of a contract. Were they to be allied with this fool and all her other dullards? Were they to be shifted and maligned to the will of this creature and her sibling? Were they to be ensnared and entangled, misshaped until their hate, their malice, their menace, was naught but a fine line, driven by particulars instead of determination? His punctured, piercing stare remained solely focused upon Ophelia, the sharpened grate of his voice spilling across the air - for once, the General had something to say. “Fixed lines for a indefinite horizon.” He paused, turned once to stare upon the asp Psyche, pondering if perhaps, she would enjoy them embarking upon a road with this sap, with all their wonders and gems and designs, forgetting the purpose of their own goals, ambitions and strife. Then, as impassive as before, he swung his carved features back towards the other. “And if we choose to assault instead of loiter?” What more would they have to pay to see their prestige written across sand, across land, across the open seas, gathered in wreckage and demolition? How long would it be until they triumphed?
See the life I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad
The odd little meeting started off in a boring sort of way, in the Nightshade's perception, and he quickly found himself resting a cloven hoof upon the hard floor of the Basin. He noted the names of the two strangers as Arah gave them; Ophelia and Archibald. The Mender gazed at the duo once again and shrugged, names were all well and good but what was their purpose. It was a fellow with the leonine tail who had accompanied Arah who first shed light on the situation with his notification about seeing Psyche about a contract. d'Artagnan frowned, but he had already noticed the arrival of the Empress herself and so remained silent as the two females exchanged words. It seemed they had sought out this Grey to form a contract, apparently Psyche thought they were in need of more warriors and the blood bay had to stifle a snort at that. He had not yet met one stallion or mare that portrayed a threat to the Basin. They were all weak in the eyes of the Nightshade.
Ophelia continued onwards as she offered her land's services and notified them about a group that called themselves the Assassins. d'Artagnan surmised that if their Leader was caught and their members scattered that, in truth, they posed no threat. Though he remembered the name, his old age giving him the wisdom to not so readily write off an enemy. All in all, d'Artagnan saw little reason for him to contribute to the conversation. That was until Ophelia spoke for the last time and his gaze hardened. So Mesec had ran to the Foothills? For a moment, d'Artagnan was consumed by rage and it took sometime for him to control himself because, after all, what did he expect? He was the son of the Moon Goddess, it was just typical that he had inherited her untrustworthiness.
He swallowed, allowing Deimos to speak before he finally mastered himself well enough to address Ophelia, ignoring the growls of Aramis and the silver dragon that moved in protection of his bonded. "Ah so I see that you have met my son. That boy will only bring you trouble. If he does not have the strength to stand up for himself then, he may share my blood, but he is no son of mine. I would rip those wings off him myself if it wasn't for his mother" he growled angrily. Maybe he hadn't mastered himself quite as well as he thought.
It's not the dog in the fight,
but the fight in the dog
As Lady Psyche entered Arah's view, concern filled Arah's eyes. She looked worse for wear, her injuries still fresh from, apparently, a battle. Loyal as ever, Arah slowly walked over and came to a stop next to her leader. Her golden eyes blinked once as she looked over Psyche concern flashing on her face, then she switched her emotions off and turned back to Ophelia and dipped her head for a moment as if thanking her for their time. As the generals voice rang out Arah glanced over to him "And if we choose to assault instead of loiter?" Nerves settled in her stomach. They had not discussed The Grey's help in the event of them attacking because they, being Roland and Arah, had not been told too. In fact they had assured They Grey that they would not make an assault on The Throat. She did not have an answer for him but as the situation was now in Psyche's hands and as the question was not aimed directly at her, she remained silent.
Now d'Artagnan spoke and Arah found herself concerned for two things after he finished speaking. She was worried for d'Artagnan and was also worried about the quickly diminishing situation. She hoped someone in control would take ahold soon. In the mean time she would just remain silent. She had nothing to add, nothing to answer and nothing she wanted to say out loud into the party. Instead she just watched The Grey members with her golden eyes, assessing their every move and every so often she would look over to Roland. He had been by her side through all of this, their friendship would surely be even greater now.
Notes; Nothing to say so post is short and pointless.
Words; 284
Tag; Ophelia, Archibald, Roland, d'Artagnan, Deimos, Psyche and Open.
The shadow-mare's gaze flickered around the little group as she listened to Ophelia's offer. It was not the deal that she had sent the pair to make, though she could hardly blame the Impersonators. She had chosen them for their ability to mingle with those of another species without cursing their every word, and they had done their job - to secure a contract with the Grey. Whether they had been unclear, or the mercenaries had chosen to twist the terms, she was unsure, but it hardly mattered now. After all, she had given them little enough to go off of in her hurry to get to Kri. Stupid bitch, she thought, a growl in her mind. Still, she had emerged victorious, if only by a hair. Surely that had to count for something. Perhaps she would even gain a bit of respect.
