"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.
06-30-2016, 05:52 PM (This post was last modified: 06-30-2016, 05:53 PM by Milo.)
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Fucking shit. Every fucking shit. Every single fuck in the fuckwide world, fucking shit.
I know what pain is, and I know that this is it. But this is something different than the hurt in my back, this is indescribable in some way but in another perfectly lent to words. I'm a child that doesn't speak but my knowledge of language is dangerously impeccable, even if it only exists in my mind. And now my mind is under attack, laid siege to by some fucking shit fucking bone piss monster in the fucking deep black woods.
Fucking shit. Everything is swimming but I'm not sure if it really is. I want to lie down so I bend my legs to do so, only to find that I'm already on the ground. I'm at least a mile from the nearest waterfall, I have to be, or maybe that was just a few feet, but regardless of where it is I can hear it in my head. It is everything, it is loud, it is an omniscient roar and it won't leave me the FUCK alone.
But you know what's funny? Fuck, now I'm talking to a dead dog again, but look, you know what's funny?
My back doesn't hurt. How could it, with this pounding in my ears, this hammer to my skull? It's like a thousand hits of my father's heel, countless beatings I've never received but always imagined. Because at least if the fucker hit me I could scream, right? Maybe then I'd have something to yell, something to inspire me to speak out. I could tell the world about the evils of my father, the wickedness inside his fucking shit fucking heart.
But no, he's just a shit dad. Not the kind to beat me senseless but the kind to look on blind while I get into trouble like this, while I go mad on other colts and lash out at them out of pitiful jealousy. The kind of father that just looks on through eyes clouded with loss and lets me turn into him.
Fuck. Shit. I throw my head against the ground, bashing it repeatedly in the hopes that some errant stone might drive itself into my skull and end it. It feels like there's a pressure, something built and screaming. And just maybe if I can crack a hole and let the blood flow out I can relax, I can breathe.
I think I hear something in the woods, but when I say in the woods I meant right here, right next to my ears and so loud that I can't drown it out. Maybe it's just the wind, maybe it's Archibald come to drag me back to somewhere safe, where he can pretend to care about me out of pity.
07-16-2016, 10:36 PM (This post was last modified: 09-10-2016, 11:11 PM by Aquila.)
Aquila
Ever since shattering those ominous, entrapping bones in the vengeful and enraged fear they arisen in her for her people still in the Rift, a pain pierced her plated skull. It was not unlike the pain one got from eating too much malsana fish, or if one ate it after a long while of not eating it. But that pain faded after a few hours. This pain lasted, and had lasted, for days.
So the militant mare was in a foul temper. To be fair, the woman was rarely in buoyant spirits; but, at the moment, the seahorse was extraordinarily contentious. She had not even the sea to ease the pounding roar of blood in her skull, only freshwater ponds that made her ridges swell and plated skin sore. And she had spent enough time in the water (for at least it was liquid relief to the heat, if not to the pain) to make her body as sore as her skull.
So she left the waterfalls, though instead of finding a reprieve from the crashing sound, hear wearily pinned ears heard a faint thumping. Squinted (but still unblinking) bright blue eyes narrow through the thick, but dry, foliage. What was that?
With a gait that lacked her usual athletic grace, she broke through the bushes. “Kahelo, ĉesigi,” her command was out before she even entirely recognized the colt. She only knew that this small creature (although he was no longer as small as in the caves) was bashing his head against the earth with enough force to break it. And so her command to stop was out of her mouth, unfortunately sharp (the skin around her eyes twitched as her throaty voice rattled around her skull), before she even knew why she was commanding him to stop.
And, waiting for the reverberating to stop, her too-large eyes stared down at the collapsed colt. “You, too?” finally her guttural voice sounded again, though it was quiet, hushed, and entirely unlike her usual confident speech. She paused a moment longer beside the ever-silent colt, “The ostojn left wounds in the mind for all. Akvians say,” in a rare moment of reflection, her hushed voice begins to fade into Akvian, “ La kuraco por ĉiuj estas salo.”
And something akin to sadness, though not quite that in the strong woman, flashed in her pained face as her unblinking gaze stared at the grey colt.
ĉesigi= stop
ostojn = bones
La kuraco por ĉiuj estas salo = “The cure for all is salt.”
"... in a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea."
