"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.
Everything rattled as he neared the border. The excited feeling in his heart, the stone in his horn, the armor on his back, and the late-dropping horns of his companions. Lochan was nervous but supportive, Rakt energetic and uncharacteristically enthused. Finally a change. A change of pace, of scenery of, well, life.
They needed to leave. Soon, they would be gone from this place. And though there was a heavy weight upon them all, that faint sense of dread, Ashamin knew this was right. And if the Clovenheart believed in the choice, his companions would follow. They were loyal to the end, and to each other they would always be true.
Ashamin, no longer the haruspex but always the painted buck, did not announce himself. These were paths he'd seen his former Lord and Lady tread and he hoped he'd find them again, for he did not intend to leave them without any explanation, but he knew he no longer had the right to bellow names across this land. Not even Hotaru's, she whom he loved so deeply. This frozen valley was his home no longer, he could only hope that those who remained would understand his need to leave it.
Rakt looked up at him expectantly with globular eyes and the haruspex smiled, letting out a soft laugh of a whinny before nudging the cerndyr softly. Lochan looked distant again as he gazed into the wilds, but Ashamin caught his attention with a stamp of his hoof.
"You ready, boys?" the Clovenheart questioned with an encouraging tone, hoping to ease them into comfort. Above the sky was warm and comforting as dawn approached, ready to lead them into a new life.
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place
Moving stone, nefarious, maneuvering licentiousness brooded and demanded, curled, coiled, tore across open lands in pursuit of everything and nothing all at once. There were moments in his enigmatic depravity where he’d craved intuition, a moment of inspiration to strike him down and tell him what he should be doing – more than just wandering and patrolling, more than just grumbling and hunting, more than just perceiving where the next threat lurked and where the next blow would be harpooned (deep into his chest, next to that blackened, decrepit piece of his heart? Along the roots and funnels and marrow of his blood, poisoned and vexatious, vehement and violent?). They needed to be more, he needed to be more, and despite his wicked allure, despite his deadly enchantments, despite all the ferocious unwinding of his brutality, of his force, of his avid, rapier determination, naught came to him.
Instead, he was haunted by his own failures.
They traveled with him like ghosts, one on each ear, bending and whispering in his skull. They detailed each and every defect he carried, numerous and spiraling, ghoulish and triumphant, like the most grotesque and ravenous of scavengers. His father’s words echoed from time to time, but they couldn’t pull past the demonic throngs of a deplorable, horrible beast, and he listened to each and every sin he’d manifested – too many to name. When they were done they started again, laughing at the memories of all his wasted time and efforts, mocking and snickering and smirking until he thought he’d had his fill of penance, and he could stare over the deepening, green valleys and pretend he’d done something grand in his time here. Then they’d start once more, renewing their own cycle, one by one, claw by claw, cutlass by cutlass, and his impassive features would be rendered into something else.
It was hard to name. When they spoke of Huyana, it was shame, it was desperation, it was longing, looking out to the clouds for rain he could drown beneath. When they spoke of the Forsaken, it was humiliation and defeat. When they spoke of the GildedBlade, it was disaster and ruin. Everything began to blur together after that, and he fixed nonchalance back upon his face so no one else could see the truth, the accuracy, of the abomination he’d become.
Deimos’ eyes fixed on Ashamin, in the distance, gathering his deer for whatever journey lay ahead. The King’s first instinct was to flee, back into rubble, back into mist, back into ruin because it was easy, it was expected; that was the way he’d always been. He didn’t want to see their disappointment. He didn’t want them to see his disappointment. Instead, though, he wandered down into the thicket, into the parcels of Birdsong wares, steeling himself for whatever laid ahead. “Ashamin,” he called, bending his head and lifting it back into place, like he wasn’t the worst Lord they’d ever had, like he hadn’t been aligned into assortments of nothingness for longer than he could ever remember. “What are you doing?” What were any of them doing?
Photo and Table by Time Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Her body recognizes the subtleties of conception; it has done this dance once before. She stares at her swollen sides with conflicted emotions, her heart battered as it hangs in her throat. Arya is a sore wound that never heals, the absence of her firstborn daughter like a constant ache she tries to ignore. Mirabella is vanished to the wind once more. Raeru has not been seen in seasons. Those she'd loved as a mother loves had faded like ghosts away from her. She fears this child in her belly will be the same.
Already she is so round and heavy with life, far sooner than she had anticipated. Alice gazes at her body and wonders about twins, but Hotaru can barely even wrap her head around another cycle of motherhood. Another soul to let down. But she is full of life and excitement as well, sprightly with new love and a warmth at her back that promises shared strength and companionship. Déodat had been a fine man, but there had been no love between them, and Hotaru had desired it that way. For the first time she had a mate, someone to love and care for, who would love and care for her in return. Perhaps motherhood would be a blessing this time around.
