"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.
11-02-2015, 01:26 AM (This post was last modified: 11-02-2015, 01:27 AM by Libertad.)
He is truly the epitome of stealth. Not even mother caught him wandering away from her side. Libertad is independent and he is strong. He'll be strong like his mother and d'Arcy. A trail of blood follows behind him as he wanders from the grips of the Edge. On little knobby legs he finds quite a fascinating creature, it ribbits at him. The fae pokes it with his nose and watches it leap away. A loud squeal of laughter escapes from his lips as he prods the creature and it fleas from him. Libertad leaps at it and brings his little hoof upon it's leg. The creature ribbits and thrashes against his grip but he only grinds it into the ground further. Of course he understands he's inflicting pain upon the little creature, but he doesn't question the morality it. He grabs onto the frog's good leg and throws it up into the air, watching it flail. Libertad laughs again, which turns into a cough. The cough has been present since his birth and he is used to the illness. He will not let it hold him back, no, he will be strong.
Libertad grabs the dead creature and throws it back into the air. He watches it flop and hit the ground. After a couple more tosses the game grows far less interesting and one ear pins against his skull. "N'fun," he mumbles. "N'fun at all." So, he leaves the lifeless amphibian behind. Roses bloom behind him and splatter hues of red across the ground as the shift from blossoms to blood.
It is harder for me to leave, now, with father watching so closely. I think it is because he cares more that he is watching me. Dog is gone, and now he must care for me.
Dog is gone. Manhattan, she's gone. Her death crystallized my life. I understand that my breathing means something, and that her stillness does, too. These are the ways we walk through the world: fleeting in each other's hearts and trailing absolute sorrow.
I am not sure if it is better or worse to know all that I do, I only know that with death I have come to a new consciousness. I have lost speech and gained the power of deep and introspective thought. I love everything in an odd, reverse object permanence.
Learning that things were still there even when I could not see them was a big step. Learning that things can turn to dust when I am watching, that was everything. I have to understand that my whole world can change when someone else stops breathing. I have to understand that the same could be true for someone else, of my own life.
Thus, I must love all things while they are alive and I can see them breathing with dark health. Thus, I must love quietly; I cannot let the dying understand that they are hurting me with their parting, I cannot add to the eternal pain of the end. That would be a larger cruelty than I could take responsibility for.
It is easier, this way. I was thinking that as I slipped from home and made a slow, unaccompanied, and picking journey to the secret grove. I watched a colt just younger than me kill without proper understanding and understood: I knew something, and though it didn't make me better it made me more of a suffering soul.
I followed the trail, my eyes downcast as I watched beauty turn to blood. The scent of it was more familiar than it should have been--the sight of the roses, too rare. When I drew myself up and closer to the colt (a unicorn not much smaller than I) I had nothing to say. I kept my distance, didn't dare to touch such a violent soul lest he injure my already aching form.
I looked into his blue eyes, much brighter than my those of my crying father, with the gold of my own and felt pity for the creature he had killed.
Does he know? Does he know that she watches from behind the tree? She had paused her slow walk when she had witnessed a glimmer of red, then a crack, flimsy bone snapping like a toothpick. She whips her head around, confusion crossing her features, mouth falling open in concern. She instinctually thinks of her flowers, the magic pouring through her and causing a few buds to spring to life in her onyx locks.
But it's too late.
A giggle, a squish, a cough, and it's over. She had arrived far too late to stop the colt and save the amphibian. She would be no heroine today, only another attendee to the frog's immoral end. Agnodice's features fell, morphing from concern to anguish. She had become a doctor to never again feel this unadulterated uselessness, but here it was, spreading like wildfire in the depths of her heart.
She wanted to scream 'HOW DARE YOU?!' [how dare you make me feel this way? or how dare you be this heartless?] at the top of her lungs, but what good would that do? She could not make one incapable of understanding their actions understand through anger.
Agnodice swallowed a lump in her throat, stepping forward from the shadows to walk to the frog's lifeless carcass. She passed another colt, one who was silent, but seemed as disappointed as she was. She began to dig a small hole by the frog, pawing at the soft, brown earth till it was a decent sized grace for the frog. She used a hoof to nudge the creature into it's grave, proceeding to put back the dirt over it's body.
She hadn't noticed it at first, but a single flower had bloomed in her mane while the other buds had diminished to dust in the wind. Once she saw it, she reached around and plucked it from her mane, placing it on the frog's grave. A pastel pink chrysanthemum. She supposed it was fitting, but she was still a bit displeased with her work. The burial was not the one practiced in her home land, but it was used widely around her home. It was how her mother had been request to be buried, as well as her father. Though their funerals were far more extravagant, with the proper prothesis, formal mourning, ekphora, and perideipnon being performed. This would just have to do.
