"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.
01-08-2013, 01:03 PM (This post was last modified: 01-08-2013, 01:07 PM by Archibald.)
The Dauntless limped away from the Foothills, and despite the defeat he walked with his head high. Even without his rank, Archibald was still mighty. Power in his family did not fall under the rulings of a herd, and he knew that. Mandrake’s pride in him would still ring with ferocity, and with or without the Foothills Archibald was still strong, able, and incredibly stable—mentally, at least for now. The limp rolled out because of the burns that licked his rump, their sister resting harshly on his neck. Archibald’s lips twitched in pain as he made his way to the deep forest—a place he knew all too well. He had already killed two horses here, Svetlana the Stormchaser and Roanne the Sentinel. He also knew that this is where the Grey resided, and in their outcast band must be a healer.
Stopping, Archibald let his head hang level with his shoulders. His golden pools gazed down at the water, the crimson-stained crystals calling to him. The trek had taken him much too long, and on his journey he watched as comet lit up the sky. Almost instantly with the bright burning rock, Loretta’s thoughts and feelings hit him like a brick through a storehouse window. Even in all of his pain and exhaustion, Archibald felt pure joy to be able to seamlessly communicate with his malamute once more. She stood beside him now, mentally whispering comforting nothings to him as she rested the side of her face on his strong left foreleg to show her support and love. Thank you, he said to her, and lowered his head, muscles screaming at him, and touched the top of her head with his soft white nose.
”I need a healer, Loretta,” The Dauntless spoke audibly this time, wincing with pain as he lifted his head to survey the area. He waited for someone to find him, following the stench of rotten and burnt skin.
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.
She comes, the deathly scent of flesh drawing her, the scent of blackened skin and charred muscle, burnt and melted, twisted into what is but a parody of the former smoothness and elegance. The mare seeks it like a bloodhound, following the scents, and one would say she is hungry to heal, but the mender herself considers that much too vulgar and crass a word for her, so instead she moves with easy speed and a surprising amount of elegance for her large, normally clumsy pale body.
Originally, the graying mare had been searching for the Gray, somewhat uneased by the thought of having to tell the assassins and killers she was leaving them to join the Edge. In fact, she was rather petrified at the thought, but she would have to start somewhere to begin her movement to a homeland. Unless she found Phaedra- Phae would understand. No, that was a lie. Ophelia would understand, the young mare whose mind was much older than her body, the unicorn well-matured and understanding, immediately close to the draft.
Oh, in case you were wondering, the draft's name is Tor.
Her body, built for muscle and brawn as opposed to elegance and speed, moves through the Dark Forest, a spot of gleaming white only ever so faintly marred by the palest of grays. Once, she was midnight black painted white. Now, she is nearly fully cream. At that point, as a foal, she had prided herself on her clean, neatly-cut paint patches, representing the fine line between good and evil. As for now, she wonders if her lightening coat means she is turning what is defined as 'good'. Symbolically, white has almost always stood for peace and kindness, while black considered vile and dark. Yet Faelene wasn't evil, and Mauja was white, and he didn't come off nicely always as well.
Tor appears from the gloom, hearing his voice, hearing him speak. For a brief second, she had wondered if he was delirious, talking to himself- before she took note of the dog at his side. Ah. A companion. The mare, only a hand or so smaller than the broad stallion, quickly took in the injuries. She had seen such burns before- on Mauja, on Leander's companion, on countless others before she came to Helovia.
"I am a healer, sir. If you would not mind, I can heal you now?"
01-14-2013, 10:43 PM (This post was last modified: 01-14-2013, 10:46 PM by Archibald.)
The sound of heavy hooves barely reaches his ears, eyelids lowering to veil golden gateways. His heavy body sways gently, now, pain taking over his systems. He wants to sleep. He cannot sleep. The black lids that seem so dastardly over his golden eyes flicker, and he turns his head to see the gray and white mare stare at him with something resembling compassion that he had never seen before.