Well, she could dream.
Even if it wouldn't matter in the end.
She wondered at the thoughts of those around her. Deimos and d'Artagnan had both been a part of the Plague since its inception, and she was unsure how they would feel about an alliance with the Grey, even if it came with a rather high price. They, like she, hated the other species. The only reason the shade would deal with the Grey was because its leaders were unicorns - even if they were only half-bloods, a treason she liked to conveniently forget. The two stallions were also more loyal to Mauja than she, though she resented this particular sentiment. After all, she had led them here. She had taken up the mantle of leadership when no one else had. They did not outwardly question her decisions, but there was an uneasiness about their relationships, a bit of a question in their eyes every now and then. She wondered: if it were Mauja that had asked the Grey here, would they be so quick to cast him doubtful glances?
"Deimos has a fair point," she said when the ivory fae had finished speaking, though a warning flashed in her orbs at the suggestion of how to discipline her herd. "The payment is more than fair for the support of the Grey in the case of any potential altercation." A thought, suddenly: "And for confidentiality, if nothing else." To the mention of Mesec, she said nothing; d'Artagnan said his piece, and she nodded her assent. Truth be told, she didn't even know the winged boy had left, but she cared very little for his wellbeing. If the Doctor would have her company, she would join him to rip the colt's wings from his back without a bit of remorse.
"Talk talk talk."
CRUX
Image Credit
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
05-20-2013, 07:23 AM (This post was last modified: 05-20-2013, 07:25 AM by Ophelia.)
Ophelia heard the silver beast of death speak more than two words for the first time, and as such, she paid keen attention. Her pale, tulip auds tilted forward, and she smiled pleasantly but bitterly. However, it seemed that the conversation of the group swayed her from replying at that very moment. Instead, d'Artagnan chose to speak, and she was eagerly awaiting his response. The white mare had never felt and overly deep affection for children, but she had always felt a connection to the lost souls of the world - those who never belonged as she never belonged.
His reply shocked her to her core, struck her in her chest, and incited an anger colder than blue fire. The expression on her face grew hard, but her features remained otherwise unchanged. A gentle sway of her tail behind her fetlocks paused, and she blinked in disbelief. But she would never forget those words, not for the rest of her days. The cold anger that rose in her heart started her with its darkness. She did not just want to kill the stallion, oh no. Death would be merciful. The ice in her heart wanted to pin him to a tree and leak him of blood, slowly. And once he was fully drained, she wanted to skin him, tan his hide and put his severed head upon a stake for all to see.
But even that was merciful. She wanted to bore holes into his eyes and drain his soul of meaning. Though she showed little signs of her freezing rage, Tinek felt it acutely. The silver dragon arched his spined back and flew to a nearby ledge on the mountain side, white frost falling from his open, fanged maw. Crimson eyes locked onto d'Artagnan, but Tinek did not aim to harm the stallion. Emotion was coursing through him that he still could barely understand or control; he was reacting.
"Tinek, that is quite unnecessary," Ophelia murmured, her voice hard. The dragon quickly shut his jaws and crouched onto the ledge, watching carefully still.
But she also learned something quite valuable in the process. Her father's suspicions were confirmed. Psyche and Giselle's corruption had spread through the herd, poisoning their minds with this concept of supremacy. Ophelia's strange, dual colored eyes leveled on the doctor's. "He had the strength to realize his situation was foul and the bravery to remove himself. The term father ill suits you," she said coldly before tearing her gaze to look back at Psyche.
Ophelia sighed. "Deimos does have a fair point, as do you," she agreed. "However, that is not my call to make. I can reduce the price of the contract, considering that the actions of the Throat are not known. As for confidentiality, we only speak of contracts that are completed. I can assure you that only the Grey and its proper members are privy to the details of contracts." The white mare had flipped a switch from fury to calm and collected. She respected Psyche more so than she let on, but from her demeanor, it was obvious that she did not find her aunt distasteful.
Misguided, perhaps? Everyone was entitled to their own beliefs, of course. Acting on those beliefs to the detriment of others however, was where she drew a line.
Revenge? Conquest? Power? Ophelia could stand behind those ideals. They rested in hearts all the same - winged, horned or bare.
"My sister leads the warriors. Only she can grant you fighters. But, I can assure you that even I would not act without knowing your full intentions. In order to ensure our safety, especially considering our rather small numbers, we have to know what the dangers are." Ophelia frowned. "However, that in itself poses a problem, as transparency is not always an option. If you wish to renegotiate and illuminate myself or another individually, you are welcome to contact me or my sister. If you would prefer not to speak your plans aloud, I can search the surface of your mind for the answer, but I will not pry without your permission."
