"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.
And so it was that I followed you home, brother dear, a soul beckoned forth by the reaper himself. My steps were light with the reunion's joviality, latent remnants of forgotten youth lending spring to a Seraph's wings. Thoughts and plans, they whirled about in a frenzied dance, and I welcomed them all with open arms, relishing this brief break from the tedium of acting, the break you give me with your blood and wrath. Trees gave way to ice, and ice to snow; deeper into the frozen north you lead me, my stoic little brother grown to tall, noble king. Ah, but you'll always be that gangly colt to me. Curse of the sibling bond, I suppose; better get used to it, my sweet little beast.
White and dark in the stark winterscape, we make a pretty pair with our matching blue eyes, thin horns in thinner air and the sleekly regal bearing of The Cunning Himself. Around us the mountains pierce into the sky; it's a cold home you've chosen on top of the world, but I hide disappointment from your burning glare, masked with a smile and innocuous gaze. The snow crunches sweetly beneath cloven feet, leaving triangle trails that follow us home. Home- is it mine, now, too, this desolate tundra so far from the sea? The idea's appalling, I have to confess; but my blood has made its nest, and I am forced to comply. Perhaps we shall remedy this problem at a later time; I do miss my Tides, but I miss Deimos far more. Besides, there will be plenty of opportunity for expanding territory later, right, brother dear?
We step through the threshold and suddenly there's green. "It's lovely!" in a frigid, lofty sort of way- but really, it is quite lovely, your little pocket of life in a world of snow. A cornucopia of alpine life from what I can see at this outsider's vantage; green beckons from the far valley floor, promising food through the cold winter months. The mountains stretch high; we are well-fortified, and the view isn't bad, if you like rocks and pine. I've always been more of an ocean girl myself, but perhaps I can get used to this place. Still... "It makes me miss the Tides" I tell you softly, my voice the lilt of silver bells. Yea, I miss our birthplace, the clear cool water lapping at a crescent shore. I miss it dearly, but this will do.
I look back at you for a moment before striding forward, eyes trained on the world just waiting to be seen. It's a figurative thing, an act all for you but not of my normal sort; I want you to see that despite all my misgivings, the threads of nostalgia that tear at my heart, I will take this as my home and make it ours, our empire from which we shall gaze forever down, our home of debauchery and triumphant sin, our throne of skulls and brittle bone.
"Come, little brother, and show me our home."
ZU R I E L THE_S E R A P H I M
closingtimex.deviantart.com
[ idek it's 3:30 am. Open for everyone and anyone :D ]
Bits and pieces of past lives stitched together, seam by seam, sliver by sliver, collected memories poised and prosed into plunging oaths and pledges. What were barbs without their assembled brethren of nettles and thorns? What were sins without all of the licentious words spoken between them? What were iniquities and immoralities without the ghosts of their comrades and patriots, distorting the foundations of livelihoods, divinities and reveries? Zuriel was a glimpse of a world they’d left behind, of moonlit tides beckoning them for another run, another chase, another screech of a gull or the cry of an osprey, and when she glided into the aperture of the Threshold, he’d felt the sting, the pull, the weight of Isilme resting on him again. A father’s glowing, dying embers, a mother’s shackled approval, worn, gliding touches not embraced or regaled upon until there could be no more. He couldn’t bring her to a chiseled shore, to cliff tops rising over shoals and deep, loathing bracken, the arches and longing of a christened sea, to a forest embedded deep into the core of restoration and a familiar, saddening outline, but he did offer the antiquity of her element; ice and stone, caves and coldness, the last sketch of her smile before it fell into chilling reverence. Over and over again, they made their stand, gloom, power, might and domination amongst these glacial peaks and valleys, across the unending lake, along the springs that nurtured aches of battle and weariness of mind, where the ethereal bombardments never ceased and the anarchic swells of summit thrones positioned them for decadence. He fell into the signature of a younger sibling, pondered and wondered if she would enjoy what they’d taken, what they’d snatched, the wares and finery of cold glades and hostile, rimed passions, if she were awakened into the finessed derision of yesteryears, if she was proud of the monster and beast he’d become, the satanic sword he’d molded his depravity, his villainy, into. For all his queries, he voiced none, pressing into the wake of the auroras and frost, the crisp, archaic reticence of a severe, sinister rapier returning to his empire. The behemoth listened, potency clambering for one allure of his sister, one finessed lyric of her fondness for its cool appearance, for a kingdom where they’d stake their reign, higher and higher, until they reached the heavens and stole every morsel of virtue.