The news had not yet reached Ashamin's ears. Hotaru hadn't told anybody yet, instead letting her body appear to fatten up with the approach of Birdsong rather than budding life. But she intended to, though she had not seen Ashamin in quite a while. Life had a funny way of working, but Hotaru was not a patient woman. She would hunt him down with Alice at her side for the sake of delivering the news. Her heart raced with anxious delight imagining the ways he could receive the announcement, not even sure of her own emotions anymore.
Alice is the one to find him, though that had been her eager self-appointed mission on behalf of her Alpha. Her demonic braying bowl rings across mud and snow towards two stalwart figures, seeking their ears to bid them to wait. Her beloved traverses the land behind her, slow with the weight of her belly but persistent in her exercise. The pups would be born healthy and beautiful, and she would await them as the proud and powerful woman they deserved to be raised by.
The valley is a familiar creature to her, a yawning slope of dim-lit darkness in the dawn hours. The shadowed king stands opposite her lover, and her hoof pauses over terra that leads to certain confrontation. Her heart shivers in her chest, a sordid voice that whispers gleefully in her ears. You knew this was coming! It giggles manically. Alice's excitement withers in her chest where she stands between Hotaru and the two stallions.
For a moment she considers running. Turning a blind eye to whatever this is, this anxious tension that promises disaster. She'd rather be abandoned in the shroud of darkness than boldly face the retreating back of the man she'd finally let herself love. Hotaru could not bear to witness someone else leaving her, spiriting away with the heart she'd hesitantly placed in their hands. Because she knew instinctively that's what this was. Or maybe, because it was her greatest fear, she told herself that's what it was to try and harden her heart in preparation for the pain that would lance her apart otherwise.
Bravely she lets her foot touch the earth, strides towards them with the morning light imbued in her skin, glowing with life and grace. She won't let him see her fall apart. Not here beside Deimos, where she is Lady and Queen. Not here where he asks her to wear her crown, not her heart. She is his lover - his beloved, she prays - but she is his Lady as well.
Alice comes to her side like a white and violet ghost, hell eyes like coals of judgement in her animal face. It contrasts the serene landscape of Hotaru's pretty features, a sad weariness at her eyes that she can't erase. Her nose goes instinctively - perhaps because she likes to tempt fate - to the hollow of Deimos' flank. Just as she had in the tent with the paint and the...she can't.
There is no telling Ashamin now. Not with Deimos here and the evidence laid plain before both of them in the swollen nature of her sides. Ashamin will have to take the news at face value, in the silence of her defeated understanding. She wants to scream because this is exactly what had happened to her parents. Her mother in the Foothills, her father in the Basin. A love that had transcended distance and alliances. But one that had still broken their family. She has no proof before her to hope for anything better, but she hopes like a child anyways.
"Do you need something, Ashamin?" It's asked gently in the face of Deimos' rough inquiries. It's a vague and open question. Do you need to leave? Do you need supplies? Do you need me to beg?
She won't. She won't begrudge him this, at least not where he can see. She will retreat to her cavern, alone once again after but half a season of knowing the warmth of another's loving presence. She will cry there, in that hollow of silence, and she will rage against the unfairness of it all. She will cradle her belly and cry and cry because once again she is alone. Hotaru doesn't know whether he will love her beyond these borders. Whether his leaving will impact the way he feels for her, or the frequency with which they meet. If he will even want to meet, with where his travels may take him. But she knows, like a solid weight on her back, that it will impact their children. She prays that it will be minor. That her faith and love was not - is not - misplaced.
Ashamin was not afraid when Deimos approached. No, not anymore. The lord held nothing over him, and Ashamin had no obligation to obey. This was simply no longer his herd, so why bow to its lord?
If the Clovenheart knew of the battle within the steel-faced stallion he might have softened his tone, might have bowed his head anyway. He might have touched him, if only to offer him comfort. But Ashamin knew better than to brush noses with the reaper, for whatever power he held was akin to death. If Ashamin was going to live to be free, away from this place, he had to stay alive.
So he held his head high and kept himself at bay--swung his tail to rest before his companions. "Deimos," Ashamin said with a soft nod that ended in a head held high, "I'm glad to see you." And when he said this it was honest, and when he spoke his voice was lifted by unbridled tones. That was the sound of freedom, responsibility to bear the weight of so many others gone. He needed to be his own buck, stand on his own four hooves and at no one else's command.
Still, it was strange to see Deimos now and not be affected by the same reverent and submissive force that had always gripped him in their prior meetings. And it was even stranger still to see Hotaru. Pregnant.
He did not need to be a mare, or an expert on their affairs, to know that his bird was with child. He moved to her swiftly and without shame; this was no longer his herdland, but she would always be his love. He would cross whatever borders he had to to be by her side, and he'd face Deimos' rage without a shred of fear to feel her touch again. Her touch.
Her touch, once pregnant with love and now with its manifestation. His eyes grew bright and strong, threatened to brim with tears, but he hid them under the firm shutting of lids, the soft exhale of admiration. Yes, it was admiration. Admiration for her here, now, standing before him strong despite how obvious the situation before them all was. Ashamin didn't often travel with all of his things.
