Site Wide Plot MAGNUM OPUS | Grand Opening SWP


Random Event


Against a high spring breeze flittered the most peculiar creature. It was a pygmy dragon of Flilligrim’s Bank, and he was clutching a tightly bound scroll between long over grown claws.  Besides the jangling of his coin pouch and the whistle of his flailing, exhausted wingbeats, there was not  single sound aside from the sigh of the ferns and wind in the hollows— only the hurried postal dragon disturbed the peace and quiet of what was a beautiful Grimnodesian midday.
Upon the wings of this unlikely fellow our tale begins. 

It was the first day of Lumenor and King Hessander’s name day. Paragons from near and far came from their homes to pay their illustrious highness well wishes for the spring and the King always came from his citadel to receive them, so it was in the Hierarch Square of Morthalion city that the great king stood above the crowd to give his name day speech. "My dear Grimnodesians, another peaceful year has passed since my last name day…"

The speech had begun — one that sounded almost exactly the same as the one last year — and though the crowd was somehow enthralled in each word laced with counterfeit enthusiasm, there were still some who were not listening at all.

Over the rooftops of Morthalion the peculiar dragon flapped and flittered, gasps escaping in loud hoots from his minuscule mouth when finally he fell with an almighty SPLAT beside the fountain of Hierarch Square. The creature had travelled hundreds of miles but had only just managed to miss his intended recipient by a few feet.

"Blimey—" muttered one of several onlookers.
King Hessander even stopped mid-speech, his golden feathers trembling in the light breeze as he looked for the source of the disruption. 

"Is it dead!?" a colt crooned from the fountain’s side, drifting from his mother to thrust a velveteen nose downward over the huffing dragon. "Oh, he’s alright…" the boy murmured disappointedly.


It was a guard who barged right through the crowd and stomped all four feet around the panting dragon. "Wot’s goin’ on ‘ere?" the warrior boomed downward at the tiny beast while King Hessander, quite annoyed, continued his speech.

Snorting and sniffing, the warrior drew a tiny paper object from under the crumpled creature. It was the tightly bound note, waxed and sealed, addressed to the King. But by now even the King had stopped his speech, and like the rest of the crowd was intently staring at the guard with insatiable curiosity. 

"A note, Sire."

It took only moments for the King to surge forward, reach through the power of telekinesis and snatch the scroll from the behemoth warrior’s clutches. And, when the note reached the midst of it’s intended bearer, it began to uncurl..

While the crowd watched with concern the King stood frozen with horror. Several awkward moments — the kind that felt like hours — passed before the Kings stunned grimace was awoken by the presence of an altogether different monarch.

"Ahem!" she had bellowed, demanding her presence be known. For it was Queen Maeve of Aeramore, and as the overseer of the world beneath the waves she too had heard the dreadful news. Flanked by a team of armor-clad guards and a party of silk-laden hippocampus, they were a sight that many surfacers had never beheld. Each in the Morthalion crowd gaped and gawked at the beautiful creatures from the deep; the kind who they knew existed but only saw once in a blue moon.

"King Hessander," the pale lady began, "I take it you have heard." It was less of a question and more of an observation as her dainty horse-form of only fourteen and some inches strode up to meet the King on his pedestal. 

By now the King’s bad day has just become irrevocably worse, for all knew that the King’s hate for Queen Maeve was as perpetual and aeonian as the rivers that ran and the sun that shone. The paragons each watched with near disbelief at the display that had begun to unfold before them — it was quite a lot more than they had bargained for when they stepped out of their homes that morning, but grand entertainment nonetheless. The King, however, was quite unamused. 

He strode forth, passing the Queen and headed straight for the bridge to the citadel only stopping under the mighty drawbridge to peer down upon the paragons who had followed with haste and confusion.

"Stormcall has fallen!" He boomed to the gentlefolk, "Warden Uther is dead!"

The paper scroll was thrown to the Paragon’s feet, crumpled and spent upon the cobblestones.

"I will NOT abide this chaos any longer, Halla hear this!" was his pledge, eyes of brimstone and fire cast first the the heavens where Halla dwelled and then over the horrified faces of the paragons. "We WILL rebuild the herds. We will restore ORDER."

And with that the King turned and was raced toward his citadel, the drawbridge crashing down upon the stone.

Welcome to the Opening Chapter of Totem!

The last Warden of the last remaining herd has been felled by the dreaded Snatchers — dark creatures who bring ruin whether they touch. King Hessander has demanded the herds rebuilt. As paragons under the rule of King Hessander, this is now your task. The four herds are leaderless, and order has been called across the lands. 

Current Objective: Forge the new herds of Nordlys; Icarus, Mokosh, Sunken, and Eventide. For those who deem themselves worthy, the king is searching for four Wardens that can quell the chaos that has begun to threaten the balance of their world.

For all Nordlys inhabitants, the king encourages exploration and discovery! Go forth to all corners of the world and see what is has to offer. Until September 30th, paragons can receive 20ʜs for posting in a new land, and 100ʜs for completed threads! You must use the |SWP| title tag in your threads to claim. The three top posters of the Magnum Opus Event will receive additional ʜs prizes!

Prizes will be tallied and distributed at the end of the event. 

Halla's blessing upon you all.


(This post was last modified: 09-01-2018, 03:54 AM by Liza.)

 6  8  8.5  67 


Warrior of Icarus

ven among the wealth and class of Morthalion Balathet would walk unafraid, for the desert dust could still shake from her hide here and thus she remained unfazed. There were more snakes in Morthalion than in the entire realm of Dirtharest — this she knew, but the kind that slithered in city sewers were the most clever.

Equipped with a frown to compliment her unforgiving visage Balathet's tale began as she stalked through the alleyways of Bedlam. The chatter of the crowd gathered for King Hessander's name day had drifted over each crooked rooftop and had met her ears as far as the city's bridge. With each step the drumming of a crowd drew louder and louder until she was upon it, standing beside a shopfront and peering over he heads of at least a hundred other Paragons.

All she wanted was a spear.
She had come to Morthalion to source a spear tip for her recently fractured polearm, but Belkor's shop (and every other establishment upon the square) was blocked by the crowd. No doubt it was also closed by now.
"Faex!" the warrior spat under her breath, nose curling and hoof stomping in an almighty (and slightly petulant) grunt of disappointment.
A commotion had halted the King's speech and driven it elsewhere, but balathet cared not a single ounce for the affairs of the King, least of all his pathetic name day.

By the time the crowd had chased after the King, Balathet found herself standing in a reasonably packed but far less condensed crowd. She looked to her left, then to her right, wondering what on earth she was to do now.
Whispers had begun though; whispers of wardens and fallen herds. This wasn't news to Balathet though — the Icarus had been long gone.
Would someone resurrect it?

(faex is a 'nordlysian' naughty word)





The crowd had simply... drawn him in. Being ever the curious sort, of course he had made his way in to it, large ears swiveling and his head bobbing around. Glowing eyes blink curiously, his attention wavering from face to face, and he hadn't seen so many faces in the past year, it's almost overwhelming. It's like his heart is ready to burst with an excitement, something humming under his skin, betraying his young age, and he smiles slightly, but the somber mood immediately wipes it from his features.

The crowds were all muttering; he had missed whatever it was that had caused such a commotion, but now there were whispers everywhere about missing.. Wardens? Whatever those were. Wardens and herds falling apart. Long ears draw back and Helios finds himself shifting on his hooves slightly, tucking all four wings against himself in a way to make himself seem smaller, which is a lucky feat. Being of small stature is something he's been blessed with all his life, and he's managed to get a hold of his wings over his short life so far in a way to make himself a little less conspicuous.

All the same, there's a flighty nervousness that runs through his veins now, and he ducks his head, wild mane tangling in around his features as he attempts to walk with several horses, as if to meld in with them and disappear. Never mind attempting to fly away like any normal sort of Pegasus would.

TAGGING ANY || wewt first post oh boy

 5.5  9.5  8  68 


Warden of the Isles

She had entered the city just moments before the King's speech began. Tenderfooted in regards to city life, unaccustomed to the thicket of bodies, the sensation of becoming one solid entity with them. Her side brushed those around her as she struggled to pass through the tight corners, curious of what the fuss was about - or if this was simply how life was in Morthalion. It had been so long since she had been here, her young mind unable to comprehend all the grand splendor. Even the backway alleys were a delight of architecture to the mare, and where she could peer over the withers of the other horses around her, she caught fleeting sights of the many shops she had always heard of.

Only the booming voice of King Hessander broke her stupor. Stormcall? Warden Uther? Neither were familiar to her ears. She recalled tales of the Wardens from her adolescence, but she had often strayed so far from their jurisdictions that names were hardly memorable, let alone their title.