Her words come to him like sweet, cold water swimming down his throat. Blinking slowly, once, twice, the Dauntless speaks. "Please," Archibald's voice was gruff and plagued with disaster. Had it not been for the fire from Jackal's bonded, Archibald would have stood victorious. Loretta lets a low grumble of agreement roll from her throat to Archibald's thoughts as she moves underheath his behemoth body to watch Tor. Her eyes narrow darkly, but Archibald reassures that the new mare will help them.
Turning, Loretta trots around to the opposite side of the crimson-lined pool, lowering her red and white body to lay and watch the healer work on her bondmate. Archibald, feeling incredibly tired, folds his muddy legs underneath his massive weight and rests his chin on a smooth, cold stone. Never so quickly has the Dauntless trusted his body to the care of another, but he knows if things were to turn for the worse, Loretta could deliver her magic as well as a clean kill bite to the mare's jugular.
The dark knight, as he waited, if any of his brothers had followed him out. Surely, if they had, they would have walked with him and helped him along. That is what Mandrake would have wanted them to do for the Dauntless. Archibald let his thoughts drift to Evers, wondering what the small blue brother would do now that Archibald had left the herd. If Tor's abilities were great enough, Archibald would have to find him soon. He also needed to find Ophelia and her sister, Ktulu. The white twin had granted the Grey's services to him when he took up leadership in the Foothills, and now he needed them.
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.
01-18-2013, 06:16 PM (This post was last modified: 01-18-2013, 06:20 PM by Tor.)
Heal. Mend and stitch, consume the wounds, send flesh and sinew creeping across the wound, covering it, burrowing deeper and deeper. Breathe life back into wounds carved and injuries sustained. It is an art, the clever crafting of desecrated flesh.
Tor steps forward to begin, pleas the magic within her to rise and become, not dormant, but alive and wild. She asks it to mend and form, to weave the patterns of flesh embedded in her mind. As it comes rising, rushing out of her and wrapping firm fingers around deadened nerves, the mender half-notices the dog, the companion, nearby.
The draft finds her heart exploding into longing, bursting with the unhoned edge to find her own companion, to have her own bond to cherish and enjoy, the one that so many others seem to love. Long ago, she had been wary of the thought of being connected to another creature twenty-four hours, seven days a week, but now the idea was appealing, enthralling, captivating. It drew her in slowly, a spider nudging and tweaking the delicate threads of its webs, pulling her closer unawares, until now, when it sunk its pincers into her and began to spin the thread around her.
She shakes her head, removing the thoughts of little eight-legged creatures from her mind, and steps back from the giant resting on the soil, withdraws the magic from flesh slowly turned fleshy pink. Burns had always been difficult, but she had done her best to remove the worst of the damage.
"The tissue will be better now, with much less risk of infection, sir." The draft says softly. "May I assist you with anything else?"
Loretta watched Tor with the focus of a dark assassin. Her mind flashed images straight to Archibald's, images of Loretta demolishing the life of the paint draft. Archibald felt solace in his companion's love and loyalty, and it helped him relax. Loretta lowered her body into a crouch, ready to strike. However, as Tor moved forward and began her process in healing her bonded, she relaxed as well. Her stiff body softened and she lowered herself further into a laying sphinx position. Archibald was instantly flooded with relief and it radiated out to grasp Loretta as well.
Archibald's face tightened at first, his teeth clenching as his body wracked with great pain. Less than seconds later, though, his black-coated body tingled and he felt relief. He was glad for this mare, for her services, for the gifts the Gods had graced her with. Archibald's once short and heaving breaths were evening out, his body regulating. Archibald's eyes flickered open quickly and he lifted his head, turning to gaze upon the angel before him. "Thank you," Archibald spoke clearly and refined, normalcy returning to him. After the words rolled off of his tongue the giant lifted himself up onto strong, but still tired, legs. Even with Tor's healing agents, Archibald had still been through a great battle and his muscles were sore and tired.
"I am Archibald the Dauntless, and should you ever need my services, only search me out." Archibald dipped his head respectfully to the healer, his heart twisting in a different way. His brain fired something new--Archibald had never known a creature to be so compassionate and kind to him in his entirety. Lifting his back to its proud height, Archibald turned to look at Loretta. Just as he turned his head, the Dauntless recieved a message from his bonded. Furrowing his brows curiously, Archibald stepped forward to examine the pool just as his companion did. Her amber eyes rested on a small green amulet in the shallows of the pool. Get it," Archibald whispered to her mentally, his full attention falling on his bonded and the God's new gift to him and off of Tor.
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.
Like a frightened child I run from the sleep that never comes
The young stud had been trying to find his brother. Words of the battle had whispered on the winds- Vincent skulked through the trees. Wilder said he'd last seen Archie heading into the woods. What for, the eldest hadn't stated. Though the black boy could guess, as a heavy hoof snapped a rather sturdy branch which had fallen onto the ground. There was a hint of embarrassment- shame- clinging to him. Vincent hadn’t meant to leave- not really. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. But he wanted to be… well. Maybe not stronger; After all, like his brother, Vincent had the raw power to cause damage if he was so inclined. No- maybe it was skill? Really, that was the only explanation. He wanted to be better. Not better than his brothers, just better than himself. Though naturally it wasn’t as if a light switch would go off and Vincent would suddenly understand the technical skill behind his abilities, but he’d wanted to try.
It hadn’t gone as well as he’d wanted it to, but some progress (the slight that he made) had been achieved. Still though, in essence, he had vanished without reason, and returned without valid explanation. Fearful quivers run down his hide at the thought of needing to explain that to Mother. No… if she doesn’t mention it (which isn’t likely), then neither will he. Maybe she won’t even be present.
Vincent wanted to be a good son. Really and truly. But often –too often- his fear of his own mother got in the way of that.
He shouldn’t be afraid of her though, should he? Shouldn’t be running to his brother first (but he was), shouldn’t be averse to seeing that dappled hide somewhere in the outskirts of his vision. No- he shouldn’t, but he is. Terrified. He’s prolonging the inevitable, and likely it’s only going to bite him.
Trees moved out of the skittish giant’s way, a soft thudding resounding, echoing through those trees with each step of his heavy feet. There was a lingering stench in the air; at first, the young stallion had no idea what it could be. Oblivious to the fact that it was the remnants from his brother's burned flesh, the black stallion continued weaving his way through, slinking and bouncing, trying to avoid being noticed (a laughable idea at best.) by any other who happened to chance across him.
He was getting closer. Knew it down in bones. Yet as the distance between the twins lessened, the doubt grew. What if he'd changed during the time Vincent had been away? What if Archie rejected his brother? The thoughts plagued his mind, causing his miniscule confidence to wither away to nothing by the time he actually came across his brother.
Snorting nervously, Vincent hesitated for a moment at the sight of Archie, debating turning tail and leaving. There was another horse, a mare, but his attention wasn't focused on that at the moment. "Archibald."
Loretta, with her tail and head low, stepped forward timidly. She pinned her ears back and stepped onto the smooth rock, paws slipping into the water. Images of the pool glowing bright red and swallowing her whole kept flashing into Archibald's head, sent only from the depths of her's. This was the first time she had ever felt fearful, aside from when she was not able to assist Archibald in battle. When she had stayed with Evers instead of following faithfully to the invasion she had felt so much fear, especially when Archibald's thoughts stopped. It was been the worst moment of her life.
In one feel swoop, the bitch's jaws open and close on the amulet, the small item resting carefully in her mouth with a small deal of the pool's water. Backing up as quickly as she could the red dog twisted to body and bound towards Archibald, dropping the amulet at his feet much like a domesticated dog would drop a tennis ball at her master's feet. Her tongue rolled to the side of her jaws as she panted, her legs shaking some with the adrenaline that the fear had given her. Just as she sent and image of her going to hunt, Vincent stepped from the trees. Instantly, Loretta felt Archibald's attention being pulled from her. Sadly, she turned to face the oncoming twin.
"Vincent." Archibald turned his body, slowly and stiffly, to face his brother. Fatigue still plagued him, and he wanted to rest. However, the appearance of his twin was too alarming, to say the least, for him to even conceive a plan of rest. "Where have you been?" The Dauntless asked simply, staring into the same golden eyes that he possessed.
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.