"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.
Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
There's a thunderstorm hulking on the horizon.
It is great and dark and as vast as the ocean. Dark, greasy gray shifts and roils and reforms, an advancing wall of darkness that threatens oblivion. You stand on the cliffs—thrilled by the wind growing with every minute, tousling and tumbling your threadbare locks—knowing that at any moment Ma or Pa or one of the herd members would come rushing to whisk you away. They hated your fascination with the cliffs; you knew it unnerved them, the way you'd dance along the edge and laugh and prance, foolish in your youth. You thought yourself invincible, with falling a laughable concern: to Tembovu, to Elsa, you still didn't have your feathers and liked giving them a headache. One day it wouldn't matter, you vowed to yourself; one day, you'd be able to go racing off the edge and you would be flying, not falling. Except that day was not today, and the day was far away.
It made you sad, this. So instead you decided to savor this moment: you stretch out your wings, allowing the wind to snarl around your pillowy fluff and comb through your feathers. It is a savage, untameable thing (so you solemnly think) as you set your shoulders and dig in your heels. It would drag you away if it could. Tentatively (and yet eagerly) you spread your wings further, glorying in the sensation of almost flying; and, with growing courage, you lighten yourself on your feet. The wind surges angrily, but you do not budge. Thrilled by your victory, you nicker, and rear, ungraceful and uncoordinated. It is not a moment later that the wind takes advantage of your foolishness. With a slap that sends you flying, you go tumbling head-over-heels in a heap of feathers and loose hair. Away, away, away, until you thump into a treetrunk.
The abruptness of the stop hurts, and you blink away tears pitifully. Then, without further ado, you clamber up back to all fours, heading back towards the perilous cliff's edge. This time—this time!—the wind would not get the better of you.
You decided that watching this fool of a boy was exciting.
You stand a ways apart, the wind tackling you, harassing you, the sky a huge black billowing thing that you have trained yourself not to fear. It is glorious though, isn’t it? You have never experienced a thunderstorm before in your life, and the clouds are a new thing to learn, dark, velvety things pillowing the horizon, blocking the both sunlight and moonlight, stars and starlight. It dominates everything. You feel a strange thrill from it.
You watch as the child (who isn’t that much younger than you are, let’s be honest little Enyo) flutters things that will be wings one day. You imagine him flying the way he pretends like he is, a little windfall of a colt soaring through the skies, soft down floating on the wind. You do not have the desire to laugh as the wind rips and tears at him, sending him careening backwards, helpless against the onslaught. It is a ferocious monster and those are treated with respect. You can fare no better against the bitter gales. You are just interested that his enthusiasm does not seem to be spoiled by the raging beast of the sky. He still pretends to fly.
You wouldn’t have approached like you did, but he’s teeeaaaasing you and you hate it. He dances near the cliff edge, a tantalizing dance, a dance and nothing more when every nerve of your body begs for him to finally take the plunge. You’re not sure if it’ll actually kill him, but the thrill would certainly be exciting enough for you to bear. Oh, jump! Please, please jump!
You cannot take it anymore. He skirts the edge of the cliff, flirting, and he’s teased you beyond all sense of decorum. You march forward, coming to approach—your steps halting and careful, because the wind is still howling and yanking your over-long, shaggy mane and tail, and you would be indignant, normally, over your disheveled appearance. But you fail to care right now as you troop over to the boy that skirts the edges of death. “Are you gonna jump?” You ask, and you have to lift your trilling voice ever so slightly so he might hear you over the gales.
talk talk talk
Enyo
Screaming like a siren
Alive and burning brighter
I am the fire
The rosette-marked boy is not the only one to use the wind to fly today.
Ker soars gleefully alongside her bonded, snatching the air beneath her broad wings and using the howling winds to propel herself faster than she's ever gone before. For the first time, she is an eagle, and not an ugly hatchling huddled between her filly's withers. For the first time, she resembles the fierce adult raptor she will become; her grey feathers are fully gone now, replaced with varying hues of brown, and her wings are strong enough to carry her weight rather than useless chicken-esque twigs stuck to her body.
For the first time, Oizys thinks she could actually be quite useful.
The gargoyle runs alongside her companion, feeling her lungs swell with air and her heart forget its desire to Cough and focus fully on pumping blood around her body. She is stronger now, a stable herd life paying dividends and stripping away the weakness of being an outcast winter-child. Her muscles are clearly defined beneath her swathes of puppy fat and steel grey fur, and the Cough finds it harder to fight its ugly way out of her jowls now.
She runs with the wind at her back and her eagle alongside her, following the gust-borne scents of Home. That is what this land is, apparently, although the gargoyle can't help but long for the freedom of the wilderness. She is just contemplating this when Sister-Smell reaches her keen young nostrils, coupled with Boy-Smell. She wrinkles her nose; the last Boy she met was that hornless little shit who insulted her, her parents, her everything. She hopes the Boy deemed good enough to socialise with Enyo is worthy of such a blessing - the young goddess directs her path accordingly, though, just so she can decide that for herself.
