"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.
The dun stallion moves forward proudly, trying to channel the generals and warriors and kings of his blood; he hopes they are proud of their grey-eyed son, previously so cowardly and stupid. He desperately wants to be brave, he wants to save this beautiful piece of land before the dead or the living or the divine dare to steal it away from him, like they have with so many other of his dearest possessions. Some part of him is ashamed for driving the dark-winged mare away; the look in her eyes when she came to the realization of her loss haunts him - but why had it been so easy to walk away - why had there been this buoyant feeling in his chest, a lightness in his heart when the victory had dawned on him? Why had seizing her place been so effortless, so laughably easy? Will the Foothills hate him for dethroning their pale queen? His mind is dizzy with questions, but blunt hooves, hardened by travel and running sorrows away, advance upon the budding grass with the confidence of youth, muscles rippling easily underneath a spotted rosy skin.
Today is lovely and bright; birds babble and sing in budding trees, and pretty flowers dot the lush, tender baby grasses of the Foothill's sprawling acreage. The callow stallion is half-tempted to race madly through it, to feel the wind running its wild fingers through the russet cascade of his mane and the frenzy of springtime in his veins, but he collects himself. Not today, the dun reminds himself, mercury eyes wide and alert - he is not the careless vagabond he was for so many years; he has married this land through the defeat of the chaser of storms, and has required himself to meet with his comrades, who seem to have neglected it for all the time of his absence.
Pausing underneath a lone willow, Jackal waits for his hunting dragon; the bronze will give him the courage he lacks, even if the cilia of their bond are ominously silent. "Dei!", he calls, the undulating tendrils of his tail giving an idle swish. Within seconds, a great metallic thing swoops from the endless clear arms of the sky, trilling cordially to his bonded whilst he lands on the broad striped back. The appaloosa twists the thick muscles of his neck to face the dragon and gives him an affectionate nudge - their bond may be mute, but the fibers of love still connect him.
After a moment of peace, Jackal's head swings forward; he faces a creek, tumbling and wild and swollen with winter's melted snow. With a soft sigh, he hails the other members of the triumvirate: "Archibald, Evers," says the pleasant tenor voice, carried over the Foothills by a playful birdsong breeze. He wants to know what has happened during his bout of wanderlust, and what he can do to remedy it.
Jackal, son of traitors and beggars and thieves, waits, half-hidden beneath the fronds of a willow, for his comrades, and ultimately wondering what the hell he has gotten himself into.
12-21-2012, 12:24 PM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2012, 12:24 PM by Evers.)
EVERS the ABLE
There was a chill in the air and it wasn't entirely because of the weather. No sooner had she returned was Svetlana to be usurped. Evers thought the mare didn't deserve the hate life threw at her, in every step she took it was for the good of the herd. Maybe, if he'd of been more vigilant, the blue boy could have stopped her being taken away. The fact still remained however, that the roan was merely a servant of his mother and the StormChaser would have to have gone either way. The child bestowed with the name Jackal had, in a way, done their growing deranged family a favour. Yet the Chief of Diplomat's could not but wish that there would come some stability, a lead that forever changed was not good for the land. For who should their subjects put their trust into. Jackal had a tougher job indeed, the skeptics would be raising their brow and it was the job of their new Chief to rise above this. Will he, become great in word and action? Or would the boy just wither and curl into a ball under the pressure of many. Time defeated everyone and time would decide his fate.
Evers moved to the sound of Jackal, ghosting through the sparse trees to stand before the creek. Azure pools watching with curiosity as he appeared before his brother did. It was an interesting situation and one that had the blue steed thinking, what would Archibald think? Evers proffers a head in greeting to horse and dragon, parting soft lips to speak a little of his mind. Vocals quiet and polite. "The Foothills is yours to command with me and my brother, but I must ask... Why did you dethrone Svetlana? Do you have a purpose behind your surprising challenge?"
The latter was what Evers really wanted to know. Was he a threat to Archibald and himself too? Or, did the child merely believe he could do a better job. He flicked his skinny grey tail and waited patiently.
Archibald's footfalls are heavy as he moves, anger ripping at his heart. The muscles that wrapped tightly around his shoulders tightened and bulged as he walked, his skin twitching with oncoming of new Birdsong flies. The Dauntless was pissed and someone was going to hear about it. A stranger had called his name, and something in the air felt different. The birds no longer sang in the same way as when they had pegasi around--The Dauntless knew the Stormchaser was no longer a part of his herd by the way the land reacted.
"I am Archibald the Dauntless, Warlord of the foothills." Archibald started, settling in next to his smaller brother with Loretta. His golden glance stayed hard on Jackal and his tail flicked across his brother's haunches. "You challenged Svetlana--the pegasus of our triumvirate--and not me, the equine that matches you. What have you to say about that?" The Dauntless took a step towards the small copper stallion, lifting his chin gently. Loretta watched Jackal carefully, tail swaying gently behind her in a bored manner. She could not hear her bondmate, but knew that he was upset.
Archibald waited for Jackal's answer as patiently as he could, sweaty body twitching as the flies returned to bite at his black hide. The dark knight was not amused at this vagabond coming to claim his herd--no, no--surely he was some type of coward for challenging Svetlana.
Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.
Someone approaches - slate grey with strange claws piercing the skin of his neck. The King of Thieves casts a nonchalant eye in his direction, as if it is normal to seem as if a pack of wolves lives beneath your skin. He offers the gaunt fellow a somewhat whimsical smile, colored by the weight of what he had achieved. Evers the Able is not a loud man; his tones are hushed, as if spoken from an ancient place a universe away, but the meaning of his question is clear enough. Jackal blinks, red eyelashes fluttering before candid silver eyes. When the first traces of a reply begin to form in the whirling matter of his brain, he is interrupted by (he presumes) Archibald.
The draft comes like a summer storm; he is dark and tempestuous, his voice as low and deep as thunder - the appaloosa is afraid lightning will jump out of his eyes. His question is terse and urgent, and he draws closer to the dun, flies coasting over his black hide like a carcass. Jackal flicks a blameless silver eye upward, portraying all the innocence and fearlessness of his youth - he is undaunted. An angelic smile tugs at his lips, although there is something wicked beneath the swirling mercury depths - perhaps the glint of a steel sword? "She is craven and haughty, undeserving of the position she once held," he begins, eyeing Archibald's stony brother, tone unbetraying of the bitterness within his heart; he is still cherubic and poised. "Are you implying yourself as her equal - do you wish for the same fate as she?" Sterling eyes flick to the immense Shire, his voice is faintly amused, devoid of the arrogance his words may suggest. Shyly, Jackal wonders if the growth of a giant's brain stops at a certain size - a size the Dauntless as surely long surpassed. Childish laughter threatens to escape the cage of his ribs, and he instead gives a dawdling glance at the dog which follows the enormous draft. Is their bond as silent as Dei and his? If so, how is the bitch not mince-meat beneath the platters of her bonded's hooves?
Jackal lets his hips swing into a position of relaxation, a toe cocked lightly on the green grass. "What has happened since you have been appointed?" he asks, calm and collected, demonstrating none of the brimstone. A breeze whistles through the Foothills and through the Thief's auburn mane - are these two as adept as their names suggest, or is their reign a mummer's farce?