He reached to wrap around her but found the tender movement troublesome under the bulk of the armor, something that he wished now he could be free of. Still he was close enough to whisper words only for her: "Hotaru, don't worry. I'll never leave you." And when he said this, too, it was honest.
Ashamin looked back at Deimos but stood close to Hotaru, aiming to still press his side against hers loyally. It was time to explain some things, wasn't it?
"I apologize for not attending your last meeting, and for not being able to give you better news now. But after Thranduil challenged me and then fled, I wasn't sure if I would be welcome company at what I assumed would be his resignation party," Ashamin explained with a quiet frown, a flicker of his ears. "I'm leaving now of my own accord, and at no fault of yours. I simply need to find my own way, but I should hope that you and the herd will not fault me for it. I'd like to leave on good terms."
The Clovenheart turned to Hotaru then, to her swollen belly and precious love. Would she accept this, or turn from him? Was there anything he could do to explain, to make her understand that this was not the end or some betrayal? He spoke to both of them but really to her when he said "I would like you to know you will continue to have my loyalty. I hold this herd and those within it above all others, even still." He exhaled, tried to put together the words so maybe they could understand, and turned back to Deimos. "I will neither harm nor steal from members of the Basin while I live outside your borders. Should you need my services as a star reader or a warrior, you have them. All I ask in return is that I not be targeted by your herd and that I might be able to still visit my loved ones here and not be met with hostility."
A slow and steady swallow of air, something like a pleading look. Would Deimos take pity on this, the former haruspex? Would the reaper remember how Ashamin served him, and grant him this one request?
"The Basin was my home when I needed it most," Ashamin said then, thinking back to the weak stag he'd once been, "I will never forget that."
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place
He stared his most recent failure in the face.
The words and world spiraled against him all at once, a complex, woven art of facts and figures he hadn’t seen, despite all his calculations, despite all his machinations, despite every ounce he’d given to the land and what he believed he’d given to his herd. His guard was up, armor encrusted between layers of stoicism and apathy and nonchalance, woven over his bones so no one saw how deeply the art of desolation crept, the moment Ashamin spoke: I’m glad to see you.No one was ever glad to see him, the executioner, the scythe, The Reaper, nestled in his statuesque depravity; they always looked away or stared or shuddered, they always ignored or tore or stole. He said nothing as the painted Haruspex and the Queen embraced, an entanglement Deimos had never perceived, never known, never thought about because it’d been none of his concern or business, because he watched the world through war and famine and persecution instead of love and empathy. He understood nothing at all – his mind was a network of spider webs, intricate designs, plots meant to fold, methods meant to hurt, but he suddenly felt very lost, very adrift, out in the deep ocean or fumbling, bumbling, sinking between waves, incapable of comprehending the strange cultivation of loss brimming over their surface.
Leaving now, no fault of yours…
The phrases and syllables slipped together, devouring the inner columns of his nefarious soul, arching and defiant, sweeping and ridiculous. His first instinct, after everything aligned, after everything crossed over, was pure, utter rage – simmering and slinking along his marrow and intertwining through his heart, until all he could feel, all he could taste, was the desecration of their loss. Time and time again beasts left, fled, the confines of their home, of their mountains, of their promises and oaths and assurances, like it was so easy, like it meant nothing, even after they’d spent hours and days and seasons enduring the harsh snow and unrelenting savagery. They pledged dedication, then found something else, while he stayed, while he never strayed, while he basked in naught but snow and loyalty, when hardly anyone around him could understand what that damned word meant. The monster wanted to hurl bitterness and rancor through his chest, through his vocals, through his keen, blasted sword, so he wouldn’t have to face the irony of everything all over again – because no matter how hard he tried, nothing mattered. Even Ashamin, whom he’d thought would forever bask in the glory of the asinine Spark God, whom he’d thought would fuel fires in the Basin caverns for eons, saw how little the Lord mattered, saw how little the summits gleamed, saw the embers dying, flickering, withering amidst the midnight oil. Anger rolled along his teeth and tongue, but then he sighed, and it disappeared, like smoke, like fumes, against the frigid air.
It would always be his fault.
He remembered Ophelia – the vicious way they’d parted, the avaricious gleam of wrath, the contemptuous peeling of layers and failures and ineffectual nature – and he was too tired to go through all of it again.
The King’s penetrating gaze folded back and forth on the Queen’s swollen belly and Ashamin’s pleading refrain, as if he was to grant mercy from all this. He was the least forgiving, lenient, or gracious beast there – but perhaps he owed it to them, to the Haruspex, to the painted one he’d have to call a stranger – even when no one bestowed it upon him. “You will have our loyalty. Your skills were a great impact to this herd,” the notions lingered through his rough tones, and he waited for someone to run him through so he didn’t have to stay and watch his defects continue to pile up, one by one, until they consumed him whole. “They will not be forgotten.”
Photo and Table by Time Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary