"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
Two dragons perched in a tree, watching the stallion below. The behemoth stood like a statue, the finest marble cut from the earth. His muscles bulged beneath his inky pelt, tugging his frame with power and grace. His face as cold, but a rage boiled deep within his oddly colored eyes. The hues of the earth and the water, the mixture of his parentage, glared out into the open space void of the life he sought. The delicate, deer-woman that he desire to devour beneath his hulking frame. The to-be thief was nowhere to be seen, but he knew she was close. Her scent was everywhere, choking him with her floral accents. The leviathan wanted to growl, to display his displeasure in archaic, demonic sounds that would find perfect pitch with his warring demeanor. The mare would know his wrath.
"Show yourself, woman!" He finally roared, stirring his dragons to life. The blackened stallion took no step forward, no step back, but merely stayed as a pillar of power and dominance in the brilliant light of the meadow. His tail did not flick back and forth as it would normally do so in his indignance. His fire was too hot, too large, to be displayed as anything other than the stench of anger and toxins that wafted from his masculine body. Above his head, gold and white circled. Majestic scales danced with the bright sunlight, reflecting their status as fucking queens--and fucking queens of destruction they were. Gwyneverre, the white, had already proved her prowess in bringing the hammer of Abraham's heart, and now today was Brienne's testing day. The golden serpent was old enough now that ice pooled from her jaws and rendered her prey lifeless, yet frozen in time. She was the yin to the yang Gwyneverre was.
Mismatched eyes scanned the horizon, waiting for the roaned woman he had met when they were mere children. Surely she would come--otherwise be written a coward.
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
09-10-2015, 04:16 PM (This post was last modified: 09-10-2015, 04:29 PM by Lothíriel.)
Clouds choke the sky today, the threat of rain casting an ominous shadow over the thistle-dotted meadow, quiescent and verdant. It has rained recently, for Lothíriel's legs and belly are dark with droplets which had been lingering on grass. Absently, she lips the slender wet blades, more out of habit than real hunger, dew rolling off her whiskers. What is she waiting for? Even the roan girl herself is unsure; she has spent all morning in stasis, letting the cold spring sun soak her bones before the clouds rolled in. Now that they've arrived, she stands in their shadow, the brisk air chilling her summer skin. Thingol circles above, his pale feathers drawing lazy shapes; he'd almost be invisible with that overcast backdrop if it wasn't for the ruby points of his eyes. The queen of flowers watches him for a few moments, transfixed by the steadiness of his flight. Wind rustles his feathers and disturbs her flower-studded mane—it ushers the coming of rain.
Someone calls her.
Lothíriel turns towards the brusque voice, ears flicking backwards in dismay. Although the voice itself is unfamiliar, she can hazily recognize its timbres from a distant childhood memory. She laughs unexpectedly, both amused and apprehensive by the animosity in his tone. Not long ago the phantom had made an attempt on a feather of his—a beautiful feather, so unfitting for such a cumbersome beast. It would look so much nicer on me, the girl thinks dismayedly as she turns in the direction of the dying echoes of his call. It has obviously angered him, a notion which thrills the young mare; she likes the idea of flirting with danger—it dissolves the monotony of her newfound routine. Cleft hooves make little sound through the high grass as she approaches him from behind, careful to stay behind the tree he stands before. For a moment, she pauses beside the tree on the side directly opposite to the dark stallion, giving herself time to study the situation and its various details. He (she cannot recall his name—did she ever know it?) is a bona fide behemoth, tall and black and roiling with anger. Two dragonesses, one pale and small, and one immense and gold, perch on a branch above him. Assuming they belong to him, Lothíriel's eyes narrow—only those with equine blood can bond to dragons, so he is impure, an abomination. What a shame, for he is a fine specimen, broad and muscled, endowed with two twisting horns.
She decides to make herself known; the nymph snakes around the tree's trunk and into his view, a spuriously demure smile pressed on velvet lips. Waiting until he notices her, the girl pauses a short distance away from the brute, swaying lightly on her cloven feet. Lilac eyes regard the sister dragons with the smallest flash of unease before settling on him, brilliant and critical. "You called?", she says, mockingly coy, the tip of her tail twitching with impudence.
lust for comfort suffocates the soul / this relentless restlessness liberates me
Gwyneverre hissed above Abraham, still circling above him with her sister. Like two raptors waiting for death they rose and fell with warm currents of air beneath their wings. Look, the white snarled over their bond, sending an image of the delicate roan with her dragon eyes. Abraham scoffed and turned, facing the thief as she strode towards him. Her pretentious greeting rolled off his hulking frame like water from a duck's back, and he took his own step towards her. Mismatched eyes narrowed dangerously, and the titan's thick neck arched some. He watched the way she moved, the curvature of her body alluring and taunting. In a mixture of macabre and smut in his mind, the leviathan wished to bend and break her for her crimes.
"You who call yourself the reaper's daughter stand before me but a failure." From the sky, his two dragonesses dropped. Gwyneverre took her proper spot on his poll, balancing carefully and lifting herself with his horns. Brienne, the largest of the dragons, perched herself on Abraham's withers and peered around his thick neck to look upon the wench. Death, the dragons growled together, gold and white tails lashing behind them in their rage. Similar feelings bubbled within Abraham's chest, and the heat rose in his muscles. "So tell me, woman, what you intended to take." Abraham had many items--amulets galore, some filled with magic from the Moon and another of an unknown origin and a feather that currently tied on Brienne's tail--and each of them on their own was desirable. So what did this little bitch want from him?
The behemoth's voice is dark and rumbling, the sky mimicking above them. In the distance, thunder rolled and lightning cracked. A storm was approaching, a storm intended to flood these lands with Birdsong rain and new life. As the interrogation continued, the clouds darkened and moved faster overhead. The spring day was turning into something sinister, something foul, and the leviathan reveled in the presence of the coming storm's power. He had seen the way lightning could strike mountains and take a chunk of the eternal structure, with little hindrancence to the strike itself. We are lightning. Brienne mused, jaws parting some to release a low, warning snarl.
Photo and Table by Time
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
09-19-2015, 11:30 AM (This post was last modified: 09-19-2015, 11:32 AM by Lothíriel.)
Peculiar heterochromic eyes scrutinize the pale-maned lady wickedly, something she is entirely unused to. Raised as the intangible daughter of death's king, Lothíriel has never been privy to such disrespect, such wicked intentions; a gaze that cuts through whimsical lies and veiled grace to expose selfish desires. While she cannot predict what ends the leviathan has in store for her, the roan maiden knows it can only be vile, deplorable. The behemoth takes a step towards her, the ground almost buckling beneath his massive steps, but she remains in her place, prideful and accosting. His wicked tongue corrupts her father's title in a manner which causes her tail to lash with irritation, though her countenance remains impassive. The Reaper's daughter will not waver—she has the blood of gods and kings and saints after all, but her heart cannot help from throbbing uncontrollably when the two dragons land on their master. They might be a sign of damned blood, but she can recognize the danger they pose to her; it is common knowledge that dragons' fire is the hottest known, so she must behave with this brute lest her flowers be tarnished by the reptilian queens.
He demands to know what she sought to take from him, and lilac eyes drift towards the feather tethered in the golden dragon's tail. After a moment of jealous contemplation, her gaze returns to the sable colossus. "Your feather," Lothíriel declares, nodding towards it. How lovely it would look on the queen of flowers, resting peacefully on a bed of moonspun hair and glistening blossoms, but instead it belongs to a brute and his ravenous lizards.
Thunder crackles ominously overhead, and the first pinpricks of rain stain her sterling coat with little dark drops; it reminds Lothíriel of her mother, with all her rain and virtues. Did Huyana's graces trickle down the family line? No, the roan girl thinks; she is her father's daughter, callous and cold. The golden dragon growls, the malicious sound like the threat of lightning. She studies the hybrid defiantly, chin thrust upwards. "What do you want of me?" Will he maim her for the crime she committed against him?
lust for comfort suffocates the soul / this relentless restlessness liberates me
The Rain pattered against slick black hair and hardened scales. Mismatched eyes watched how the girl's tail twitched and he could not help but compare her to a mountain lion he saw hunting in the Frozen Arch some time ago. It's tail twitched and lashed back and forth when it's prey was elusive and got away from her grasp. A small smirk lit his otherwise grimacing features, and he took another step towards the blue filly.
"The feather is not meant for you." The statement was simple but firm, for it was true. The flower producing feather was not meant for her, nor was it meant for him. His intention was, and always had been, to save it for another filly. His sister, Macaria, so young and so innocent, was the only one truly worthy of the feather's beauty. Anyone who would want to steal it from another was too corrupt to keep it close forever. This was the reason Abraham himself could not keep it--though he held no desire to, either--nor could this failed thief before him. His smirk faded away, and his slick tail slapped heavily against his hocks.
The golden dragon lifted from his back and glided low to the ground and to the left. The white followed, but opposite the golden. As the golden moved, she let the feather brush the ground and create a ring of flowers around Abraham and the roan (he still did not know her name, dammit). Even in the rain the brilliant colors of the blooming flowers showed deliberate beauty created by the Earth God himself. Each flower was blessed with the breath of the Earth God. As Gwyneverre circled around the pair, she hissed darkly.