Ophelia paused and looked up at the leader. "The choice is yours and you have as much time as you need." With that said, she bowed her head briefly in a sign of respect.
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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.
The Dauntless watched the scene unfold around him in a statue-like manner, his legs firm beneath his behemoth frame, keeping his balance solid. Loretta stood on his side, shoulder to his leg, with her tail curled up around her back. She did not like the thought of helping others, but Archibald reminded her that the Grey was a force of neutrality. Archibald was fine with the contracts that they Grey made, for the ones that Archibald held a connection to were with him in the Grey and were not affected poorly. Archibald let Ophelia speak and lay out the contract, but the Dauntless’ golden eyes stared hard between the supposed general, Deimos, and the leader, Psyche. He all but ignored the two that traveled with them as well as the two-horned brute, for he had no business with them.
Archibald was only slightly angered when the blood bay mentioned his disowned son, and the draft behemoth scoffed aloud to display his distaste. He also, in the very depths of his labyrinth mind, made a note to never become such a poor excuse for a father. Flicking his tail, Archibald listened as they changed the conversation movements. His ears flicked back slightly at the idea of attacking the Dragon’s Throat first. They did not agree to that. With a malicious rumble of his voice, Archibald spoke to both the general and the lady in one fell swoop, "Ktulu and I have gone over complete transaction plans, and I warn you, should you attack the Dragon’s Throat and break the terms of this contract, you will not enjoy the results.” Archibald hoped they would listen to the warning and take it to mind, for his warriors would fight mercilessly for either side. Should these leaders take action against the desert, Archibald could not promise them safety—in fact, he could only promise them the opposite.
Loretta, feeling Archibald’s stern nature as well as Tinek’s rolling emotions, took a step forward with her head low and ears pressed forward domineeringly. Her amber gaze fixed straight on the small hellhound that clung to the glass-horn, her haunches beginning to rise slowly. Stay put. Archibald’s mental command was simple, but it was all the bitch needed. She did not understand politics and she did not pretend to—she only knew enemy and ally. Today, she could not decipher which these Basin unicorns were.
Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.
He listened, features emotionless, guarded, blocked from the waves of thoughts mulling over his ferocious, fiendish mind. He paid little attention to the dramatics over the Time Mender, his child and Ophelia’s disapproval, he was not involved and subsequently stayed in the same measure – the only thing that truly stirred him was the response from the bulky draft. It was layered with warnings, threats, ultimatums that ignited, kindled, coiled amongst his calculating, callous cranium. Wrath distorted the demon’s muscles, intertwining with the sharp, caustic haze of his satanic bestowals, pervaded his soul with the arch of a furtive, heinous design. Archibald's words were the incredulous, petulant derisions of cossetted, indulged whims, lacing demands amongst the empirical skies, tracing their terrain over and over again with the consumption of accommodated merchants. Was this twit dropped on his head as a child, striding into their land, attempting to ensnare an agreement, and intimidate them into a compact? The Basin? The kingdom, the empire, ruled by cretins, by demons, by the ruthless, the merciless, the indifferent, ice, rebellion, contempt and loathing? The gall, the arrogance, that many had managed to conjure in the depths of their chilling terrain was an amazing feat; perhaps the cold bolstered, heightened, their bravados, laid waste to their weaknesses, their flaws, their wagging tongues that insisted on being hushed. Ignorant and unwise, they traversed upon a realm strengthened by exile, stalwart, staunch, confident, and the dimmest, dankest threats carried by murmurs of incapable beasts would not cease the calamity harbored within the Basin’s inhabitants. How long would it take to throttle the draft, how swift would it be to topple him with the waves of menace, the nefarious necromancy holstered, thrumming along his veins? Shouldn’t he be wary of his own pursuits, of his own failings, of wandering into a world unknown, foreign, infamous for its brutality? Never fulfilled, never gratified, avariciousness clawed in all of their gullets, like they owned this acrimonious world, scarring the din with more of their tremulous, whiny mewls and howls; gruff, ungracious, inhospitable clients. The monster’s penetrating stare remained solely fixated upon the voluminous stag, the pulsing, piercing blue mustering his own warning. The harsh tone of his vocals strode across the air, a vicious, virulent hiss. “We are negotiating.” They had not yet fulfilled any oath, they had not yet uttered a deal, a bargain, and already the dullard found himself worthy of trumpeting them down, of flexing might he couldn’t hold over their own power, dominion and supremacy. Another sibilation nestled from Deimos’s throat, and still, his vehement, lacerating glare did not leave Archibald. “Threats do not form contracts.” To try and endanger the Basin with barely veiled heralds was an ignorant, vacuous act. He had no intention of casting any covenant with a fool. To attempt a dragoon over their dominance was an act of audacity, presumption and idiocy - and they could gladly show him the error of his ways.
ooc; soooo sorry for holding this up with my absence <3333
See the life I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad
d'Artagnan's eyes locked onto the pale form of the Chieftess, he cared not if his words struck her nor did he want to care. These feelings were becoming burdens on his already troubled mind and the easiest way to lift himself of the weight of them was to openly reject them. There was a part of d'Artagnan, the paternal part, that would always harbour a form of love for Mesec. No parent could not love their child after all. Yet, the Nightshade hated what the boy was and would no doubt, in his mind, become. He watched Ophelia when the words left his mouth, but her appearance did not change and he snorted once, wondering whether she was trying to put on a brave front or was simply as cold hearted as he was. The latter, he thought, highly unlikely. Aramis continued growling under his breath even after the silver dragon was told to shut it's jaws, the Doctor did little to silence the hell dog. In the blood bay's eyes, he was only doing the job he had taught him to do and reprimanding him would be counterproductive.
Crimson ears twitched as he caught her words and he laughed shortly without mirth. There were many things he wanted to say and with great effort he curbed the more brutal of the comebacks, bitterly noting that Psyche probably wanted a deal out of this. Not that he cared much either way for the Dark Empress, but he owed her loyalty. "Cowardice is not strength. I do not care for being number one father of the year." He said, dropping his voice to match her coldness as his mad man's eyes glittered dangerously.
The conversation had turned then and d'Artagnan listened intently, but decided not to add his voice. When Ophelia came to the end of her speech, the shade turned to Psyche expectantly, ready to offer any council if she needed it. The possibility of alliance with another land was distasteful to him, d'Artagnan didn't really like to be in another's debt and much preferred to do things with his own hooves, but even the Nightshade had to admit a shift in power was needed. An alliance might give them that shift in power. At least, he hoped. He turned the big hairy brute, who he presumed was Ophelia's bodyguard and he laughed at Deimos' retort, turning his head to one side, peering at Archibald. Idiocy. Does he want a fight? His thoughts were cold, but his voice was darkly jovial. "You're an amusing fellow aren't you." He said, as he offered Archibald a taunting smile.
Somehow the shadow-mare felt that, in another life, she and Ophelia could have been as close as family ought to be. Although their beliefs differed on a certain level - Ophelia was clearly disturbed by the Basin's treatment of that bastard foal of d'Artagnan's, for example - it would seem that she was not against the Empress' wishes. Would she give them the troops they had requested, if she was in charge of their soldiers? Maybe. At the very least, she fought for what she believed in, just as they did. It was evident in her cool words to the doctor. Her agreement did not come as any great shock to the Dark Empress. It only confirmed the thoughts that had just crossed her mind. Ophelia's assurance of confidentiality did set her mind at ease, though she knew not to place much trust in the younger fae.
Her niece respected her, and as such she had gained her aunt's respect. The shade harbored no particular dislike of the Chieftess. In another world, she might have been the Lady's right hoof mare. But this world was not that, and here, the jackal could only nod regally. The large hornless brute, however, earned himself nothing but a cold glare from the Empress. His words were a warning, and one that she did not appreciate on her grounds. For one accepting payment, he certainly did not know how to behave. Had Ophelia selected him as a companion, or had he been forced upon her by her considerably duller sister? Psyche would never know. "This contract," she began sharply, her vocals icy, "has not been fully formed as yet. I'm afraid that my request must have been misunderstood." She smiled at Archibald, but it did not touch her eyes. "I would caution you to reserve your threats for neutral soil if you wish to set foot on it again, particularly considering that we are paying you."
Deimos, too, had spoken similar thoughts, though not in so many words, prior to her dangerously quiet commentary. d'Artagnan, too, offered a bit of a snap toward the brute, though he masked it beneath a jokester's grin. Though she knew their allegiance lay with the herd and not necessarily with her, she was grateful for their support nonetheless. Amber gaze returned to Ophelia. It was neutral once more, and she spoke to the Chieftess with a calm tone that did not betray her fury with the Dauntless. "I shall accompany you to the Foothills in order to clarify my request. I'm afraid that something was lost in translation, through no fault of Arah and Roland. Perhaps a more personal meeting would prove more successful. As to looking into my mind, you will find only plans to prepare for any outcome that may arise in regards to the Dragon's Throat. Shall we?" With that, she gestured to the pass into the Steppe, from which she had only just come moments before.
"Talk talk talk."
CRUX
Image Credit
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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[O] Confirmation [Roland/Arah/Archi/Psyche + others]
![[Image: psycheicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/psycheicon.png)
![[Image: 25u5ylj.png]](http://i33.tinypic.com/25u5ylj.png)