They're stood at the edge of a cliff, and Enyo is urging the colt to jump. Oizys' cold grey eyes gleam with macabre glee as she nears, and Ker gives a long squawk of agreement as she comes in to land on her bonded's hindquarters. Look, the young eagle seems to scream to the land-bound boy; look how awesome flight is! The filly moves close to her sister, seeking to press her side against her sibling's rain-drenched flesh, whilst her frosty gaze lingers on the hybrid colt. "Yeah, do it - jump," she goads, her tufty mane wrapping around her neck with the force of the gale. She doesn't know who this boy is, but she knows how fun it is to watch failed flights - she got endless hours of amusement out of Ker's first futile attempts to catch the wind beneath her wings.
Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
You hadn't noticed her. Why would you? The sky was a realm far more fascinating than the trees behind you, and the clouds and wind were no doubt a better friend than any you would find among equine kin. No horse could make your heart flutter a rapid and enthralled beat; no horse could compare to the sea's sweet and lethal calling.
The storm is racing closer, but the rain is still a ways off.
You have time, even if it's running out.
What you hadn't expected was a high and feminine chirp demanding your attention, forcing your concentration away from the stormwall and back to the inland. You don't question the demand; you are submissive and small, content to follow orders rather than issue them. You turn your head to her, wind snagging in your feathers, and knit your brows in empty-headed confusion. You don't quite understand what she means—you couldn't jump! You would die. Did she want you to die?
You tilt your head and examine the other filly for a long moment, wondering who she was, wondering where her parents were. Then again, someone could ask the same of yourself.
It doesn't matter anyway, you decide. If she's out here, calling to you, then there's only one explaination: she wants to have a friend. You need friends as well, so you offer a wide and wild grin, prancing away from the cliff's edge towards her. You are neither graceful nor steady; you wobble and lurch and occasionally stumble, still at war with your too-long legs. "Only if you jump first," you tell her, but it's not a threat so much as an invitation.
Yeah, do it—jump. Your head swivels comically to the other girl (there are too many girls now, you decide) and you ogle her, wondering if the two fillies are deranged or just dumb. They look vaguely similar, but you don't really have a concept of twins pinned down in your brain yet.
Instead of answering you wiggle yourself a little closer to the gray-eyed one, with the ball of feathers on her shoulders.
"I can't," you tell them morosely, "Ma and Pa say I'm not allowed flying until I'm older. But we could play tag...?"
05-14-2016, 12:00 PM (This post was last modified: 05-14-2016, 12:01 PM by Enyo.)
"Only if you jump first"
Something in you deflates a little, and you sag against the sudden appearance of Sister, pressing yourself into her smell and her fur and the warm things that guard against the freezing gales. You don’t like his answer; you don’t know if he’s mocking you or not. He had been the one skirting around the edges of the cliff; he was the one with the wings. The only thing you might get by jumping from the cliff was certain death, but he might flutter around for a few moments. Maybe. You don’t know. That’s why you had wanted him to jump so badly. “But I’ll never have wings,” you tell him evenly, rolling your bare shoulders a little bit to emphasize the point. You don’t really care that you’ll never have wings, either—being an angel has never been a daydream of yours—but you wonder, briefly, if he’ll feel pity for you, and what that might mean later.
"Ma and Pa say I'm not allowed flying until I'm older. But we could play tag...?"
That answer made much more sense, you decide. Of course parents would set limits on that sort of thing. Don’t parents usually set limits? Don’t they set rules?Roles? “Who are your parents?” you ask curiously, because that was a question that was often asked in this land, you find. Or maybe everyone just wanted to know who your parents were. That particular idea inspires both rage and pleasure; you’re not sure which one to pick.
Playing tag is a children’s game, and you shouldn’t be doing children things, little Enyo. Of course you’ll grow out of the compulsion soon enough, becoming a lady in due time who has no desire to trifle with little kid things. But today is not that day. You are tempted by the offer of tag, because your heart’s still a kid’s heart, your mind’s still a kid’s mind. “Okay, sure,” you say simply, straightening from Sister’s warmth, “What’s your name?” You want to know who you’re playing with.
talk talk talk
Enyo
Screaming like a siren
Alive and burning brighter
I am the fire
The storm rages around them, and the boy moves closer. Oizys scrutinises him, wondering if he is more fun than the other colt she's met, or whether he, too, has a permanent stick up his ass. She flicks her tail and tilts her head to drink him in, whilst on her back Ker does the same. Ma and Pa say I'm not allowed flying until I'm older. The gargoyle snorts at the ludicrous notion of not doing something just because a parent says it.
Unless that parent is Father, of course, in which case she would obey without question - or at least make a damned good job of hiding the fact she'd broken rules.
"Your Ma and Pa ain't here, and don't you think they'd love you more if you learnt to fly without their help?" She imagines him returning to these parents of his with wings that work, and how proud that would make them. Of course, she doesn't give a damn whether his parents love him or not, but she's dying to see him use those wings, and to fail at it in the process.
She thinks his suggestion of playing tag is so childish, and is about to say as such when Sister agrees to play. She shuts her mouth, swallowing down her insults, because if Enny wants to play then Oizys should, too. "Alright, but 'cos you suggested it, you've gotta chase me and Enny first." She gives her sibling a sidelong glance - she's sure they can find some fun way of hiding in a place that the colt will never find them, or luring him into trying out his wings by running so fast after them that he forgets his orders and flies. It will no doubt be hilariously enjoyable to see him blundering around in the rain, worried about defying his parents.
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