11-03-2015, 01:18 AM (This post was last modified: 11-03-2015, 01:35 AM by Libertad.)
There is one and then there are two. Two strangers that watch with sad eyes as the little creature is crushed beneath his game. It doesn't even occur to him what he has done is wrong, that it is twisted. Libertad stares at them in confusion, a colt only slightly older than himself standing silently. Then the mare comes forward and buries the frog. He tilts his head, turning his body towards them. The fae's tiny leonine tail flicks about as he just watches. There is curiosity on his face as the mare buries the frog and then puts a small flower over it. Curiously Libertad moves towards it, roses blooming and bursting as he moves. This flower isn't like his own.. It doesn't fade or disappear.. It simply stays there covering the corpse of his plaything. He looks up at the mare and stares at the mare.
"Why?" Libertad asks. "Why d'this?" He leans down and sniffs the flower before looking up at the mare. "Why tha'there?" He gestures to the flower. "Why d'it stay?" The boy demonstrates his own magic, traipsing about in a circle. Roses bloom and burst, soon a circle of red forms. Blood pools together in a sickening puddle. How unnerving his flowers might be don't occur to him, because they simply a part of him.. They have been there since birth just like his cough. A small cough seizes him and he turns away from the two equines. Libertad still eyes the flower curiously, and he is overwhelmed with the desire to possess it, take it for himself. What a waste for it to be adorning the gravesite of some thing when it could be his. He will treasure it or perhaps give it to d'Arcy. Surely d'Arcy would like it, because it is from him. Libertad is her wombmate, her brother, her twin, no one can surpass him in her eyes. d'Arcy will love any gift he brings he decides. "... d'Arcy will like this.." He mumbles. "She'll like this.. Make d'Arcy smile." He reaches forward towards the flower and scoops it up into his jaws carefully. "For d'Arcy.. d'Arcy w'like pretty. Yessum like the pretty."
The fact he is grave robbing isn't even a thought. The fact he seems completely heartless isn't even an occurence. Libertad just wants to show his sister something pretty, show her that he loves her, that she should love him. He will bring her pretty things, he will make her happy. No one is as good to her as him. They shared the womb together, surely that means something to her. Maybe along the way he can find something pretty for Mother as well. He toddles along on knobby legs with his stolen treasure, leaving a trail of blood behind him, pleased with his little gift.
12-13-2015, 07:03 PM (This post was last modified: 12-13-2015, 07:03 PM by Milo.)
Everything dies. Everything dies and I care for nothing.
Watching the mare bury the broken body is like watching the earth turn from the point of view of the sun. It is small and inconsequential. We feel distant from each other. I am close to death, perhaps I embody it, but I am not within its grip. For now, we will not yet embrace.
My golden eyes, a perfect mirror of my mother's, search the mare's as she carries out the slow and delicate task. What is her reasoning for this? The frog will melt into the earth and become a part of it, perhaps even more quickly if she leaves it alone. But she insists. She is gentle. She, too, is silent.
The colt, on the other hand, is bursting with sound and shadow. What he may himself perceive as light, I understand as the depths of his shadow. Without realizing I had let me nose drop to the scent of the flower, to take in the strange beauty that the mare had plucked so readily from her being. When the babbling colt steals it away, I can't tell if I'm upset at his thievery of the flower from my senses or the desecration of the grave. I wish to say it was the latter, but I know this to be untrue.
An unfamiliar burning fills me. Would you have encouraged this, Manhattan? I think you would have. You would have chased him down, even as he prances with the prize betwixt his lips and leaves a trail of sticky red in his wake. His discharge resembles you. In its sharp acrid splatter patterns, I see your face. I remember your eternal end.
I know what you would have done. You would have grabbed the frog in your teeth and torn off its legs to teach me how to count. You would have chased this colt like a wolf does its prey, nipped its legs until the flower was dropped. You would have brought it to me.
I forget about the mare and stumble forward, slowed by the ache in my spine but undaunted by the roses and bloodstains. I follow the colt, first slow and then quicker, and reach out with impatient teeth to snap at him. No noise, no words, no justification. I simply clamp my teeth down, hoping to catch him and make him drop the flower.
Her lips fell open slightly, gaze widening as the child grabbed her flower from the frog's grave. Agnodice took a step back from the child, shock growing on her features. She was unsure of what to make of the situation. Who was this child? Who did he think he was? What right did he have to treat life as something so meaningless? He was no God, he had no right to take life as he pleased. In her mind, she thought that not even Gods had that right, but she wouldn't argue with her patrons.
The duchess shook her head slowly, turquoise gaze slowly becoming overcome with fear and outrage. Tassels of her soft onyx mane cascaded around her small, sloped head, the movements soon becoming faster as her anger swelled within her chest. "Have you no morals?" She spoke softly, disgustedly, repulsed by the actions of the colt. "HAVE YOU NO MORALS?! What makes you think life is so meaningless?!" Her words were mangled, choked as they came from her mouth. She expected an answer.
Agnodice looked away from the boys, moving her gaze to the water as she heard the other's jaws snapping. For once, she didn't try to stop this violence. She didn't condone it, but she wouldn't be stopping it this time. In truth, the duchess felt empty. She was not one to stay angry, that emotion soon dwindled within her. But it left her with a deep sense of nothingness. She could do so little for this colt, for he was simply born with these false morals. No one could have inflicted such a sick view of the world upon him so soon after greeting the world, this was simply who he was. This realization began to break her. Her years of studying medicine meant nothing if she couldn't heal the unseeable damage.
But how was she to do so?
How do you a treat a mind that is so innately broken by its own nature?
For once, was she truly incapable of doing anything, at all?
12-29-2015, 09:14 AM (This post was last modified: 12-29-2015, 09:15 AM by Libertad.)
The woman screams, mentioning senseless things like morals and values. It all floats over his young head and he can't find it in himself to care. All he sees is a blubbering, obnoxious woman who is ruining his fun. He hadn't asked them to play and yet there they are with judging eyes. Despite his sheer attempts to ignore them, it ignites a sense of uncertainty inside of him.. Is he broken? Is there something wrong with what he is? No.. NO! He refuses to believe it. There is nothing wrong they simply don't understand, they can't appreciate his games. What takes him by surprise is the silent boy.. He lunges forward, and Libertad thinks it's a game at first. He smiles and starts to run faster on his knobby legs, but then the boy bites at him. A distressed cry escapes from his lips and the flower falls.
"NO!" He shrieks, "S'FOR D'ARCY!" He starts shaking with absolute rage at the way this other boy dare steal his gift. He seethes and can almost feel the power seep from him. Those hideous roses that trail in his path release their toxins, hoping to grip at the other boy. Libertad remains oblivious to his powers but he still can't fight back his tears, can't hide his frustrations at their judgment. Even if he is young, he can feel it, feel the weight of their gaze. "THIS WAS FOR D'ARCY AND YOU TRY TO TAKE IT!" His words roll of his tongue with relative clarity for once, his rage finally driving the boy to articulate his sentences. "YOU RUINED IT! RUINED IT! RUINED, RUINED, RUINED, RUINED!" He stamps his hooves in a frustrated tantrum before starting to cry loudly.
He wails for his mother even if he doesn't call her name, he wails for d'Arcy.. d'Arcy is the strong one, she would drive these fun-ruiners away. Perhaps she will find his trail of red and draw close to him. All he craves is to feel his sister nuzzle his cheek and wipe his tears. Libertad is no god, he is no mighty titan or brave warrior.. He is simply a boy and he loathes his own mortality.
uses :: [ Magic: DarkxEarth | The roses that bloom in his steps can be poisoned at will. ]
:: [ Restrictions | Poison causes nausea and affects those in a 10 m radius. ]
please let me know if you're uncomfortable with magic use and i will edit the post accordingly
* tag me in all replies please
*force is permitted at all times
*pixel by padarii@dA
01-20-2016, 10:34 AM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2016, 10:34 AM by Milo.)
The rage that first fills, then apparently bursts forth from the child leaves me tired and cold. I bite, he drops, and I stop where I am. I see no need to venture on, see no reason to continue what others might perceive as a fight. Have I not accomplished my goal?
With a slow ache in every motion, I turn to look back at the mare. I should wonder who she is; I should wonder why, in her kindness, she reminds me of my mother. I should wonder further why, in her presence, she seems nothing like mother at all.
The screeching that follows my action is childlike; I have no need for it, I have no innocence of tantrum left. I only scowl, I only snort and look down upon the bloody boy with no bone but hate in his body. Others see evil, I see only incoherence. I see only insubordination, inferiority. Somehow, slowly, I am becoming greater than the world around me.
I was mild, once. I was quiet and meek. I think somewhere in my heart I still am, somewhere where you live, somewhere where my grief has not hardened. But now I am tall and though hurt I am strong. I step forward, first once then again. My eyes burn, my child's tail lashes. I have no remorse. I have no intention for anything, anymore. You're gone, why should I try to recover?
But sinister flowers stop me in my tracks, bursting from the ground behind the boy and spewing unfamiliar poisons. I choke on the hideous scent, the smell of blood that reminds me so much of you. Why should my happiest memories be clouded by this? Why should I be lost in poison?
I can do nothing but succumb--my body shakes and shudders and what little I've managed to keep down returns again to the air, coming out from between my teeth in an insipid, gray-green film that mixes with the blood tracks on the ground. I struggle, I cough and I try to see through the odd pang like reverse-hunger in my chest.
The boy's eyes are bright, light like my father's. His evil is darker, his evil is below my own. Someday, I will tear him apart.