"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.
08-06-2012, 10:29 AM (This post was last modified: 08-07-2012, 12:00 AM by Prometheus.)
The encounter with the dark mares in the threshold left me weary and bored; I left their side dissatisfied and yearning for more to this life that I've been given. You've trained yourself over the last season, and now it seems that anything may fall under your spell. Your eyes seem brighter now, but not with life. No, they seem brighter with mysticism and are filled with a haze that I can only describe as cruel. Each day you spend with me draws at your innocence. What is left of your good nature now straggles behind us like the last wounded deer in a herd. On some nights when I glance behind, I am almost certain that I can see it there- a pale mist emanating from your pelt.
And that is another thing; your coat seems to grow darker each day. I wondered for some time if it was a product of age, but I realize now that the darkening of your coat is from the blood of your hunts. Like me you are dirty and have a certain pallor to match the undead life that we live. Your stripes fade and blend with the dark red of your coat, while in other places dust and a life led in the swamp have turned you a sickly greenish white.
But now we venture outside of the marsh that we've lived in for so long and drag our corpses to the borders of a new land. I can tell by the way you shift your paws and the brightness of the sky that it is hot here, and yet I cannot feel it. I still feel cold; I am perpetually cold. My red cleft hooves sink into the sand but I feel nothing. There is a certain thrill to it, a sense of elation at feeling both everything and nothing all at once. I feel a monarch among mortals, all powerful as I stand below and yet rise above. I have cheated death and led life, can any others say the same?
You tug at my withers impatiently, clutching my dead flesh with your polished fangs and tearing off more of the skin. It hangs loosely from my hide, and I look down to you with a stern and strict gaze of disapproval. Strange how little I have to tilt my head these days; soon you will walk taller than me, I am certain of it. No matter my years I am still a child in size. The form is inconvenient, but better than having no other, I suppose. Better than a still grave in the depths of the marsh, and better than a tedious existence like so many others that I've witnessed.
You growl viciously and your trail flickers with impatience. I understand you and yet I do not care to act. You edge closer to the Oasis that rests in the distance, but I stand firm in my place, looking for all the world like a desert mirage. Potential swirls about me in patches, forming a mirage of what I could have been, but it fades at will. With the form of the living I begin to feel the burning of the sun and the heat of the sand; these feelings will do me no services. In this midday summer I am still and patient, waiting for the world to come to me and my new death to begin on its own terms. You may cry, you may growl and hiss, but it does nothing to change what is left of my mind.
I will wait for eternity and the sun will come down, but I refuse to move forward alone for any longer.
[[He wishes to be an Apprentice for the Dragon's Throat.]]
KRI the resolute one cannot stop the wind from blowing, nor refuse the falling rain.
A monster in the Throat.
That was my original thought, as I fly through the air above the small creature and his pet. I think that some demon has passed through the gates of hell and chosen to come after my family, my herd. Still, I do not attack him at first. Instead, I soar above observing him for a few quiet moments. My dark blue eyes scour his crumbling form, but for all of the decay, he stands still, this child, in the light of the sun.
I see a flickering of a stallion hover in the place where he had once stood, tall and proud. The same paint markings without the holes through his flesh, without the green tinge of his skin. Perplexed, I turn my head to the side even as the illusion flickers away again, leaving the foal standing with his pet in the sand below. The heat of the sun beats down heavily upon the small frame, and mine as well.
When the heat of the sun threatens to push my wings from the sky, I descend, having seen enough to know that this colt, whatever beast he was, meant no harm to my home. The tiger cub beside him was probably more likely to strike out at me, I knew, as this zombie seemed dismissive toward everything.
My hooves meet with the sand below, and I canter forward, capturing the speed from my landing to push forward, slowing only when standing a few short paces before the dead. His stench was apparent, but what else would you expect from rotting flesh? My nostrils crinkle upward as I swallow my own disgust, holding my head high in front of the visitor. I do not speak for a moment, sizing up my company with dark, fiery blue eyes. My hair twirls around with the wind that gusts around me, the magic of controlling the wind often meant that I unconsciously had it follow me, especially in the heat of the desert.
"Hello," I say finally, my voice strong, gruff, almost the voice of a stallion were it not for the feminine curve of my words and mouth. "Welcome to the Dragon's Throat, traveler."
""
She falls from the skies like a bird with a broken wing that ends its life with the sudden snap of a thin boned neck. I am unaware of the wind as it soars beneath her and the grace of her descent. I see her only as a being of the sky, and imagine her thus as clumsy by nature. Equus were not meant to fly; then again, they were not meant for resurrection either. Still, as I stand stolidly, my body loosely rooted in the sand with the herd leader's wind passing through the gaping holes in my flesh and making eerie sounds as it passes my bones, I find myself thinking that this contradiction of nature is simply wrong. Is what is natural simply what is a part of nature? What defines "a part of nature"? And I a part of nature, this walking corpse that sees without electricity running through my muscles, has a beating heart despite the stillness of the blood in my veins?
And you- a tiger fading each day, smaller than you should be but larger than I. Tall enough now to graze the belly of the living and brush my own shattered shoulders, you are and never have been truly alive. You have suffered with me in my world of pain, hunted with me and fed beside me, but you have never lived life as you should. Your mother gave you to me with her trust; a foolish thing she was, a foolish thing trust is.
I wonder if you even remember her touch. I wonder if you remember her warmth beside you, and I grow horribly jealous all in a manner of seconds that, should you remember, you have anything nice to think back on. All I remember of my mother is her shadow bearing down on me as her hooves struck at my neck and snapped it clean in half.
The creature before us, chocolate in color with wild wings and a flaxen mane, stands tall and proud. I have already judged her by her stance to be some figure of power, but it means nothing to me. I will treat her as I would and do any other- with a cold, distancing tone and a curiosity for the taste of her flesh.
She speaks and I hear only static. She is strong but I see her as weak, confident but seemingly insecure. At my side, you stride forward royally and come to a gentle, easy sit. Your eyes never leave the mare before us as you swipe your lips with a long and flexible tongue. Together we hunger, longing for the taste of the hunt that we've so long missed. To eat makes us more whole- to dine on the flesh of others brings us strength.
"Tell me, mare, I speak in a wicked, whispered murmur, "tell me why you grimace so in the face of my power; tell me why you shy from the image of your future." The young stallion watches her with dead eyes and a still form. Potential rises, a translucent image of my life unburdened. I stand below the mare, and yet a part of me floats above, looks down on her with white, seemingly blinded eyes, and a majestic horn poised to kill. To strike at the heart and never look back.
"And tell me; does this land have need of one like me? I, the undead hunter, let my potential take over and I flaunt my glorious, attractive form. Red varnish spotting the color of fresh blood shines through a pelt of ghostly white, long, thin strands of mane and tail hang from me and drip like muscles torn from flesh. Beside me, you yawn and expose rows of vicious teeth formed to kill.
KRI the resolute one cannot stop the wind from blowing, nor refuse the falling rain.
“Would it not be more unnatural to smile at rotting flesh?” I ask, a smirk rising on my lips as the dead one criticizes me for looking so displeased at his foul, decaying body. Do I fear death? No, but I should not have to be around to observe my own corpse when death falls upon me. “It is instinct that makes us shy away from death. Otherwise, we would welcome it.” The illusion of a full figure begins to form again, but I do not hardly blink at this alteration. I have already spied it from above in the clouds, where he did not see my approach until I was nearly upon the ground.
I note that his horn is pointed, seemingly at me, but it would be foolish for him to show aggression toward me. While he may be used to being dead, I was far more adept at living, fighting, and generally kicking the ass of any foolish enough to strike out at me first. My head just raises in rebellion of his silent threat, and we play a small game of unspoken words in this desert land. It was strange, to speak to this dead colt, who seemed so condescending toward the living. Was he not once a living soul as well? What was he now?
I did not know, but I did not dare ask.
His question takes me by surprise, but the emotion does not cross my face. Instead, my features turn thoughtful, as my dark blue eyes move systematically from his tiger to his own figure. Did I have need of him? Who would have need of a zombie and their pet cat? It seemed more like a dangerous endeavor than a beneficial one, but there was something in the dead look of his eyes that made me take pause. There was potential for some gain in this, I feel, but as for what, I do not know. “I do not know if we have a need, but you are welcome to stay, so long as no harm comes to my herd.”
08-22-2012, 09:34 PM (This post was last modified: 08-22-2012, 09:35 PM by Prometheus.)
I become aware of the fact that she sees me as a monster, but it brings me no displeasure. Others may see me however they choose, and it is their issue. They've their own bridges to build, cross, and burn- I remain on my own side. The river Styx divides us, but I've no desire to cross. Should any other, I'm glad to help; I've simply no guarantees that they won't drown on the way over.
Thoughts of death lead to vivid imagery. I see the mare before me as no more than a pile of flesh and bones, picture her sockets empty as flies pick at the caverns within her sallow features. I see myself standing before her, leaning down and parting my lips for that one, tender kiss. The first taste of a fresh kill; the heat of the blood as it rushes over my gums and the snap of muscle as it rips between my teeth. She asks me in that moment if I would like to stay- or rather states, but I see it as a loaded question- mentions that I must leave the members of her herd unharmed. The illusionary scent of her blood fills my senses and the image of her corpse rotting in the hot desert sun invades my thinking.
My lips curl upward in a sickened smile, and beside me you turn your expression to one of sage understanding and flick your tail to signify agreement in your own manner. "Of course. We are hunters of the wild, crafters out of what nature supplies. What need have we for your flesh and blood?" I whisper in reply, lifting my brow and letting my handsome features appear almost coy. My tail, leonine and flexible, waves behind me like a cat's. Your eyes, a fiery orange, are the last sign of life between us. There is nothing natural left in me, and with the absence of life in my breast, I am revealed to have lost a sense of truth and lie, right and wrong.
I am right, yet at the same moment I understand that by my very existence, I am wrong. Still, is it right of me to think that? To know the wrong thing is right, to lie about what is the truth- are these really such grand sins after all?
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