"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.
01-11-2015, 01:05 AM (This post was last modified: 01-11-2015, 01:05 AM by Nymeria.)
I'M THE POISON IN YOUR BONES
MY LOVE IS YOUR DISEASE
Everything's washed out. It's a world of gray, perpetual twilight; shafts of moonlight dancing fractured on the quick-moving obsidian river, clouded silver glinting on slicks of ice, pools of nefarious jet shadow gathered beneath each frost-crusted thistle. And yet even in this world, all greasy shades of gray and bleached out color, there is the faintest hue of saturation, a sullen, sickly crimson which permeates the very soil.
The footing is treacherous. It's damp soil that bubbles with water every time she steps down, cold wet that presses on her frogs and chills her dainty toes.
It's hued, faintly, with glowing maroon.
Nymeria hesitates, dithering on the edge of the open ground. Cardinal retinas rove over the contours of the earth; the air tastes like iron and decay, salt and the same sickly magic which trailed her mother. Instinct screamed, cried out, for her to turn her back, to leap into frantic action, pound back to the safety which awaited her beneath her mum's teats, nestled between Confutatis' shapely pillars. No. No, no, and no. It wouldn't do to turn back now; instead, sharp curves soften, her neck lowering, nostrils cusping wide. With a feigned casualness that does not deceive herself, the tiny spider slips towards safety. It is a number of low bushes, scrub growing up, gnarled and twisted branches, which offer suitable disguise so she might assess; the cover is cast in auspicious shadow, wrought in ink, beneath a grand oak with rustling branches and creaking bark.
Unknown to her, water drifts up from the soil, beads of silver which flash and glitter in sparkling starlight, droplets of moisture which hover, float, trail behind her a couple inches from her heels, elevated a foot or so above the ground. An unconscious reflex of her magic (undiscovered and untested); she seeks comfort, contentment, in the midst of danger and adventure, and water, quiet and cool, has always been a source of consolation to her. So it follows her.
Behind the tree. In the bushes. Thorns rake thin, trembly legs.
Eyes remain piously wide. Ears flick, twist, uncertainly. For a long moment she presses her forehead against the tree, so big and vast and ancient; it's solid. Comforting. The scent of sap washes away the reek of metal, of death.
And then, with a quivering exhale, she peers out from behind the tree, a slow, terribly cautious movement. Nymeria sees darkness, cruelty shaped and sculpted into thick edges and knotty, swarthy muscle. The subtleties of silver dapples and pale mottling are lost in the vague, sweeping bends and curls of draft-like anatomy, sturdy legs and a heavy, carelessly made profile. It; it's very presence is barbaric. Black, black, black, a configuration of shadow on shadow; the only light is a pale sliver of ivory on a curling thing poking up from a hefty brow. Still... it (rendered genderless by starlight) doesn't seem like it would run her through, if she decided to step out.
Nymeria lets her gaze drift away from the unknown, roaming over the scene. It's washed in red, syrupy crimson, but to a girl so fresh to the world, that in itself is of little value to her. She doesn't recognize the more nefarious meanings behind it, nor the dreadful connotations which might be dredged up had she only pondered it a moment longer... no, what captivates her attention (apart from the figure, so capriciously dominating, in the center of the stage) is the shapely shadow stretched across mud and spring earth.
It doesn't move.
Perhaps, were she older, smarter, wiser, she would've recognized it for bloody murder.
She does not.
Audits creak back, catching the sound of rain pattering on earth. For an odd, suspended moment in time, she is impossibly confused, for there is no wet lashing at her from above, and then she recognizes for what it is, a stream of urine being lavished upon blood-soaked soil. It comes from it, a fountain of palest yellow, and mentally she affixes it's gender. Him. He pees like Volterra, after all, not like mama and herself. Lips wrinkle into a scowl, ears pinning back to her pretty skull in clear distaste; ugh. Did he really have to piss all over the place?
In quiet she watches, a lurking observer hidden behind the curtains.
And then she steps out, draws free, little spider spinning silk, gossamer mane (tufty, short) lifted by the slightest of stirring breezes. Delicate as a flower, as bending petals in the rain, she sweeps forward, chin up, eyes commanding, daring and dashing and audacious."Why here red?" And with that, the haughty darling gestures towards the smears and streaks of scarlet, oblivious to the body.