"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
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.
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.
Character of the Month for
YAEL, one of the Sage's of the World's Edge, is as clever as she is beautiful. Ever since she arrivedin Helovia this little mare has been an invaluable asset to her herd with consistent activity and carefully written and beautiful threads. Yael is as unique as she is interesting to read. With a knowledge of the Hebrew language, Yael seems to have an understanding of what is written on the black altar in the marshes. Could she be the key to understanding Kaos? We're so excited to see where her journey will take her! 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.
So this is something new that we are doing! Since items are becoming more popular, we want to do drops to make them just that much more special or individualized. This will be a drop for a special custom item that has some sort of historical link to Helovia and a name. Winners will be decided on story and dice roll - story being how in depth your character's tale of the past is so that the admin can cleverly craft a unique mission for your character's find. The more detail the better!
If you have an item that you want, you are more than welcome to list what that item is, its name, and some sort of significance in an OOC portion of your post.
If you have no idea but want to be surprised, I love you and an admin will craft an item for you. Just give some commentary in your OOC portion of stuff you like and don't like.
All rounds are 72 hours each!
Former regions of the Rift were joining cohesively into the landscape of Helovia. From the highest peak of the mountains to the lowest valleys, the gods healed the land they saved from the corrupted beasts. The sun setting on the flats cast beautiful, watercolor hues on the surface of the mirror-like water until the horizon became so blurred you could feel like you were dancing in the sky itself. However, not all shadows were eradicated just yet. Night still fell and invited linger remnants of horror lurking, even in places of beautiful and calm.
They crept from behind rocks and splashed when you knew you were alone. Like a mirage, focusing on them for too long was nauseating, but you weren't sure if they were just a nuisance or something far more dangerous. Either way, they seemed to hover over an area in the water, returning to it like religion. Even as you approached, you felt something powerful - something overlooked given that it was difficult to see through the shallow waters.
Perhaps it brought up reminders of your past. Thoughts of home? Or thoughts of those you once loved.
Goal: Find the area where the shadows are concentrated and recall a memory, either aloud or in your head that is very specific to your character and shaped them in some way. Please italicize the memory!
Midnight allure and carnivore twilight begged for their release, and the fellow fiends and devils joined the march, the reign, on evening’s decadence. He’d always been enticed by shadows, whether it was because he was descended from fiends (and goodness and light, but he only managed those on his better days), or merely due to the attraction, the allure, to figments of wrath, contempt, and disaster. So as they crawled and danced and simmered their way through the Flats, a prince of water floating on miniature lagoons, skimming along like a sword, like a predacious, gallant force, the darkness touched along his mind, slithered its way into his senses. There was no why, there was no reason, other than pure temptation goading him further, on and on, until they reached the pockets of mist and subterfuge, until he was lulled into absolute ruin, until he pressed against their wares and felt the horrible sting of abominations crouch along his spine. Erebos would’ve run if he weren’t so foolish. He would’ve fled if he weren’t such an audacious, emboldened cretin. Instead, he became a part of the power, bleeding into its force, into its grasp, while it rasped and clenched and held and curled over the edges of his eyes. Then all he saw was bleakness, was poison, were the annals of revenge.
He hadn’t truly known her, not like Aithniel, not like Rikyn. She’d been another one of them, those bright, blistering barbs and bulbs of Basin fortitude. Arwen had grown with the powerful brood, lending herself to the snow and stars, to the ice and mountains, to the peaks and valleys. In time, they likely would’ve been fond of each other.
The only moment he ever sought her out had been on the winding ruins of the Steppe, bolstering his might with shouts and upheavals, with foretold glories and silly stories. He’d followed her scent and thought about playing, about laughter, about telling her about his newfound magic and how her sister was incredible too.
He’d been too late.
Her golden image bled across the snow. Her beauty remained, hardly tarnished, except for where she’d been bludgeoned, crushed, annihilated, and taken. Her breaths were gone. Her heart was still.
Then his gaze had funneled, dark and mutinous, war-bearing and barbaric, towards the one who’d caused it all: the Colossus, only smaller, only stouter, only carrying one dragon. The giant spoke of how he’d done it, of why, and the boy had merely spouted back treachery and venom, but incapable of casting anything more. Not even a stone, not even a touch of his prowess. He’d comprehended nothing, nothing at all, but the poignant lull, the dissonant, quiet sound of her silence and the depths of loss. The youth didn’t even truly understand it then, what it was like for another to die and be gone, but he could comprehend the iniquity, the finality of it all:
He’d failed her.
But he wouldn't again.
It was the same scene, the same image, the same loathsome tapestry he witnessed in the darkest of hours; and he would’ve laughed, there in the labyrinth of his own memories, had the world not proffered it to him in the shape of vengeance, had it not given him some purpose, some reason, to ambitions and aspirations.
But why did it choose to haunt him now?
Erebos’ gaze flickered back and forth, between the shadows and intrigue, between the runes and the disciples of a greater plain – and simply stood, mystified at the chains of memory and gloom.
[First of all, this is badass!
I would like a surprise if chosen/selected. ^__^ I like swords, shields, armors and stuff. But SURPRISES.]
05-02-2016, 07:56 PM (This post was last modified: 05-02-2016, 07:57 PM by Archibald.
Edit Reason: forgot to add item in
He had been spending some time out of his herd borders, patrolling these new lands since the meeting with the Earth God. Isopia had called him, and the Dauntless and his young daughter had attended. The earthen deity spoke of a threat, some looming, dangerous thing that the Helovian Gods could not contain. It was here, he supposed, in one of these Riftian lands. It had to be--for the Rift was not created nor controlled by the Helovian Gods, so some sinister monstrosity that threatened Helovia--one they could not detect, not defeat--must come from the Rift. The Dauntless moved, a swift, powerful trot moving his body across the mirror-like lands.
His attention, however, was drawn to darkness--as his mind, as his heart, as his history knew too well. At his side, Loretta instantly sprung to life, sprinting into the darkest depths?corners> reaches of the mirrored flatlands. Archibald followed, his massive legs breaking into a wild gallop after her. He did not know why he and his companion sped off after the darkness, but the earth trembled greatly beneath his weight and he was reminded of his power. The titan snorted, throwing his massive head and neighing into the crisp, spring air.
Skidding to a stop, the pair tightened their muscles and shifted their weight. The darkness and light bounced across their bodies, their brilliance and power unmatched and unbridled. Loretta barked wildly, tail straight and erect in the air with her dominance. Archibald's entire body arched, muscles bulging beneath a sleek, black coat. Everything about these two warlords was simply amazing. When, however, the light ceased and he found the most shadowed part of the land, a memory flooded into the forefront of his mind:
Archibald was her greatest achievement.
At his hooves, she fell. Under his might--under the madness of his brothers, slaves no longer--she perished.
She stood far off, with Wilder at her side. A small, helpless babe fell from her womb and took breath in this world. Wilder looked so prideful, his eyes full of fatherly love for the new foal. Mandrake, however, held that same malicious glitter behind her grey eyes as she always had.
The pack moved.
Archibald and Knox led them and they stormed for the woman and her son lover. Evers, the Able, swiftly carried the youngling--Darwin--to safety. His first memory was watching his family destroy, desecrate, devour.
Quickly, without hesitation, a large and dangerous paw swiped and clawed away Wilder's throat. Archibald bellowed, throwing his massive body over the pegasus' dead body towards his mother. He did not remember the blows his brothers delivered, did not remember the blows Mandrake managed to make--if any. No. He only remembered conquering her. Taking her life. Ensuring his freedom. He only remembered the look of the life leaving her eyes--those eyes of gray.
He would never forget.
Loretta's final bark, a sharp and shrill call, brought Archibald from the memory. The physical pull of it brought his entire body up into a rear, steel-clad hooves pounding the air.
ARCHIBALD the DAUNTLESS Only the dead have seen the end of the war.
I have an idea from Tamme, here: "ITEM FOR ARCHI! I see Archi with a greatsword strapped to his back :D He should have some sort of really ornate blade strapped to his side or something that he wields with his mouth since he is so strong anyway. You could even enchant it to hover at his side if you wanted!"
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.
05-02-2016, 11:59 PM (This post was last modified: 05-03-2016, 12:01 AM by Calypso.
Edit Reason: edited to add item choice
C A L Y P S O
From the Edge to the Meadow all the way to the Flats. I think I made my best choice ever the day I walked away from the Edge. I've enjoyed my freedom to go where I want when I want. It's something i've never had in my life. As a princess, I had always been told where to go and how to act and how long I had to be there. So to return to the Edge and have no one answer my call... Well I think it may of been a blessing in disguise. It freed me to just be, me. It allowed me to explore my new home freely without a care in the world. It had been nice to be around Ciceron and not have to worry about getting back to anywhere or anyone. Then again, it was also kind of lonely. If anything happened to me, it was all on me. I'd have to get myself out of it. I'd have to be my own savior.
Dae shoved the image of Ciceron in my head and I shoved it away. What would a warrior like him want with the likes of me? Here, i'm an ordinary girl.
When we arrived in the Flats, the first thing I wanted to do was go play in the waters. I had never been allowed to do that as a child, and now that I was not royalty here well... That of course was the first thing I wanted to do. But we got distracted instead. Two others seemed to in the area. One with a single horn and a tail like a lion, the other hornless and wingless with a dog..
I was one of the crown jewels of the hierarchy. My twin brother Iccarus and I made the set. For centuries my family had held onto the throne. In my old home, if you were born with antlers upon your brow it made you royalty. I think this is the only way they kept our family lines from becoming inbred. The unicorns with single horns were just ordinary citizens, or our guards. They were the protectors of the royal family. It was the ones of winged and plain origins I should of worried about.
I believe my family called them equines and pegasus. Either way, they were the laborers of our monarchy. Not by choice I found out early on when I tried to befriend a young equine girl. No, by force. As my mother instructed me later on, they were lesser beings than we were. All of those with horns were mighty, but those with antlers were the mightiest of all. Then came the single horned, and lastly those who held no horns at all.
My twin and I were being trained to take our parents places. My brother as the warlord and King, who was set to have a beautiful daughter of a warrior as his mate. I on the other hand, was to be mated to a diplomat's son. Iccarus would handle the wars and defense of our home, while I would handle the diplomatic side. Both of us would have the help of our chosen mates. We did not know, that our chosen mates along with the rest of our non-royal kingdom had other plans. It started among the single horns. Among the ones we trusted to keep us safe. They felt that those of us with antlers had ruled long enough. That it was time for new blood to take over and to change things up. The few uprisers were dealt with quickly, but that gained my parents more enemies.
My brother knew and saw the signs of what was happening. But he along with my parents sought to protect me at all costs. To keep me, innocent in the ways of battle and blood. They would not be allowed to do that for long. We awoke one morning to the cries of our teachers being murdered. My parents at our sides rousing my brother and I. We ran as a family, and we were almost out of the castle we had called home all our lives. That is, until we were ambushed. My father wheeled like the warlord he was to face them, urging my mother to run with us and get far away. That he would catch up. My mother touched his muzzle briefly before we ran.
He bought us time. We were almost to the edge of the forest. The forest marked the wilds. My mother was telling my brother and I about where she had grown up. Where her family had come from. This strange place called Helovia. That's when we were ambushed again. I don't know what hurt more... The fact that my brother's and my mate were with them eager for the bloodshed.... Or the fact they each were sporting my father's antlers as trophies... My mother stepped between us, her anger and grief fueling her I think. She told us to run, to never come back. That she too would catch up... I think my brother and I both knew the truth.
Together we ran. My brother using his training to keep us away from danger. We ran until we could run no more. For days, we wandered through the forest hoping that somehow our parents had made it. But as time went on we knew the truth. Iccarus wanted to go back, to go look for them. To hope that they still lived or that someone loyal would help us. I knew better. I held onto the hope of this new land, the place mother had called Helovia. We separated and went our own ways.
It was shortly after that, I found Daenerys and her mother. Her mother knew of my kind. Of what had happened to my family. She claimed it was because they were royals too. She asked me to look after her daughter. Nervously I accepted...
A gentle nudge brings me back out of my memory. Back to reality. I had gone home, and I had seen the destruction first hand. I hope my brother was not there, as I barely made it back out again myself. But I did know one thing for sure. My parents were dead, as their antlers hang above the thrones my supposed mate and my brother's supposed mate now hold along with an equine and a pegasus. I hope for their sake, they can live with what they have done. As for me... Well this is my fresh start, my story to write my way.
Typi non habent claritatem insitam; est usus legentis in iis qui facit eorum claritatem.
The gilded Thief wasn’t sure what brought her back to this area. The last time she was in the Flats, it wasn’t exactly a memory she wanted to remember. It was back when everything was happier for her, before Rein, before Calstron’s return, before – well, everything. Was it because she was hoping for some sort of sign to remind her that happiness did exist? It was a difficult task to achieve lately. At least the Thief had Remy. Marembo the marbled polecat, named for the dappled fur that lined his snake-like body. He was young still which meant that Rexanna had learned how to help the polecat eat so he could grow stronger – but it was still difficult to manage a new companion and a son that seemed to be angry at her all the time. Yet, something still managed to pull her in. She didn’t seem to be alone either. She noticed a few other creatures begin to funnel into the Flats, goading her more into the darkness that swarmed the land at this time of night. A soft sigh escaped through her nose as she glanced around, finding difficulty with trying to see in the faded light.
She wandered her way further in while Remy clutched onto her mane, wrapping himself around her for both comfort and to make sure he’d be there for whatever was about to happen. He could feel the pull too and seemed to subconsciously push the mare further in. She felt blinded by the darkness with each step, but she couldn’t back out now. She was too indulged in learning what this feeling was to leave now. She walked slowly, eyes blinking to see a few small shadows skipping around that caught her attention even more. She followed, unaware of what would occur next. Everything grew black and a sense of overwhelming pain tore through her.
It was dawn as the sun slowly approached over the treetops, spreading out like fingers in cracks of the shade the trees carried. Rexanna let out a gasp, a cold sweat beading down her gold and cream pelt – but there was blood that stained her hide. The pain was overwhelming as it ripped, pulled, and tugged at her. This level of pain was something she had never felt before. Minutes ago, the pain had been further apart, but now the pain was rippling within mere seconds. She knew she had to stay as quiet as she could to avoid being detected. She was too out in the open, probably surrounded by the beasts that sought to bring her head back to Calstron.
It wasn’t until Rexanna grit her teeth and forced herself to breathe that she looked down at what was occurring. She was giving birth, and she was terrified to her core. At first, all she could see were golden wings sprouting from the child and the blood that had enveloped both of them. Her instincts took over, but she could still feel the pain. She tried her best to keep her cries quiet until she had managed to get over the pain of everything. Then her new found motherly instincts took over, blue gaze sweeping over the child as he lay a lifeless heap on the grassy earth. Dew from the dawn mixed with the blood, smearing over the child’s golden hide. He looked so much like her and so much like his father, his wings striped and his face exotically detailed like her own. She began to notice (probably after too much time) that the child still hadn’t even moved.
She moved herself closer, worry creasing her brow and shock coursing through her veins as her cream muzzle pressed into the child in a poor attempt at lifting his beautiful golden striped wing – searching for any hope that the child was breathing. It was like the world had grown silent, the birds chirping in the early morning had stopped and begun watching. In the silence, Rexanna continued to prod at her child, lifting his head and doing her best to try to clean him and warm him – to no avail.
He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing.
Rexanna didn’t feel the tears that streamed down her cheeks at first, instead she was hell bent on trying to get the colt to breathe. It would end up being failed attempts, for the child wasn’t alive for the possibility of seeing life before death. It was a thought that the gilded mare couldn’t believe. She tried and tried, for what seemed like hours, without success. By this time, the sun was creeping closer to the center of the sky, the heat reaching down and warming the mare but still not enough to warm the cold that wormed its way into her heart.
She loomed over the child on shaky legs, her breathing still heavy as the tears continued to fall. At this point, she didn’t care if she were to be captured. She had hoped to escape with her son and start a new life. However, it seemed that destiny had decided to take everything away from her – her family, her home, her future. She couldn’t bear it anymore. She was sure whatever Calstron had waiting for her would be better than the experience of birthing this tragedy.
Still, she couldn’t just leave him there. She forced herself to dig for what seemed like days to give a proper burial to her firstborn. Grief struck the new mother with such a vengeance that part of her prayed to the gods that her pursuers would find her so she would have an excuse to stop staring at his lifeless body – a body that could have held so much promise for the both of them.
When the grave had been dug, Rexanna shed off a couple of her golden chains. She took time to delicately kiss the cold body of the colt – interlacing her chains within his wing next to his chest and proceeded to finish the burial. When all was said and done, she cast one tear ridden glance back at the grave, knowing deep down that she would never be anywhere close to whole again.
Remy tugged at her mane, unable to take the grief that struck the Thief. He squeaked to her in a broken sad song, trying his best to tear her out of it. When he finally had, she felt the cold sensation of tears down her face from both the memory and the realization that she didn’t even name her son.
My thoughts are the cold kind,
I've got storm clouds brewing behind my eyes
She swore to herself each time that this would be the last visit she ever made. Yet, like birds returning to the same nests year after year, like turtles searching their way back to the shore of their birth, so Erthë found herself back upon the shimmering sunset sands again. Though distances and perspectives were treacherous in this illusory landscape, she never found it difficult to find that spot. Her legs brought her to it on their own accord, willing enough though her heart remained reluctant, tender and sore still despite the passage of time, and though her eyes searched for traces of the one she had lost, nothing remained.
No bone, no feather or drifting strand of hair. It was as though the body of a black mare had been absorbed into the water and the sand, dissolved and consumed, swept away by ocean tides or perhaps turned to dust and swept off on a south-bound breeze. All that could be seen was a shimmer in the air, rippling not unlike heat-waves over sun-baked rocks.
Thoughtfully the slender yearling gazed at it as night slowly settled in around her, dark and soothing and bright as starlight reflected in the shallow water. Her stomach churned, a sensation not unlike nausea, and she recalled, reluctantly, that other time her body had felt as heavy and uneasy...
It had been hot, that day. The sun had glared down upon her back from a sky where no cloud was left to cast a shadow, and the heat from burning fires made it difficult to breathe. Smoke, black and choking drifted across the battlefield and caused her eyes to water, tears and billowing fumes obscuring her vision as Erthë followed the path of the dark mare across the sky, growing steadily larger as she approached. Blinking furiously to clear her vision she remembered the taste of relief upon recognizing her mother's sturdy silhouette, the mingled pride and fright as Shadow joined the attack upon the monstrous Beast-God. Erthë had been swept aside by a flick of its giant tail, scaled and shimmering like the inside of an oyster, and from the place where she had fallen she could only watch as the warriors around her rained destruction down upon the deity from another world.
She had believed that everything would be alright, that time. Though the battle raged around her, through her skin felt as though it would melt from her bones and despite the pounding throb of pain in her injured leg she had been alive, and her mother was alive and fighting, and how could they lose when two times before the forces of Helovia had emerged victorious, against all odds?
Erthë snorted, a bitter expression twisting her lips into a semblance of a smile. Oh, they had won alright. But the cost, oh, the cost...
She had still believed when the mother came to stand before her, head raised high in defiance of a GOD, poised between her daughter and approaching death. Erthë had smiled, but her welcoming words had turned into a scream as a sudden blow from the Crocodile sent her mother flying through the air.
The rest was a blur of tears and terror, numbness and grief and blood that slowly leaked from the chest of a dying mare. Erthë could recall whispered words of farewell, the quiet gathering of strangers around the fallen soldier, but most vividly of all she remembered her own helplessness. Unable to do anything but cry, powerless to save the person who had been closest to her heart, it was a hard lesson for one so young; that nothing should be taken for granted in this world. There was a price to pay for everything gained, and getting ahead meant that something had to be left behind.
Erthë sighed and shook her head to clear it. Tears had come unbid to her eyes and she wiped them from her cheeks, a swift and impatient gesture. She could dwell over the past forever without being able to change what had happened. Nothing short of a miracle would have been able to save her mother then, and it would take more than miracles for her to get back home from here. Spring had arrived, and there was much to be done; this would be her last long trip for some time to come, of that she was certain.
And my heart will be blacker than your eyes
when I'm through with you
Perhaps something relating to this item from my wishlist? Something that heals:
::[Custom Item: Vial of Purification | A crystal bottle with stopper that turns any liquid added into a healing potion, containing enough to completely heal 1 character. A chain has been fastened so it can be easily carried.]
Not sure what kind of history it would have, but I could see it as a manifestation of her regrets, and a hint that there is hope for the future. While unable to heal her mother, she still has people important to her in her life and instead of dwelling on the past she should focus on the present and the future.
~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~
05-03-2016, 11:30 AM (This post was last modified: 05-03-2016, 11:34 AM by Volterra.)
V O L T E R R A
IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
The shadows caress him like great blackened fingers, drawing the goliath deeper into their embrace. They touch, fondle, feel their way into his pores, into his mind, a mind that's suddenly drifting back, back, back...
The forest was afire that day.
It was a dark spring evening, one of those where the night seems almost like an insult after the long, languid warmth of the day. It was an evening like any other for the black colt who slipped slowly, carefully, through the trees. He was only a handful of months old, all gangly limbs and overgrown feet, assets he had not yet grown into (but he would, oh, he would!). His bright red eyes were alight with curiosity and not a hint of fear as they caught sight of the flame that tore the forest in two, and the greed that glowed in those young eyes was quite alarming to behold.
There was a roar, then; a savage howl, the scream of a dragon. The black boy's stride suddenly became hurried, shifting into a heavy gallop that ate up the hard ground beneath him. Faster and faster he went, until...
He burst out into a clearing, looking around with those earnest red eyes. A massive bronze dragon - larger than any he'd seen before, so big it could have carried him away like prey - was rising from the ground, his fury something to behold as he ripped the tops off trees and tore huge furrows into the earth with his talons and tail. He roared, and he rose, ascending from the chaos into the heavens.
Volterra stood in stunned silence for a moment. He had just seen a wild dragon in all its splendour, and it had been glorious! It was worthwhile noting that the boy adored dragons, worshipped them, and desired one of his own more than anything else. He envied those who had already bonded, and craved it for himself; part of the reason he was so muscular for his age was because he had trained tirelessly to try and make himself stronger and more appealing to a potential scaled suitor.
His gaze shifted down, down - and there on the ground lay a wild green dragon. She (for the colt's studies told him greens were always female) was smaller than the bronze, but still quite huge; he thought for a moment of his father's green, Cynder, but there was nothing tame about this particular drake. She was magnificent, and yet...she was broken. Her wings were coiled around her, and one was badly maimed, the bone showing clearly through the jade membrane. Blood oozed from between her scales, and she was breathing heavily. It did not take Volterra long to realise that she was the victim of a savage attack from the bronze - but why? He did not know, and he never would.
Dotted around the dying green was a rainbow of colours; shattered dragon eggs in every shade, and broken pieces of nest as well. The colt felt something odd in the depths of his chest. Was it pity? Sympathy? Whatever it was, he knew he could not let the green die alone. He moved to her, slow and cautious as though approaching a wild animal - which, he reasoned, he was. She lifted her head, glared at him, and tightened her wings around whatever she was holding beneath her body.
He should have left - he had no right to interfere in nature. Yet the thought of a predator killing this magnificent creature sickened him - she deserved to die with dignity.
So he stood by her, a black sentinel, and guarded her from the howls and screams of the night. As the light slowly died from her eyes, she shifted - and from the folds of her wings rolled a single red egg, intact. The oval moved inexorably towards him and stopped at his hooves, where it glimmered like a precious ruby. The green fixed him with one intelligent eye, under no illusions about the gift she had just given him - and then she died.
That was the day he learnt that maybe empathy wasn't just an emotion for the weak, that kindness could be shown without making one any less of a man. Perhaps doing something good could yield rewards, too, although unfortunately such emotions did not come naturally to the colt and never would. He was still bad at heart, yet the warmth he'd shown towards the dying green had given him what he'd craved his whole life.
The memory zoomed forward a couple of days, and the boy was back in the forest, his egg cracking and wobbling in front of him. A red muzzle burst out of the shell, followed by a pair of wet crimson wings, until finally the whole baby dragon tumbled unceremoniously onto the ground. He was powerfully-built, with thick limbs and a long, dexterous tail ending in a sharpened fork, and his eyes were a paler version of his scales - red. He was magnificent, and he was Volterra's.
The boy would never forget the moment he felt the tiny draconic consciousness in his mind. He would never forget how it felt to be whole, as though the red had been missing from him this whole time, like the piece of the puzzle you don't realise you've lost until you find it. In his boyish mind, he decided to give the strong creature a strong name - Vérzés, which meant 'bleeding' in the language taught to him by Mother. When his adult self looked back, he scorned this younger version for the name, but at the time he'd thought it the height of cool. He fed the hatchling meat that he had caught himself, and revelled in the emotions and feelings that rocketed through his mind.
Then, in the distant corners of the memory, she arrived in her raven form - young and nubile and beautiful with a question on her lips about the red's name, not knowing that she was about to weave herself into the threads of the little black boy's life. Kis hollo. Perhaps that was what made this memory stick so greatly in Volterra's mind, because it wasn't just the day he first shared his soul with another creature.
It was the day he shared his heart, too.
The blackened colossus shifts, and on his back Vérzés does, as well. Gone is that little hatchling - the red is a fully-grown adult dragon now, a killing machine, master of frost and claw and tooth. But Volterra still thinks often of that day, that beautiful, wonderful day, when the ruby dragonling deemed him worthy to bond to.
Vadir is nowhere to be seen - it is almost as if she knows this is a sacred moment between her red brother and their bonded, and even a queen like her knows when it is best not to intrude.
OOC: If chosen, Vol would love some armour that collapses into something small when not in use, and ideally something dragon-related to fit with his memory. An idea I had was maybe armour made from the bones of the wild green dragon that he sat with when she gave him Vérzés' egg? Other than that, I'd love the admins to decide something :D Sorry for the length! TL;DR Vol is remembering Vérzés' egg finding and hatching.
She knew better than to head down the rabbit hole. One step and she’d fallen in, the memories pulling her deeper and deeper. She’d had to climb out of all the things she had lost. They called to her, those lost things. Thoughts of her forest, of her title, her people and her kingdom, of her family, of her brother. Always, always her brother.
She’d taken to the sky to shake the memories. The warmer winds of Birdsong brought her back to her senses, helped her mind clear and her heart slow. Below, the dizzying Flats spread out before her. The sun slipped low in the sky, the colors of dying light a kaleidoscope across the still waters. She was about to veer to a new course when a reflection caught her eye. The sunlight danced off her ruby, scattering droplets of imaginary blood on the ground.
But in the shadows, the color disappeared. Swallowed whole like it never was. The shadows creep close to her feet as she lands, stealing the color and warmth from around her. Something in the distance splashes. She spins, searching, but the waters are placid. Only a patch of shadows, hovering just above the water, gives her any sign that something is amiss.
The shadows draw her closer, feet splashing through the water. Another step, and she's falling. Not a physical fall, of course, but her thoughts pulled through the shadows and down that rabbit hole.
"Lyanna, you aren’t trying," Corbin called, voice both playful and reprimanding. He had that skill, to make you like him even when he was yelling at you. Good quality for a future King.
Her brother sidestepped her kick with ease.
The sun was high and blinding, the heat miserable, and she wouldn’t be out here except today was the day he left. Not forever, just for his turn with the army, but it felt like forever. They were marching out to the border that afternoon. After that, perhaps into the neighboring kingdom, depending on how negotiations went. And Lyanna, having sat in far too many meetings on the subject, had a feeling they would not go well.
Which meant Corbin was leaving for war.
His buckskin coat darkened where sweat soaked his skin. Morham wasn’t well equipped with armor, but as Prince, he wore some; a silver breastplate and two curved plates covering the cannon bones on his front legs. His wings were much like hers, brown fading to white to teal. His eyes mirrored her own, though his look were fierce and stern where hers were kind and sad.
"My heart isn’t exactly in it," she mumbled, feet slamming down into the ground as she fell out of her rear. Yes, she can land softer. No, she doesn’t want to. Yes, she’s throwing a tantrum. She still has her parents, her sister, and her whole stupid court. But Corbin was the one that paid any mind to her. Corbin was the one that trained her, walked with her, laughed with her. She did not want to lose her brother.
"Again," he says. There’s no pity in his voice, no coddling. She sighs, throwing herself into a canter. She shifts her weight back into her hindquarters and lifts her front into a rear. Her black legs aim toward his neck. He ducks, but she’s angry now (They cannot take him. They cannot cannot cannot.), and her kick is quick and fierce. At the same time, a gust of winds blows from his right, forcing his head back into the line of her feet. Another gust towards his eyes force them closed, taking away his sight. He ducks again, but it’s too late. Her feet find their target, though not hard. Can’t send the Prince off to war already injured, after all.
She unfurls her wings, a breeze slowing her descent. When her feet touch the ground, she pulls her teal wings back to her side before looking at her brother. There’s a wild pride in his eyes, and it makes her beam. Because she is powerful, as he is powerful.
He grins, flames racing across the ground from his feet. The wind billows around them, a literal fan for the flames. "I should come with you," she says. They are not that much different in age. In a year, it will be her turn to go anyway. So why not now? They are stronger together than they are apart.
"Because that’s not how this works, Lyanna. And you are not Adelene, so please stop acting like her."
Lyanna let the wind die. The flames quiet, though his powers keep them burning in small, writhing snakes in the grass. After a moment, the fires fade, leaving only scorched earth in their wake. His look says more than his words, as it almost always does. Her place is here. The Prince of Almora is here, and of course, he is here for Lyanna. Perhaps, if all works out well, Lyanna can win her kingdom an ally in the impending war.
Lyanna may hate fighting, but she’d rather be a warrior than a pawn. But if being a pawn could help save her brother’s life...
A trumpet sounds in the distance. Both siblings instinctively turn their head in that direction. One trumpet means the army is leaving. Two means they are coming home. Three means all hell broke loose. But they both know there will be only one trumpet call this afternoon.
"Give them hell, little sis," he says, reaching out to tap her muzzle once with his. Every inch of her screams to wrap him in a hug, to kick and scream and cry and never let go. But she doesn't. It wouldn’t work. She’d only be ruining their last moment together. Instead, she taps him back. "You too, brother."
She comes back to Helovia with the image of him before her still, walking away. His ghost seems to disappear into the place where the shadows converge. Only now, the shadows feel right, the way the world should be without Corbin. She wonders if the shadows will swallow her the way they did the light. In truth, she almost welcomes the idea.
Almost. But first, she promised Corbin she’d give them hell.
watch how i soar.
Item: Surprise! Surprises are great.
Something more defensive or helpful, rather than offensive would be good. Would be really cool if it had something to do with the wind, since that was her power pre-Helovia. But really, all surprises are awesome.
Please tag in all posts Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death Image by Kiki
in dreams i hear your name
and in dreams we will meet again
It had been a long time since the star girl had found herself upon the Halcyon Flats. She had partaken in the riftian war here, and she had stayed away due to her distrust for all that had come upon the arrival of the new lands. She happened upon this place, and decided to at least try to patrol to learn about the unusual terrain.
As it had been the day it arrived, this new land seemed deceptive, with the traces of illusions forming ripples in the air upon the glassy sheen of the water. Mist rolled over the Flats, only the usual softness of white was marred thick black, as if the darkness of night had possessed it. Swirling and churning, it reached out to her, called her forward, and in her foolish she answered its beckoning. The shadows engulfed her, and the forms that appeared in the twisting shadow teased her eyes before disappearing again into the shapeless black. But one wave of shadow, as it flickered and ebbed, seemed to form a solid thing. Silver eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of the being, unsure if it was an illusion or if someone else had been as foolish as she to enter the unknown haze. The form grew darker, even against the deepens of the shadows, and a flicker of amber eyes shattered her resolve. A harsh gasp burst from her lips as her ears twisted back, and it was as though a dagger sank deep within the trembling muscle of her heart. "It can't be," she whispered, taking a step back as fear and grief and regret formed a nightmarish cocktail within her gut. "It just can't be."
The form, haunting and impossible, floated towards her. She tucked her chin in, ears pressed flat, eyes squeezed shut. "No, no, no," she chanted, head shaking ever so slightly. She couldn't bear to open her eyes and see that it was him, and a piece of her didn't wish to see that he didn't really exist. Not anymore. But as she felt the trace of a ghostly muzzle against her cheek, touching the single tear that had escaped her right eye, she nearly fell to pieces.
- - -
I can feel all of my muscles tremble as I retreat into the woods. Fresh bruises blossom within my muscles, the pain seeping into each fiber that holds me together. Every step hurts, every breath I gulp in hurts worse than the last. I run blindly, knowing that whatever I may run into or trip over cannot possibly harm me more than my father did. We sparred, he pushed me, and I lost. I am barely past knobby knees and awkward limbs, and I know he expects more of me. No matter how bad I hurt, I know that bruises fade the same as hurt pride does. But what won't fade is the horrific wound inflicted upon my face.
My father had lunged and I had been too slow, and the scream that had escaped me upon his blow infuriated him beyond how I was unable to avoid it. Despite the blood that poured down my face, staining my cobalt pelt like rust, vivid against the white of my hocks, he lunged at me again. His heavily muscled shoulder impacted my narrow frame, sending me tumbling into the dirt. My face, lacerated and open and raw, turned the dust to mud as my face hit the ground. I remember looking up to see massive hooves scraping the air before flying down, narrowly missing my skull. "Nothing," he spat at me, voice full of venom and disappointment, "Nothing is all you will ever be until you grow the fuck up and learn some resilience." I rolled onto my stomach, legs shaking too poorly to lift me up. He towered, golden eyes sharp, continuing his discipline. "Do you think your enemy will hold back as you bleed? Do you think he will give a single fuck that he hurt your precious little face? Get out of my sight until you learn some proper self control."
So here I was, in unsteady legs as I careened through the woods away from his wrath. Still my face bled, the injury worse than a simple scrape. Pain and defeat tore at my heart, and soon my vision was blurred by stinging tears.
Despite my escape, I still wasn't alone. I heard another creature matching my pace, hidden by the thick foliage of the summer trees. 'Stop,' the voice says. It is gruff, a voice freshly past puberty, and familiar.
"Go away!" I sob, forcing my strides longer, faster, but there is only so fast my broken body can carry me. The beast racing me comes into view as the trees break, and he overtakes my speed and curves, thundering before me, before coming to a sudden halt. I can't evade him, and I don't want to. So I skid to a halt, and we stand in silence for a moment as we catch our breath. My head drops, and I can't stop the tears that fall, but they are quieter now, no longer paired with my gasping sobs before I managed to contain myself.
'KiKi,' his voice whispers, but I cannot look at him. He is stronger than me, older by two seasons, and has been victorious against me our last few spars. He is Father's pride, and I know should Father know he was consoling me, it would end brutally. 'KiKi, look at me.' But I can't. I can't look up and see his amber eyes, a reflection of my father's, only illuminated by the warmest light of summer. I can't show him weakness. He has never see me broken, he has never seen me weep, he has never seen me collapse into a million pieces after having my face torn wide open. So instead I shake my head, chin tucked towards my chest, shaking it back and forth ever so slightly.
It isn't until I feel the soft touch of his nose against my unharmed cheek that I finally open my eyes. He towers over me since his most recent growth spurt, and despite the way he looms, he also protects. "He almost killed me. I just want to be strong like you. I just want to be what he wants me to be. And instead, instead I'll always have a mutilated face to show everyone who lays eyes upon me that I'm weak. And now you think I'm weak."
A chuckle escapes him, and though I can tell it's nearly forced, it causes me to lift my head further to see what he thinks is so damn funny. 'Ki'irha,' he begins, and I know whatever he is about to say is meaningful, because he never calls me by my full name, 'You have always been mother's little star, you have always been our little sister, and you are the daughter that Father never wanted, but despite that, he knows how much you are capable of. We all know how much you are capable. The only one who thinks you are unable to overcome and conquer is you. If he wanted you dead, he would have left you to fizzle out beneath the moon you were born beneath.' My nose crinkles as his cliched words, and he laughs again. I feel the warm, slick feeling of blood oozing from my face, and this time he presses his muzzle against the wound. When he pulls away, the deep black of his nose is stained red. 'Pull yourself together. You are mortal. You bleed. We all bleed. And though Father believes that he is invincible, he bleeds as well. You need to find your strength wherever you can, because you will never be as strong as us. But we are buried beneath bulky muscle, fueled by anger and testosterone. You are quick, and you are smart. You can hide a dagger behind your back and no one would suspect it, and you're coy enough to see that your opponent is trying to hide something as well. I know you, KiKi, I've fought you, and I know it is easy to assume you can be trampled and knocked into the dirt based on your size alone. But you are so much more than you will allow yourself to be, and the longer you define yourself by the way others carve into you instead of learning how to avoid being taken advantage of in the first place, you will be weak. Just don't ever let them see you cry, and don't ever let them know you feel. You need to be deceptive and cunning and show strength where your size and appearance betray you.'
I know he is right, but it doesn't make me feel any better. It doesn't change the fact I am small and fragile like a sparrow, and it does not mend the gaping laceration across my face, and does not make it any easier to understand why my father's hooves nearly crushed my skull because I will never be anything. Still, I force a shaky smile to my lips, and give an uneasy nod. I am unable to fool my brother, but he placates me anyways. 'I know you don't understand, and I'm sure you won't until you've grown into the warrior you can be. Besides, the sooner you shape up and start kicking ass, the sooner we can turn tail and we can all get out of here and escape this training camp. We won't leave you behind, little sister, we're just waiting for you.'
This time my smile is genuine, and I lean into his neck, burying my face into his mane. "I worry for the day we are no longer a family," I say, words muffled against the arch of his neck. "I don't know where I'd be without you."
'Probably somewhere with your horn stuck in a tree, with the way you were running around so blindly!' He laughs, the noise hearty and genuine, and he pulls away from my touch. 'And we will always be family, KiKi, and we will always be together. There is no reason to worry about something so ridiculous. Now come, let's get you to Mother. I'm sure she'll know how to fix up that awful cut.' He turns away and I follow, knowing that we will never be apart, and someday I hope to become what he sees in me. I know someday, despite all else, I will make him proud.
- - -
The general refused to open her eyes, because even though she knew what she saw before her, and even though she felt the ghostly trace of a cheek against hers, she knew it was no more than an illusion, an awful and evil trick caused by the magic that still remained here. She had tried so hard to become the person her beloved brother had encouraged her to be, but he wasn't here. He wouldn't ever be here again. He was what helped her overcome the years of abuse and harsh training, and he couldn't even see where she had ended up.
But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she would open her eyes and he would be there, real and concrete, apologizing that it had taken him so long to arrive. Lids loosen and lift, and she looks around. Already the shadow was beginning to dissipate.
And she was terribly and unsurprisingly alone.
OOC:: Admin surprise! I have no ideas, and you are all so creative I would be honored so see what you could come up with for Ki'irha. Something offensive would be nice, but something useful or defensive would also be appreciated. Pretty much anything useful in battle/fighting related would be good for her. She loves everything white and sparkly and magical, so I'm sure she wouldn't be disappointed with anything!
Also, sorry this is so long, the post got away from me!
Colored by Kels ♡ Lines by Bronzehalo
Please Tag Me ○ Permission for magic and injury is granted. Just no death or permanent harm.
Oh, the Queen of peace
Always does her best to please
Is it any use? Somebody's gotta lose
The Halcyon Flats lay out like a mirage and, just over the other side of it, were the Isles that she had been brought to- saved by, before all hell broke loose. It was a harsh memory, another one; Dacianna was becoming quite the collector of bitter past lives for her tender age of four. How did one become so unlucky? She never settled anymore, instead wandering here and there about the new land she had been brought to, always thinking about what ifs and what could have been. The roan drifted across the mirror like land aimlessly until night fell and she was no longer lonely. Her eyes traced the dark places, the lurking horrors that she couldn’t quite spot, but they were there, watching. She tried her best to follow, determination fuelling her onwards to figure out what exactly it was until she found a patch of water that seemed to ooze with energy. Something was there, someone was there, watching her with wise old eyes and a familiar smile creasing her lips.
"Ma" Dacianna choked as the memory surfaced more and she remembered.
Before the Rift. Even before her botched escape there was a memory still so vivid.
It was raining, not hard, but raining all the same as it always did in Borghul. The ground was a mud bath and horses plodded through it glumly, some pulled carts full of trinkets to be given as offerings to the castle, whilst others struggled up the mountain to look for gold and other precious materials. If you were small enough in stature and were not a female, then you were sent down the mine. Dacianna had heard stories that some went down and never came out, others went mad and were chained to posts. Her own father had gone down once and never came back, but she had been young and her memory of him wasn’t great.
The roan never went that far up the mountain, however, she was a mare and her duties lay below. Or… She wasn’t meant to anyway.
The day was one of those days, she had just turned two and was furious. A colt named Dorian had stolen one of her trinkets; a gift left from her missing father, and he had run off with it. She had, with a lot determination, gone after him wailing every curse she knew and chasing him across the lower regions until they came to the mountain border. Her hooves had slid in the ground and she had stopped outside it whilst he, the little scavenger, waltzed over to the other side with a look of pure triumph. “You’re so dense Daci, a girl like you doesn’t deserve trophies like these” he had teased ruthlessly, swinging the gold bracelet around in his mouth whilst Dacianna stewed with rage.
It was stupid, a childish spat, she should have left him and got him back later.
Instead, overflowing with fury, she had marched over the border and snatched it from his mouth. “You’re disgusting” she had spat right before he shouted as loud as he could “GIRLS AREN'T ALLOWED HERE!” and just like that Dacianna found a pair of dark beady eyes on her. The old bay warden who always lingered near the boundary caught the roan filly, her bracelet still hanging from her mouth, on the wrong side of the line. Dorian knew he had been there, the snitch.
“Mihai! Matei!” the elderly bay called.
She was carted off by two strong looking, slightly overweight, stallions who looked rather pissed off to be escorting a tiny filly who screamed her innocence all the way to the official in charge that day. Dorian, on the other hand, had appeared rather pleased with himself. Dacianna had sworn she would murder him.
However, when she reached the official post she had also found her mother there, lines of worry creasing her strawberry face.
“Dacianna did you cross the border today?” the official began.
The Official, snooty bastard, was having none of it, but her mother had stepped in that day and it was her mother who took the blame. She was moved inside the castle gates that stood watch over Borghul, but not one soul dragged in there had ever come out. Before she had left, the gentle strawberry roan had given away her red sash to her distraught daughter and placed it around her blue neck. "Leave here, there's nothing for you" she had pleaded as she had been dragged away.
In a moment rage she had lost her mother leaving her inconsolable and terribly lonely, but the seeds of escape were planted firmly. Going into that castle was suicide, but leaving Borghul wasn't.
The memory lingered on her mothers tear stained face that had wrinkled a sad smile before leaving. It still made her angry, angry at herself and at the devils of Borghul, the male overlording that had destroyed her family. Dacianna suddenly felt conscious of the red sash that hugged her neck and she reached back to touch it as her lids fell over desolate golden eyes. It was stupid, so stupid, a childish fight that had ended in her own mothers incarceration.
Escaping wasn't easy, the Rift had been hell and she'd been thrown into a battle to be free of it. Dacianna didn't even know how to go back, but she wasn't going to try.
I would say nothing too warrior-ish (swords, armour etc...), something red maybe (since red is freedom/defiance), as gold has more negative connotation with her (unless you wanna draw on that :3 which is fine!). Perhaps something for deception, like a cloak that makes her look like someone/something else orrrrrr a trinket that distorts her appearance. Idk if it could be something to do with being a Philospher/wise one either, God related etc... Hope that helps for some ideas ^^
Don't let the curtain catch you, cause you've been here before,
The chair is an island darling, you can't touch the floor
05-04-2016, 11:50 PM (This post was last modified: 05-04-2016, 11:54 PM by Persephone.
Edit Reason: Added OOC note about being released by Archi.
this old world has brought me pain but there's hope for me again
The sunset mare returns to the familiarity of the Halcyon Flats, remembering her arrival to the land of Helovia through the Rift. She remembers how afraid she had been to leave the salty waters and barren landscape. At least here, she could see when a stranger approached - everywhere else she had visited, however briefly, had left her feeling jumpy and claustrophobic. There is something mildly comforting about the sand and the water, something that calms her rapidly beating heart. It has been days since she has been truly calm - since before the great Archibald found and claimed herinvited her to the Hidden Falls. The name of the stallion's home had offered some small comfort, for she remembered vaguely that it was where the kindly Agnodice had hailed from. In any case, she is looking forward to having a place to call home. Even if one of its leaders terrifies her.
So caught up in her past and in her future is she that she fails to realize that shadows linger where they ought not exist. It is not until she wanders into a faint darkness and begins to fall into the grasp of her deepest memories that a panic seizes her, but by then, it is far too late.
"My darling," her father's voice breaks the silence that reigned over the sunset girl's solar. "You look so sad, my sweet."
Her gaze falls upon her father, tall and strong; a smile bubbles to her lips. "I'm sorry, Father," she says sheepishly. "It's just... Mother." She doesn't have to say more: her father smiles, understanding in the deep lines of his face. He knows that the sunset girl's mother is difficult to deal with, at best; Persephone is forever a disappointment to her, for one reason or another. Her father, though, is always there to comfort the girl when Mother is on a rampage. She loves him dearly for it.
"Ah, my dear," he says with a sad sigh, "your mother loves you very much. She wants the best for you, even if she doesn't always show it the way you'd prefer."
The girl nods, looking away. Her father's words are wise, but she cannot help but doubt them in her all-knowing youth. To her, it seems that Mother wants to mold her into something that she can never be. Despite her best efforts, she cannot seem to please the older mare.
"But I have an idea, my darling," Father proclaims suddenly, a mischievous smile appearing on his face. Persephone looks to him hopefully, wanting desperately for him to accompany her to the market or to the forest, anywhere to get away from the court for a while. "I've a project that I've been working on, and I think you might be able to help me with it." It is not the escape that she had wished for, but she grasps it desperately nonetheless.
"Of course, Father," she agrees automatically.
They descend into the stallion's workshop: it is a dark, dank place more akin to a dungeon than the laboratory it is meant to be. Torches flicker angrily on the walls, casting long shadows that make the sunset girl's heart flutter with nerves. She notices that a hallway diverts from the main room. It is lined with bars, and she wonders with the first hints of fear what her father keeps caged. He would never harm me, she tells herself, though a small voice in the back of her mind flares in warning all the same.
When they halt in the middle of the room, her father tells her to wait and disappears down the hall of bars. A strange, red marking is drawn on the floor before her, thought she can't quite make out what it means. The fear is stronger now, making the girl nauseous. Still she does not believe that her father means her harm.
A shuffling sound emerges from the hall. Soon, a sickly colt stands before her, watching her with dull eyes. His ribs and spine stand out starkly against his malnourished skin, and he is covered in mud and feces. Her nose wrinkles in spite of herself at the smell, and her eyes widen in disgust and fear. Horror immobilizes her.
"F-father --" she manages to squeak, but the stallion is already moving.
He rises on strong hind legs, lashes out with one precise strike at the boy's poll, and then the colt is crumpled on the floor and she is screaming, tears streaming down her cheeks as she backs away from the man she had loved so dearly. Now all she can see is a monster, and she wonders how she has never seen it before. She wants to run, but her father has moved to block the door; no doubt he would catch her if she tried to flee, anyway. Her screams die down to gasping whimpers, and she cowers in a corner as her father walks nonchalantly toward her.
There is the smallest stain of blood on his hoof, a splatter so insignificant that it is a wonder that the strike that caused it was a killing one.
"Raise him," her father commanded, any affection for his daughter replaced by greed. The sunset girls stares at him, uncomprehending. "Raise him," he says again, his voice harder now, demanding and threatening.
"B-but -- but Father, I --"
And so the first of her father's army was born.
Persephone gasps, stumbling backwards, almost falling over herself in her haste to get away. Distress is written on her pretty face; tears fall in heaving sobs. Trembling overtakes her body. It had been so real, real in a way that she never allowed her memories of home, her memories of him, to be; she is terrified, horrified, full of shame once more for the sins she committed at her father's command. She remembers building an army of undead for him, for the king and queen, remembers running away when the weight of it all became too much to handle.
She remembers promising never to do it again.
She no longer has the magic, but the promise remains.
Surprise me, please! Persephone likes pretty things, but I like there to be something spiffy about items that isn't just like, "Oh look, a shiny!" I have no ideas or expectations for this if I was to win, so pretty much anything that isn't like an offensive weapon-y type thing would be great. :D This is awesome!
Also, Time gave me permission to enter her since Archi is going to be releasing her next post! :)
pixel by Kiara <3
Please tag Persephone in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Persephone always goes by the alias "Cora."
Want to plot with Persephone? Visit her plot page here!
Iona needed some time away. Everything back in the Edge seemed to be going well, but she just felt off. Maybe after talking with Alysanne she’d feel more like herself, but busying herself in herd tasks just didn’t seem like enough to clear her mind lately. So again she found herself wandering on the wind. She found herself drawn to the other edge of Helovia – back to the salt flats where the land seemed to fade into the sky. The sun had already dipped low toward the horizon as Iona walked along the strange flatlands. It was only when the world grew dark that Iona felt unsettled, and then her eyes cross the shadows and the darkness finds it way to the very depths of her…
The beast stood there with bloodstained lips, moaning in ecstasy as her own sister’s flesh slid down the monster’s throat. Horror wasn’t the right word for what Iona felt. Shock. Panic. Fear. Rage. The demon sneered as Alysanne’s sobs echoed off the ragged stone walls of the dingy cave. The entire place smelled of mildew and blood, and the floor of the cave was already saturated with water and blood.
It was both agony and fury that drove her to act, leading Iona to throw herself at the demon with little regard for her own wellbeing. She just knew she had to put distance between the monster and her sister. Her heart raced in her chest as her eyes flashed, betraying both her fury and her fear to the demon. But there was no time for thinking, for any sort of rationality. She had to protect her sister. “STOP IT!” she shouted, “YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER AGAIN!” She stood before the demon, wings outstretched as if to shield her sister, stance squared and eyes burning.
She didn’t hear Alysanne’s protests. She wouldn’t have listened anyway. There was nothing that could have made her leave. Not once she saw Alysanne cowering in pain.
But then the demon simply smiled, and Iona’s blood ran cold in her veins. “There’s nothing you can do to protect her,” he murmured. He called upon his magic, creating two perfect duplicates of himself and set them upon her. Each one grabbed ahold of her still-outstretched wings, shattering the joints beneath stained teeth. The true demon set upon her neck, tearing flesh from her neck before showing her his prize and adding her own flesh to his feast. She struggled to find her voice as her knees buckled beneath her, but she had a bargain for this monster. “Let her go. You can have me if you let her go. I’ll do whatever you want, as long as she’s allowed to leave,” she managed to rasp, but again the demon only sheered. He will not give up his new toys
And his torture had only begun.
Again, he used his demonic magic. Illusions, the worst possible imaginable, flickered through her mind unrelenting. There was only so much torment the mind was capable of handling and the images seemed to sear themselves upon her very soul. There was no fighting back against this – she had no way to protect her mind against this onslaught. Never had she felt so helpless. He stole her sight, then her sense of touch, then smell – tearing senses away one by one leaving her alone with the images that were slowly tearing her apart. At least then she forgot the pain…
Iona was only stirred back to consciousness when the ground shook beneath her and Alysanne managed to find a way out of the labyrinth of caves and together the sisters escaped the demon, though they were battered and more dead than alive. But life returned, eventually. Wings and wounds healed in time. Though some things never healed, not really…
The memory had caused a sweat to break out on the painted mare’s sides. She shifted her wings that still bore the scars from the encounter and pulled them closer to her body in an effort to physically hold herself together. She and Aly had been so young when they had ventured into Nocturne, only three years old and hardly more mature than children. But the encounter had changed Iona. Hardened her in many ways but strengthened her in so many more. More importantly she lived to see the carefree smile grace her sister’s face again. However, to this day Iona still felt vulnerable in the presence of magic. She feared another would be able to violate her mind as the demon – Abaddon – had done so easily.
She huffed out a sigh and shook her head, trying to clear the memory that still seemed lodged in the forefront of her mind. Why this? Why now?
"The question isn't who's going to let me;
it's who's going to stop me."
05-05-2016, 03:34 PM (This post was last modified: 05-06-2016, 03:08 AM by Hildegunn.)
Hildegunn knew nothing of the Rift. She was blissfully unaware that her precious deities held no jurisdiction over the lands she now fed upon, strolled across; three different gods and one goddess had been hard at work in fact here, mending and restoring their glorious creation, so that she could dwell in relative safety and peace (at least from the likes of parallel worlds and the evils therein). The small horse was entirely oblivious as she strayed from the company of her friends, in pursuit of those marvellous, scarce spring-grass sprouts lurking just beyond view of the naked eye. She was a professional forager however, with a powerful drive for self preservation - and that meant filling and fattening, whenever the chance was given. Her firm belief was that idleness could mean the difference between life and death, surviving or starving, even if the lush country she had stumbled upon threatened not in the same cruel way as Skjoervø.
As the sky began to bronze and the sun sank low against the breast of a dimming, distant blur of horizon, the wandering Fjord found herself in a place that was not patterned with rows of bamboo. She had unknowingly from the grip of the green labyrinth and descended into yet another, a watery-wonderland apparently on the brink of the ocean. Wherever her warm eyes dawdled, the copper brilliance of sunset overwhelmed - earth and heavens alike, and soon she grew quite disorientated. For a long while she dabbled through the shallows, until at last the weight of oncoming night began to saturate the last burning plight of the sun.
Shadows crept from beneath rock like wicked fingers through the half-light, eerie and strange, and the waters pooling around her fetlocks grew unsettlingly murky; impossible for her searching gaze to penetrate. Hildegunn was undeterred, not nervous - not yet. Water was both loved and respected by the foreign girl, and her mind rested comfortably, soothed by thought of her beloved, benevolent goddess, Rán. “Du er med meg, kjære gudinne,” she murmured, ever faithful, always trusting; but her prayer was in vain.
Soon a queer feeling began to stir in her stomach - something quite different to hunger, and she squirmed as she stood, fog thinning before her minds eye to reveal a memory which had long been buried, forgotten, but that had shaped her very being… It had been a long winter (each year was the same), months and months of snow, howling winds and thinning belts. The girl was young still, barely standing taller than the elbow of her mother, and though her coat had already grown thick and warm, the cold sank quickly beneath. Her joints ached and she was painfully thin - a child born into the midst of Skaði's wrath, but the horses of Skjoervø were fierce survivors, and Hildegunn was no exception. She knew nothing of sun-warm days, lazy afternoons or even the incessant hum drone of bothering blowflies; mild weather, cleansing rain, lush loam upon which to romp - they were all indulgent fantasies, stories told by the tribe’s ancients, seldom seen by those dwelling upon the island.
Nourished by her mother’s unusually potent milk, the foal grew slowly but steadily, learning even from the earliest of her days that food was a blessing not to be taken for granted. She often strayed from her mother’s weary, old flank to follow her brother Olav, older and brilliantly resourceful, and from him learned of the many different food sources when all seemed lost to the winter. Some browse, which to the untrained and desperate eye, looked deceptively luscious, but could kill in only a matter of seconds. They were lessons well taught, vital knowledge and experience to see her through the toughest days. It was well that their bond grew strong, for only months later, old Danhilda succumbed to the curse of the cold, and her young foal was left in turn, to fend for herself.
Snow sauntered endlessly down from a grim, still sky that night. The goddesses were not content.
The small Hildegunn woke suddenly, shivering violently, for the heat of her mother was lost. Her softly velvet nose moved to stir the old mare from her slumber, but as lips touched the pale, wooly coat slouched by her side, she knew well that something was horribly wrong. “Mor?” her puny voice bleated, helpless, fogging breath pooling wretchedly against the chillingly lifeless body. There was movement nearby, and the foal’s face lifted swiftly to meet the appearance of the doting adolescent, her brother, who's duty that night had been to patrol the eastern coastline of the island (ravenous wolverines, bears and dogs stalked through midnight hours). “Mor er kaldt, Olav…” she told him quickly, forcing part-frozen limbs to stiffen beneath her infant weight. Olav stepped nearer to brush delicately away the snow which layered thickly across the peaceful face below, though already he knew the fate of their cherished dam - she had been unwell, and Skaði had been particularly merciless through recent suns.
“Kom søster, må vi reise nordover med våre slektninger. Hunters vil smake våre tap - de vil komme raskt,” he told her, strained but smooth - his loss too was great Hildegunn knew (theirs was the tightest of families, as was the bond of the tribe). Fighting an onslaught of molten tears, the foal staggered nearer to the warmth of her brother; they would bring word together to their father, a humble stallion who (with other male olders) worked tirelessly against the perils of their wild homeland. Before they left however, the siblings hummed together a tuneful ballad for her memory (it was tradition, love), and only when the scent of danger grew too heavy around them, did they begin north.
She barely remembered her mother, though fond enough was the flimsy image so held. Hildegunn closed her eyes tightly against the stirring, sad vision, confused that a memory so old should suddenly surface in such detailed fashion, and when she opened them once more, through her washed a terrible wave of lonelines. How awfully her hearted ached to see her family again - but she was sure of their fate now, it had been cold for too long (she understood not the nature of varying hemispheres, nor that she had in fact crossed between them along the way). Few had been fortunate enough to wash ashore with her, not yielding to those arctic waters of Nordmandsvik, and though the little horse had waited many days for his arrival, Olav had never come through.
Hildegunn is NOT wanting an item. Her entry is for character development only.
HARDSHIP OFTEN PREPARES AN ORDINARY PERSON FOR AN EXTRAORDINARY DESTINY
After gaining not only entry to my Father's home, but also my own hellhound pup to care for.... I probably did the most illogical thing I could of done. I left the Falls. I didn't leave permanently. Just long enough to get my head cleared. Which is oddly difficult when there is a hungry pup letting her emotions flow wildly through a brand new bond. Was this how my father felt when he and Alanna bonded? Was all bonding this, odd? I feel a hunger for meat that I have never felt before. The feeling making me feel ill. I can also feel my little yet unnamed bonded trying to hide this feeling from me. I look to where she is curled up at the base of my mane as I stop moving. She needs a name. She desperately needs a name.
The more I stood there just watching her watching me, the more I tried to figure out to call her. Until finally, don't ask where the name came from I whispered softly for her ears only. "Arwen." She lifted her head from where it had been resting on paws and tilted her head almost as if to say, about time. I snort softly and go back to walking. I walk, and walk and walk some more. Never really knew just how big Helovia really is. You would think I would, being born an outcast and all. As we arrive in a very flat but beautiful place, I decide it's a good place to stop for a bit before making the return trip home. It's the gathering of others that catch my attention.
The looks on everyone's face, as if they were expecting something to happen. It got me to thinking. The last time anyone had just stared at me like that had been the first, well the only time my parents really had been in the same place at the same time. The day of my birth.
I don't know if Alanna was keeping tabs on Mother, or if Father was just keeping himself close by in case of danger. But either way, they both had been there and that was what counted. The first real memory I have of Mother is her voice and her touch. "Come on, child." I was blissfully unaware about anything my Mother was feeling towards me in that moment. Because at first, she was my world. It was as her muzzle ran along my back that she whispered my name. "Brendan." Her voice paused. "Come now, stand."
Eager to do as she had wanted, I tried to stand. I don't remember it taking me long to do so. As I believe by the time Father arrived I was already standing. They had talked back and forth for a short while, before Mother and I began to move on and Father left to return to his home. It's only then that I knew we did not all live together....
Even now, I wish we all could be one big happy family. But I know that is not meant to be for us. Mother had left me, and Father was staying busy among the herd. I am sure he will be glad to know I have officially come to call the Falls home now. I can only hope I will see him again soon.
Well, him story sucked. Ah well.
Liquid time to after he's joined the Falls and his hellhound pup hatches(which is in my next two posts in the Falls)
Surprise me. Brendan kind of has a noble knight theme, so anything offensive or defensive that goes well with that would be amazing
All of a sudden the shadows seemed to disappear. Like children caught stealing, they trembled and ran, dispersing like fuzzy spots on your vision to the far reaches of this mirror-like maze. Some are left in confusion, and some are disturbed by the entire incident. Is this really a revival of the darkness of the Rift? Were they all truly eradicated, or did that sickly shadow linger, defying the power of the gods with its wretched infection?
A hint of things to come, perhaps.
There were two, however, who experienced differently. Instead of having their past memories run away, they stayed and lingered. The sadness and anguish was palpable and it lead them in separate directions, away from each other and subtly. Perhaps a few noticed the two mares wander off deeper into the waters, but they eventually faded from view. The magic of the flats warped around them, isolating from further intrusion.
There was no help. And no escape.
Since I wanted to focus on the stories of the winners and not the rounds, I went ahead and rolled straight for winners! Lyanna and Calypso, I will be making separate threads for each of you in this board. You both will still have to reply within 72 hours to win the prize!