Perhaps it is because I do not speak my own language, but I find myself somehow learning hers. I'm not sure I can even call Helovia's tongue mine, for this land is my father's and I am not his. If I choose to never speak, do I have a tongue at all?
Nevertheless, when Aquila commands me I recognize her and the meaning of the word immediately. I think that it is her inflection, combined with my own knack for learning and the odd situation we have found ourselves in, that affords me the knowledge. Not yet having the fire within me to disobey, and feeling that the pounding has not improved upon being increased physically, I do as I am told. My gaze snaps to lock with hers, however, and there is something like animosity betrayed there. Even though it is not her that I take issue with, I can hear her voice ringing in my ears.
Does she forget that her voice is piercing above the water, that the waves cannot dull her tones into something sweet? Aquila is abrasive, and by comparison I feel impotent and strange. Wanting nothing more than to be something other than a weak child, I face her with stiffened shoulders and a look of fire. Let the water cool her now.
But it's not a temperament I can keep up, particularly not with the throbbing hurt in my skull. I settle with a cool and slow nod when she asks if I, too, am affected. The rage dies down but there's still a glimmer of it, some sliver of its remains. I do not wish her to lose sight of my potential so quickly that she forgets it.
I gather the purpose of some words, but the majority of her meaning is lost. My nose wrinkles and I step closer to her, the kissing of my spine particularly awkward despite the fact that I am distracted from its pain. Wounds of the mind. I can't picture Aquila being wounded, not the way I am. Without thinking I reach up, suddenly becoming aware of the shrinking gap in our heights as I grow older. My teeth gnash and grind, an obvious expression of my pain, and I reach to try and tap them against her horn. The gesture isn't intimate so much as an explanation for the hurt that I feel. Bone against bone. The constant striking, the discomfort of it all.
When my teeth then move to attempt to touch the base of her horn, I try to explain something else. That there are different types of pain, and that I know them all too well. She knows of cures but speaks them in languages I can't understand--I do the same with injury.
The militant mare is surprised at the strength of emotion she sees in Kahelo’s bright yellow gaze. The colt is normally docile… submissive. It is surprising to the warrior that she takes interest in one such as he: a misshapen colt with no voice. But there is something beneath the crooked spine and quiet obedience—something that she sees glinting out of his amber eyes in this moment.
But the pain in her head prevents her from thinking too long on the heated, yellow stare the youth gives her. And the heat is gone before a few beats have passed. Not entirely, though, for there is still a slivered point to his tawny stare. Her unblinking eyes meet his levelly, for all the pain in her head, and she waits—would this pain bait him to speak?
No, instead she receives a wrinkled nose in response to her words. The seahorse had become surprising adept at noticing the small changes in his soft, greyed face. She is surprised to find this about herself, for she was better at reading an opponent’s body before an attack then at reading a child’s face. At least she was, until now.
She allows him to step closer to her, invading a space that she usually keeps free of others. She is a woman who needed space; forever on the defensive. But, for Kahelo, she makes a single exception in this moment of shared pain. Her unblinking stare watches his ungainly, awkward steps towards her, and her swollen ridges stiffen as he reaches out towards her with his muzzle.
It has been so long since she has touched anyone outside of battle.
Her stare is piercing as he reaches out towards her sharpened horn’s base, and she cannot help the slight backward jerk of her plated skull. She regrets this motion on two fronts: one because the motion sends a wave of pain in her skull; two because the soft velvet of Kahelo’s grey muzzle would have been a welcome touch.
But she has already moved away, instead watching the gnashing of his teeth. She realizes, then, that the colt has grown quickly since she had saved him from falling to a fiery fate. “You have grown, Kahelo,” her softened voice speaks without purpose, which is odd for the Akvian. She normally saves her words for a time when they are needed and warranted.
But not with the little, grey tilefish. With him, she speaks without reason. She speaks in her native tongue and the common tongue. Her face-fins wave slightly, sending a brush of air towards his face that is so close to hers. “It means ‘The cure for all is salt,’” she says quietly, explaining her earlier Akvian axiom.
And then she takes a step backwards, eyes turning away from him. “It is not safe here. We should go back into the Falls,” gone was the quiet reflection of her voice, though it is still hushed from the pain. Her shoulders turn towards the heart of the herdlands, though her face remains pointed towards Kahelo.
"... in a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea."