HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun
[P] Blue Harvest - Printable Version

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Blue Harvest - God of the Spark - 02-23-2014

The GOD of the SPARK

On a long enough timeline, the survival rate of everyone drops to zero

It was dark here, and he liked the dark. It reminded him of the bleakness of the past - of the time streams as the slipped into oblivion, falling slowly into eternity. Yet this kind of dark felt...oppressive. It closed in on all sides, mentally compressing him and stifling his magic and foresight. Whatever had caused this rampant darkness to spill across Helovia, apparently always wanted to keep him and his brothers out of the caves.

Well, he hadn't missed out on much. The stank of so many equines stock-piled together was nauseating, and the clatter of their hooves against the caves was like an itch just below his skin. If the causer of this infection didn't want him in here - that was just fucking fine, but he would do what he set out here to do.


His teeth parted and slammed together as spittle frothed from his lips with the force of his words. Lightning emanated around him, as the force of his call ricocheted outwards towards the former Lord and Lady.

The fizzle of electricity left comforting streaks of blue dancing across his vision as the darkness once again settled around him. Regardless of how well he could see in the dark, he doubted that Illynx and Deimos would feel the same - not given that he was calling them to a giant pit. With a resigned sigh, a ball of electricity wafted upwards from him - bubbling outwards from his horn and hovering about 10 feet above him, casting an eerie blue sheen all around, while he waited.

Private. For @[Illynx] and @[Deimos]

CREDITS: Tamme & Boom

RE: Blue Harvest - Deimos - 02-24-2014

Meticulous, unwinding anarchy with nowhere to go claimed even more reclusive reticence, a shadow amongst shadows, drawn in Stygian shades and nocturnal eaves. Through macabre arches and chiseled bunkers, the beast remained monstrous and titanic, behemoth and eldritch, with silent war cries hastened beneath his impassive brow. Unsung chains loosened from his neck, his innards, his pulse, until he was naught but the beating hymn and hum of disaster, entropy snaking and sneaking through pendulum waves, incapable of taking credit for the disorder sinking beyond their bounty. Maelstroms brewed and gathered, and he could do naught but listen to the wails of hushed apathy, of serpentine movements, of heathens dancing outside, and imagine them waltzing through his kingdom, his empire – his jaw clenched, tightened, but once again, he failed to unravel. Forced to recognize an air of ineffectuality with the ghosts clambering about his home, incapable of prying their hands off of rime, summits, and frost, inept at causing their death for another iteration, regarded in the depths of absolution as the lone cretin once more. During all the Reaper’s time within the haven, he only became a far more bitter maelstrom, sowing his scythe through the fields of ruminations, meticulous and calculating, waiting for an opportunity to swing his spear again, to gauge, seize, possess, and maul. Only when a cry erupted from the fathoms of the mighty, dusky cavern, poised for him and the GildedBlade, did he even bother to erupt from his stony partition – dissolving from marble into living, demonic frame – wild, beguiling, vicious and intoxicating. Frenetic energy beckoned, lightning beacons melded only by a deity’s contortions, and though they’d only met once before (amongst those fateful hours spent in the Steppe, battered, beaten, and bruised, unholy scoundrels begging for a home), Deimos bade his call. Perhaps he’d deliver answers, ultimatums, reasons for the fabrications of specters and looters, why hearts of steel were molded into heinous dens, why the earth cracked beneath pressure of insubstantial air and frothing mouths. Upon his arrival, the piercing, lacerating artifice of his gaze hastened towards the heavenly, austere, blue horizon, gazing upon the God of Spark and Time in the same manner of indifference, awaiting news and announcements, and wondering if Illynx would be able to make the journey at all. He conformed to minor reverence with a nod of respect and naught more, formulated no queries, no questions, no meaning beyond formal address, and like so many other moments before, waited destruction to deal him a satanic hand, or contrive to sculpt one himself.

RE: Blue Harvest - Illynx - 02-25-2014

& not to pull your halo down
around your neck and tug you to the ground, but...
Second, as usual, she thinks to herself as she arrives to the summons, the resounding call of her name easy enough to pick out even about the rabble and chaos of the myriad frames shoved into this hole. If being a wraith had been awful (she surely didn’t remember much of it, except that she had been given wings, and possibly even claws, repressing a mental shudder) surely the pit she had been forced to reside in among the squalor of Helovia was a worse fate than living death.

She couldn’t get the stench of feathers out of her nose. At least this summons was a distraction from it all, a lure to pull her from her hidden corner where she hatefully glared at them all for bringing this hell down upon the kingdom.

Besides, he had sounded important. How else could he make his voice so large? She didn’t recognize the voice, either, which dangled another gleaming, curious bauble before her, drawing her towards the one branch of the caves she hadn’t even thought of exploring: the black pit, a mouth that ate all light, and that was before she’d known it had been a God who called her by name.

Amulets jangling she comes to a halt before the God of the Mountain and her co-leader, a black stallion which she eyes with the same casual disinterest that she has adopted in favor of her own reputation. It is not a look of disgust, as has been given in prior months – but the Lady has grown in the weeks of shadow that have assaulted them as of late, her ire aglow once more with thoughts of a pristine mountain valley stolen by phantoms, the poignant memory of her best friend outlined by the rippling colors their home had been named for driving her cold resolve to care nothing at all for the man alongside her anymore.

Not even hate, she thinks, letting her inward amusement at regaining herself shine through in her golden eyes as she bows her head low and gracefully to the powerful lord of the storm who has called her to him.

She has spoken with the Gods very rarely in her life, all though she has lived among the masses of Helovia for nearly all of her years, and his power thrills her in ways that disgust over his mixed breeding cannot defeat. "Our Lord of Time," she says sweetly as she rises from her elegant greeting, speaking words (also as usual) for both keepers of the mountain, "what would you have of us?"

I'm more than a little curious how
you are planning to go about making your amends to the dead
with your halo slipping down, your halo slipping, your halo slipping down
slipping down to choke you now.

image by candy<3

RE: Blue Harvest - God of the Spark - 03-04-2014

The GOD of the SPARK

On a long enough timeline, the survival rate of everyone drops to zero

The God of Time observed the appearance of his faithful Deimos and Illynx as they made their way into the darkness of the pit. At least down here the stench of refuse and ill, mortal breath was not as thick and suffocating. He was as wise as he was indifferent, and thus this darkness that was unnatural and unusually pervasive bothered him. The more often he was required to set mortal matters right, the more he was likely to fry them all and start the entire race over.

As the orb of blue light sparked and crackled above them, he watched, not feeling at all short in their presence, even though he was. Height, physique and other such appearance matters did not make a difference to the god, for he traveled time and could so easily drag one of these creatures with them and destroy their minds as their bodies split between universes, causes all sort of rifts and physical tears as limbs got caught between dimensions.

Interesting story, really - that had happened once. So much screaming.

"As it appears, my Brother Sunshine and Brother Peace Pipe have been taking a nap and letting the world fall to shit," he grunted, irritation evident by the swish of his black and white tail. "So, my efforts it seems, not only lie in the time stream but also in this world, to help mend the damage and discover its cause. The swiftness of the disease and the permeation of the darkness is too calculated to be natural."

The God of Time looked the two over, hearing Illynx's words. She was a true servant, though perhaps not wholly devoted to the noble art of time and shock. "The herd needs to be taken back north, safe within the walls. I have cleared the snow of illness, though the journey back in the winter will not be easy. Both of you will rule again as you have, though future losses in war like the dismal attempts on the World's Edge and the Dragon's Throat will not be in your favor...." he warned with an angry glint in his eyes.

"As you travel, you and Deimos can borrow the power to create time shields which will temporarily turn your camps into fields as lush as Birdsong. Your herd will need to stick together and the power will only last until you reach the Basin." He looked between the two of them and then toward the blue light that danced above them.

"Do you have any questions?" He would only ask once.

CREDITS: Tamme & Boom


RE: Blue Harvest - Deimos - 03-05-2014

Indifference sculpted a reticent brow, polished and cryptic as ever as derision attempted to scald their flesh, over a newly healed GildedBlade and a heartless Reaper; the rancor of the Time God billowed into the rubble dust. The only distinction mettled and molded to his sentiments, to his ruminations, were the murmurings of home - the Basin still existed beyond the realm of shadow and pestilence, waiting, weaving, stately and majestic. It hadn’t fallen in the wake of all this treachery, in the unfurled violence that he couldn’t sow or capture, that he couldn’t maim or torture, and it eased the blackened crevasse of his nefarious heart, incited and unraveled the Machiavellian aspects of his chained soul. Power, domination, and supremacy were permitted to thrive once more, blare and glare from the summits, boom and whistle from the peaks, croon, murmur, slink and distort from the gallows and caverns. He allowed the tiniest snippet of a smile, a meager curling of the lips indented in his avaricious mouth, before administering the acknowledgement, the pride, the gratitude (for it was all he had to offer to the beast who had kept their home untangled, unearthed, from the plight set forth upon their world – while they’d been nestled here, useless stones and wares) of his lowered head, a tangled, curt composition of vocals. “Thank you.” Deimos nearly held no queries at all, no questions to unfold or generalize – the humming distinction of his precision, of his irreverence, of his calculated, cunning air concluded if there were any shadows, any wraiths, lurking along the way, he and his patriots would be able to conquer, devour, consume, and ravage them whole. Nothing was going to stop them from returning to their castle of ice. Nothing was going to impede their path. He, like so many of their merciless brethren, wouldn’t allow it. They’d been forsaken, tied down, fettered and withered for long enough; no more labyrinths, no more oubliettes, no more dungeons. His figurine, taut, rigid, resolute, bade them a composed farewell, drawn back into the darkness for the opportunity to bestow knowledge upon his citizens; freedom and liberation close at hand. Illynx would be fully capable of asking notable inquiries; his motions lay within the walls and into the portals of glaciers. A final salute, a swift resolution, and a firm, steady, determined hand slithered from his vocals, and he was gone, tracing deliverance, enmity scorching, promising, invoking. “I shall gather the herd.”

RE: Blue Harvest - Illynx - 03-06-2014

& not to pull your halo down
around your neck and tug you to the ground, but...
Illynx stands nearly motionless and with avid attention as the God stirs again, captured, as she always was, by the overwhelming sense of power that poured out from their veins. Physically, they were only hybrids, creatures with bodies that they could shape to better fit the mold of whatever species would earn them the affections of the mortals they wooed. Even she knew this, as little as she had bothered with the realm of magic and fancy in the land of her birth; it was simply something any good Helovian would know.

But the Lord Time wore a horn to appease both she and her blackened co-rulers standards of worthiness, and while he kept his wings hidden from her in the current meeting, she knew they were there, just beneath the flesh of his shoulder, and she smiles softly despite the horrific memories that flicker across the screen of her soul.

Her heart knows flight, too, Lord Time, though she wears only a horn. But… he already knows this, she concedes; he knows everything, surely, with his ability to slip to and from any given location on the time stream, one tiny fleck of a moment to another observed and recorded until all of the flecks were accounted for. It was madness, surely, to count all the grains of sand in the world, but she had a mild sense that the God before her was not entirely sane anyway.

She was generally good at picking these things out. Any sort of girl with a mouth and mind like hers had to be in order to stay alive.

A giggle of humor placed so aptly on the other divines of the land is stifled only by the sight of the powerful being’s tail flickering in agitation, replaced with a smirk that she softens with sad, compassionate eyes. She, too, knew what it was to have a life fall into nothing by none of her own doing, and while surely it was of no comparison to the turmoil that the Lord Time was currently dealing with (you know, a whole planet and every mortal on it), she could relate at least slightly.

And, she was pretty sure that she and the bringer of the storms would get along quite famously; she likes his sense of humor, how dry and biting it is even in the grasps of such despair.

Her rapt gaze does not break when he places World’s Edge and the Dragon’s Throat on her shoulders again, though she does feel the same pang of loneliness break through her as it always does when that stupid war is brought up. Not only hadn’t they won, but her darling had been replaced by the oafish and bleak creature that stood alongside her; what was worse, Torleik had explained a deeper truth to her replacement.

It went to the first man there.

Her head nods as she thinks the words, refusing to let her hate beat down on the sod she has been forced to suffer through. After all, he had at least listened to her and brought the others to safety – surely Lord Time wouldn’t be so benevolent if they had failed miserably at that task.

When he tells her of the new power is going to grant them for the journey, her eyes grow wide with interest; she is mostly of a warrior’s heart, but the Lady does have a streak of curiosity in her (and her belly rumbles from the lack of anything remotely edible in appearance down in these holes). Grass in the midst of winter, emerald and luscious as the dawn of summer, sounds like something she could kill for at the moment. "You are most kind, Lord of Storms," she purrs in response, an unbidden desire to indulge herself on something not glowing or odd scented leaking into the tones of her voice; after all, she hadn’t eaten a single mortal as a wraith, and she had been one of those for at least a week.

This girl is hungry – and she’s not so self centered to not realize that if she is, her people are, too.

Lord Time may take it the wrong way. She surely hopes he doesn’t.

As she has come to expect of the Lord, he quickly makes his exit, and she spares him but a single glance before return her eyes with a playful smile set on her lips back to the God.

Surely he knows all about how she feels about the Reaper, and he surely does not want to discuss it with her.

"I will ask questions while he gathers the others, I suppose. What conditions should we expect once we return to the Basin?" she asks after a nod of her head in gratitude, mostly meaning what sort of chaos the wraiths had unleashed upon their home. Should she expect half the forest to have burned to the ground, the majority of the caves collapsed and no longer of use for mining or residency?

What about her things, carefully stashed away in her own private cave?

It is too horrifying a thought to dwell on.

"I can think of no other inquiries but can add that I was infected, if there are any questions you may have as to what its like… being one," her gaze shudders away for a few seconds, more untamed and black thoughts curling through her mind, the memories of being the thing which desires only decay and demise. She is not the sort of girl who frolics through daisies, to be sure, but she certainly does enjoy the beauty in life and is loathe to assault those of her own species.

As that creature, nothing mattered but destruction; and it horrified her.

I'm more than a little curious how
you are planning to go about making your amends to the dead
with your halo slipping down, your halo slipping, your halo slipping down
slipping down to choke you now.

image by candy<3