Even so, his words began to fall on deaf ears as her eyes lifted to regard the King. The King. No, it was more than that - a Hyndergriff. Aylin had never seen one before, and her fascination was purely scientific, her mind drawing together storybooks and tall tales. Twenty-five hands? Ha! More like thirty. His antlers? Hardly the fashioned bone of any cervine, no, they had been encrusted with gold. Her eyes glittered as she regarded the King, and as he bolted with a crowd on his heels, she blinked in surprise, glancing around her hurriedly. The crowd had thinned out reasonably, but through it she still heard the whispers, the clarifications. The rebuilding of the herds.

Although she had not been acquainted wholly with the Wardens, she knew very well about the herds - she simply hadn't been conscious of their mounting endangerment. It rang of what she had longed for, however. Her parents were not present in the mass, that much she knew, but that did not mean adventure wasn't a few steps away, and she could only surmise that Halla's influence had brought her to Morthalion at this very moment. Clenching her jaw in a moment of steely determination, not knowing where she might go or what she might do, her resolve became simple: she would learn more about these herds, these Wardens, and she would spread what word she could. Though her heart lay with her life as a Wanderer, she was adamant to help the equines that peopled these herds in their search for new beginnings - new leaders.

Turning on her heel, she pushed back the way she came, her hooves clattering against the ground as she ran. Where to? She would figure that out along the way - if only the crowd would move!

Tagged: Any!| Words: 463
(This post was last modified: 09-02-2018, 05:17 PM by Aylin.)



Anonymity is difficult to achieve when you stand several hands above the average horse, and there is no such thing as subtle when you are a solid wall of muscle with a mean look to boot. Gil'ead did not complain though, not as the crowds parted subconsciously before him, a sea of equines with no desire to get in his way. Golden oculars perceived unflinchingly the gathering and celebrations, a faint look of disgust ghosting the stony features. Foreign streets were bustling with busy bodies and noise, voices an inharmonious forte of music to which their hooves sung. Resigning himself to the fate of forever being surrounded by crowds- at least whilst he explored this city, Gil’ead pursed his lips, drawing in air loudly through his nares and continued to push forward, rough and menacing in the hope that the horses would keep out of his way. Equines of all kinds haunted the streets- pegasi, unicorns, bright and colourful or dark and natural. It was only his height that set him apart, that and his more rugged appearance which spoke of war and pain rather than riches or city life as many here seemed to suggest. Gil’ead was far more at home in wastelands and battlefields than cities and towns. Nevertheless he allowed himself to be drawn ever further into city centre, the river of bodies thrusting him on. Finally he came to a large square where what was evidently a royal stood among his guards and noblemen. An unusual creature; winged haloed its back and a beak crowned his face, antlers rising proudly from its head. The Bane had never come across something like that before. The nearby crowd fizzled into silence as he spoke, a deep voice that echoed and danced through the buildings and streets. Pushing forward to stand near the front Gil’ead listened with a mixture of curiosity and boredom both at the same time. Until the flapping of wings could be heard on the air and voices began to dissect that of the king.

The commotion reached its pinnacle when a form fell unceremoniously from the sky, all scales and claws as it met the ground too soon. From his position near the front and with his elevated height Gil’ead witnessed the guard thrusting his way roughly through the crowds, a great steed whose height rivalled that of the purple stallion. Golden oculars narrowed. With bated breath and the electric tingle of excitement the crowd anticipated, waited, ears pricked. Though this realm was entirely unfamiliar to Gil’ead it was not difficult to understand what a dead warden meant- realms were without a leader. As expected animated chattered ensued, some departing as the false hope that they should take up the role of warden burnt bright within their bosoms. Gil’ead had little interest in joining them, this land was likely poisoned too with magic and he would not partake in somewhere like that. However with little else to do but explore the skull-crowned stallion decided to enjoy the show, the vying of those who thought themselves worthy. For it would be a spectacle indeed.

feel free to interact with Gil'ead if you want! He's mean but i would love it xD

 5.5  9  8  68 


Warden of the Isles


The rusty red stallion is positioned within the crowd as one; he doesn't mind the lack of space or moving room. In fact, he embraces it having grown with most of the faces of the city, familiar in a pleasant way, enough to not feel overwhelmed or a stranger amongst the bustle and excitement washed over most of the gathering. A look that can only be described as being at home settles over his features as King Hessander speaks, his undivided attention focused on their King and only able to pick up the disrupting sounds of vigorously beating wings once it nears the end of its journey and an unceremonious flop with the creature's fall. At first, he thinks nothing of it as a guard appears to be taking care of the scene and the Hyndergriff King speaks further, until finally there's no mistaking the disruption and attention the entrance of the small creature had garnered.

Brows knit together, offering the colt that had made a brief appearance a lingering look that cannot be pinpointed, before his ears prick to each sides of him with the murmurs and whispers that begin to grow. His eyes follow, drawing concern and false conclusion - and once more his attention is captured by a presence he hadn't known well, as he's certain not too many do: Queen Maeve. Ears pin back with the vague way she spoke about this news, but the way in which her voice carried told him it wasn't good in the very least - not that he had believed it had been after the stunned silence that followed the discovery of the sealed note.

An uncomfortable shudder twitches his withers as, not a moment to lose, Morthalion's King is rising to the bridge and the scroll is cast out to the crowd of paragons. He can feel the hair over his back stand on end with what he can make out, and King Hessander's voice only further solidifying and turning the writing more real and tangible than he might ever be able to take it from just the paper. By the time he's being guided back to his castle, Campion's chest is filled with passion and a furiously beating heart that is formed out in a defiant call above the crowd, or perhaps trapped within it; "Death to the Snatchers! Avenge the Wardens!" It's not something he can truly tell carries on the wind, but he doesn't seem to mind either way before he's forcing his way against the crowd and to his home with a goal clearly in mind.

Word Count

!! this table contains a hidden scrollbox !!

 5  8  6.5  64 


h, well then. That seemed to be the statement of the day. The winged kirin had only intended to pay a passing glance at this monarch, and as always, in a way fate and fortune could only be held accountable for, Isorath was once again made aware of the powers that be. The shadows in the corner and the main players of the grand game. Hidden beneath his heavy cloak, it's embroidered hood pulled to obscure his ethereal features, he watched and witnessed.

The irony was, that for all the spluttering of this King Hessander and borderline flat observations of the small but no less opulent Queen Maeve, if the gasps and mutters of the crowd could put a name to the dainty face, Isorath felt keenly for the small gasping Pygmy Dragon most of all. Pity for how such a magnificent creature could be rended so unlike it's behemoth brethren, and how it had suffered to deliver a message, and recieved nothing for it. The hole where his own bonded should of been, noble and proud Gilgamesh and the ever haughty and ornery Valefor, ached.

Life outside of Vectaeryn was cruel indeed.

But he supposed that was the accomplishment of the past, desensitizing him to the plight of nobility and country. Still, it would be something to tell his beloved and his honored sister, once he was safely tucked back inside one of the inn's they had been occupying since their arrival. Their chosen land of deliverance was on the cusp of something, and what would they do, if they chose to do anything at all? He shifted with the thought and turned, beginning to wind his way through the gathered back toward his temporary shelter.

NOTES: feel free to stop him and interact!




it all meant very little to her. death and destruction was part of life itself. the news that some new evil had taken root in the land? also lost upon the consequences of ignoring such things. Huntington moved among the crowd, a silent whisper in the outcries, her dark coat akin to an assassin's blade striking out. crying out. yet she did not. amongst the rabble of the city, she was just gladdened to have made her way here. with no map - twas her first purchase to be - she had been woefully unprepared. as it was, she would have to navigate by word of mouth alone. when that failed, she would obtain a job within the city structure in order to keep a residence. however temporary that may be, she did not know. her mind sought a more complete time, one of helping a drunken fool up the steps of an inn only to pass out as soon as he hit the bed. her own empty pockets as she paid for his alcohol, leading up to such situations. and though nothing untoward happened that early morning, it remained a bittersweet memory of times past. it had been an interesting life thus far. yet she had fled that life in favor of another chance. something she was beginning to regret.

Caeleste had held nothing for her aside from a fleeting spark. she was loathed to admit she wanted a traveling partner once more. the only one she ever had and she spurned him. did not ask him to come with her. she only left in the middle of the night. the choices before her now were also one of fleet mind. she was not the type to approach unless she saw an opportunity. yet having plans to petition the king of this land later... well, let's just say she had to become a bit more social. so now she stood amongst the crowd as they filtered out. with the king departed there was little entertainment left. such a dramatic display, she thought idly, yet one of opportunity. one she had not gotten in the previous realm. they had been too battle hungry. too physical for her tastes. the woman could achieve something here; building from the ground up her ambitions. for now, she was content to sit by the fountain and watch others go by. she did not stop anyone. did not speak to anyone. she could easily be passed by in favor of others. more colorful and flashy. she was merely one step in a long line of citizens mingling here.

so for now she waited. would wait for any to approach her. would prepare herself mentally until that time came. she was ever adaptable, if anything.

ooc; tag me if you interact ;D
tagging; no one yet

 4  11.5  5  64 


Warden of Eventide

some women fear the fire
some women simply become it

Although new to Morthalion, Indya was still able to recognize the turmoil in the air. Whispers floated through the streets, horses of all shapes and sizes clustered with their heads pressed together. Daunted by the ferocity of the news that was bouncing from horse to horse, Indya remained alert, looking for what could be the cause. It was then she heard it, the booming voice of King Hessendar, high upon the bridge of the citadel...

He reminded Indya of her father, so tall and stately with no nonsense demeanor. Really she could not make any judgement, for she had never met the Kind, only heard of him. Behind his majesty, lay the fell beast, crumpled on the ground in a small heap. Dead or alive, the shaken mare was not sure, though she did feel pity for the poor creature. In fact, Indya was quite uncertain about everything that was happening, curious though, Indya squeezed further into the pressing crowd, but unable to make headway. On the outskirts, the air vibrated with a nervous hum, and the buzz of chatter almost masked the words of the king. From what she could hear, he spoke of order and the rebuilding of herds, most of which Indya could barely comprehend. Someone was dead and a herd had been disbanded. She wondered then, who would take the fallen leaders place? Instantly she was blown back, her mind reeling. She was back in her home, her parents palace learning about the role of a leader, the responsibility, the fear of failure, rewards of smiling faces of subjects. Then the fire, the passion, the fear of not failure, but loss.  

Indya wrenched herself back. Never would she go back to playing puppeteer to anyone. She would never be a leader to anyone but herself. It was an unrealistic ideality, but it would be one she would stick by. Disgusted with herself, she turned away, pushing past the legion of equids that were pouring out from every corner to hear the King's word. 

Almost panicked, Indya wove from street to street, looking for anything to get her away from the memories him. He had passed and now it was her time to grow on her own. Slowly she stopped her frantic clambering and leaned heavily against a weatherworn wall. Something creaked above her head, swinging gently in the wind. A sign for an inn. It was the relief she needed from the hustle and bustle of the streets she currently resided on. She retreated into the inn, only to promptly thump into a cloaked figure. Immediately, Indya scrambled backwards and hesitantly looked up to the large stallion looming above her. 

@Isorath @Mana  ,, hopefully this is alright!
(This post was last modified: 09-04-2018, 09:40 AM by Liza.)

 4  12.5  5  65 


she was half human..
half universe.

She could not remember when she had last stepped within the boundaries of a kingdom she did not know; let alone one where she was foreign, and not it's guardian protector. The city was swarmed with breathing bodies and stories under hooded eyes, yet their gazes were alight upon their king, and paid her no head. No matter — for she passed within the lengthening of the shadows that grew; nothing more than a wraith that skimmed the outer rims of those whom had gathered.

Now, the stormsinger comes to pause at the edge, orbs flaring like twin blue flames as she marks the details of the King's face. Nostalgia pulls at the fragments of her memory. A different place, a different age. When once, she had danced in the fires of Reichenbach's ascension, and bowed her crown to a man inlaid with stars and smoke. Funny, how fate unraveled in wicked ways. She could only chuckle — a raspy, musical sound — at the irony of it all.

Her laughter is cut short by the haste of a scroll thrown across the masses.

Stormcall has fallen!

The waves of her storm crash against the walls of her rib cage, tightening the breath in her lungs. Copper lips crease into a thin line as her face is drawn. "What? Dead?" Aislinn finds that she has pushed forward, the crowds parting to make way for her as she emerges from the edge of shadow's reach. She searches the crowd, noting each strange, unknown face and feature. A culprit, a soul who knew the meaning of this.. this chaos.

Her gaze lands upon the silk porcelain and gold she knows all too well. His position marked, before she watches as the king vanishes in a swirl of rich velvets and vows made on the capital's stones. The crash of the drawbridge is deafening amidst the hush of the crowd.

She intakes a breath, before the loyal people explode with their whispers and rumors.

Peace then, it would seem, was still a desire held just out of her reach.

@Isorath mentioned darling ♡
Feel free to interact & talk to her as you please! She loves meeting new people!

space // art


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)