"For your crime, I will mark you. Let it be a perpetual reminder of your failure." He decided, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. Surely the lithe, smaller girl was quicker on her cloven hooves than he, but Abraham was prepared for that. There would be little place for the woman to run. As the mountain that was the leviathan lurched forward, neck arched and chin tucked, his dragons let loose their own assault. Fire and ice burst from the left and right hinds of the girl, attempting to push her forward into the hellion's charge. The massive black stallion aimed his twin horns down, then he sharply lifted his head when he thought he was in range. His violent intent was to slice into the muscle of her left shoulder and leave his mark in a thick, puckered scar that would forever hinder the bitch's beauty with macabre and horror.
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Rain slips from the beast's various angles and curves, the snakelike rivulets slithering over the dark marble slab of his muscles. He takes a step towards the queen of flowers with menacing reassurance; tendon and sinew pull taut with tension along the sterling surface of her hide, adhering her together when she'd rather run away. He speaks, but Lothíriel does not register his words—all she can hear is the rhythmic thrum of raindrops and her own heart picking out a grim cadence within her breast. In a fluid movement, the dragonesses leap simultaneously from their perch on the leviathan, moving on either side of the pair. Swooping low, the golden one lets the precious feather drag on the grass, a ring of flowers springing around them, augmenting those already budding by Lothíriel's feet. With a pang of both jealousy and resentment, she knows now that this encounter will not end peacefully; his next words confirm her suspicion.
Fear is something she has never felt with any certainty, but without a doubt, she knows it now.
The hellion lurch forwards, his horn aiming to bite into her shoulder. From either side, the dragons unleash a torrent of both fire and ice. It occurs to the roan girl that with danger at every angle, her only apparent option is to fall upon the sword of his horn—if this is what he wants her to do, then she must do the opposite. Gracelessly, she reels to the right, hooves desperately seeking purchase on the slick grass. The brute's horn manages to trace a thin red line on the skin of her shoulder, but she does not dare slow down. Passing beneath the golden queen, she feels the numbing sensation of the icy assault on her haunches, as well as the more distant heat of sizzling dragon-flame on her left side. Bloodied and half-frozen, the lilac maiden manages to lurch past the murderous trio and into the merciless downpour. When she reaches a safe distance, Lothíriel halts her escape and turns to face them, quivering from frostbite and trepidation. With a shaky sigh, she begins to hum, and then sing, every word assuming a dreamlike quality. You are going to stop, is what each lilting stanza seems to suggest; I am innocent.
lust for comfort suffocates the soul / this relentless restlessness liberates me
Loth used this magic: [ Magic: Light | Ability to lull others into a trance with song that encourages them to believe what she says ], but it's up to you if it even works/the extent of it. :)
With their assault launched toward the woman, the dragonesses darted into the air. Reaching an altitude to watch their bonded defeat the queen of flowers, the dragons glided on the warm air they could find. The rain splattered against their hides, making their scales glimmer like jewels.
Abraham's horn ran along the roan's shoulder and a wave of pleasure shifted down his spine. While the cut was not as deep as he had intended or desired, the way the woman clammered away from him with widened eyes gave him the understanding that his message had been sent. The lithe woman darted into the open meadow and Abraham turned slowly, watching her frostbitten ass bounce among the thistles. The monochrome stallion snorted, tossing his head and lifting his body into a rear. Solid hooves struck the cool air, rain drenching his massive body. His hide clung tight to his rippling muscles, and with a crack of lightning behind him he was illuminated like a demon.
Landing back to his four hooves, the stallion snorted again. He stalked forward, dark ears pinned into his mane and teeth gnashing in the rain. "Do not run from me, coward." The words left his lips sharply, soaked in venom. As he approached her, she began to sing. A laugh bubbled in the leviathan's throat, but his mind dulled. For a moment, the stallion stopped. The rain pattered against his back, and his mismatched eyes seemed to glaze over. The woman's magic was gripping his mind, but two draconian queens were waging war against it.
SLAY HER, ABRAHAM! screamed the white.
DEVOUR! hissed the gold.
We are done here. The hybrid commanded, blinking his eyes. He looked on the woman, battered and bloody, and snorted. In the war between her sorcery and his companions, Abraham had lost all sense of why she had been attacked. His companions landed heavily on his broad back, and the leviathan turned to leave the presence of the blue filly.
"Should we meet again." Abraham called into the rain, no real statement on his tongue, but an obscure promise could be interpreted should the woman wonder.
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down