The pernicious swing of her voice soothed him momentarily, quieted the pariah’s thoughts of her disappointment or disapproval, clinging to the softness quelling amongst her vocals. He failed to mention his own sentiments upon the lack of rolling tides or the vibrant ocean frothing and foaming at their heels; delving deeper into the influential pockets of his childhood would only stir the last, fleeting days of happiness, of infantile wonder, and all the tumultuous regrets bursting forth. Instead, the puncturing juncture of his gaze flickered from her to the outstretched world before them, to the supreme peaks awaiting their chance at supremacy, at domination, and then, the undaunted pool, never consumed by the Siberian upheaval of passing seasons. With a painstaking effort to please his sibling, because it seemed some portions of their lives were forever entombed, chained and consumed by birth order and juvenile hours, the deep candor of his voice erupted over the seraphic calamity of hers. “There is a lake.” He presumed she wouldn’t be appeased by something other than a great, mighty sea threatening to swallow them whole or imbibe their powers, infuse their grit and determination, but perhaps it would grant her momentary satisfaction in its rippling fortitude and hastened repose. His motions were gathered back into their calculated stature, acrimony and defiance, ethereal and vicious, towards the swell of water bursting across the rimed valley.
Throw along youngest stare arms reclaim stars unnamed.
Boredom and loneliness had been starting to get the better of the spider child. A majority of her time was spent off in an isolated cave she had found, wandering about in it and playing games with herself. She wouldn’t bother adults with her boredom, and she didn’t feel enough enthusiasm for playing to seek out others her age. The newness of her ‘home’ was beginning to fade, and she finally decide to pull herself from the dark cave to do something other than eat and drink.
Another game of pretend ensued with the only playmate Jorogumo had, herself. She found herself chasing imaginary enemies and vanquishing them with her horn. Such a display would be quite comical to any passerby. When she was chasing a rather tough enemy, the filly felt her legs come out from under her, and before she knew it, her body hit the snow. A giggle escaped from her lips despite the slight bit of pain. As she stood up, a foreign scent caught in her nostrils. Curiosity swelled up inside of the child and she decided then she would discover who else was roaming about. Since her arrival, Jorogumo had only met the kitsune-tamer and Kisaki. A thought then hit her. Did any stallions roam about the Basin? Or had she wandered into a place dominated by females? No, that couldn’t be, after all, if there were foals there had to be stallions. Mother had explained quite explicitly where foals came from, and they most definitely didn’t come from where so many foals believed them to be from.
Two figures stood off in the distance. One of them had quite a few horns. She cocked her head slightly and drew closer. They wouldn’t hurt her, after all, she was one of their own. The filly walked right up to the two figures, and kept her distance at first. For a long moment she studied them with her pale eyes. The stallion had a sort of menacing air about him, that did leave the filly feeling a bit nervous her curiosity was greater though.
First she watched the mare with a ridiculous amount of horns. Wasn’t one horn enough for her? Maybe it was prettier where she came from, but Jorogumo found it quite bizarre. The filly closed the distance between herself and the adults. Without a word she went up to the mare first and sniffed her briefly, and then almost did the same to the stallion, but she decided against it with the unsettling feeling she got from him. Instead, she just turned toward the stallion and stared at him with a contemplative expression. Would these two adults drive her off? It could be great fun to see how these adults to react to her presence. Mother had always told her not to stare, because her eyes could be quite frightening. I want to see if this stallion is as scary as he seems, She thought t herself. Only weaklings cower at my gaze. An odd thought developed by none other than herself, the spider child found it quite delightful to be able to truly think for herself.
Dark tones erupt with violent integrity, splattering her calm demeanor with the vicious need to satisfy prerequisites never quite declared. Or so it seems to the whitewashed girl, though her reaper has regained the melancholy composure appropriate for he, the Deathtouch King. At the crest of eternity they reclaim their masks, entering once more into the masquerade- she a sweet maiden, innocent snowdrop awaiting the world, he the dark stranger, dour allure a dangerous mix that soaks through his coat and escapes into the day. They cut a fine figure, as always they have, the father and mother reborn into flesh. She lets her eyes pursue his words; she has already seen the lake and scorned it, but he need not know that his is a reviewed reward. "A lake sounds lovely," she tells him sweet, the tingle of mischief resplendent in her voice. "Perhaps I shall freeze it, and make us a rink on which to skate."
The shifting of stone upsets their camaraderie, a delicate and dirty scent of youth twisting on the wind and into her thoughts. Our angel restrains from throwing back an ear; children do not appeal to her, though the wraith has born two of her own, and the idea of a petulant brat interrupting the reunion of water and death jars against her mind like the howl of a dying thing. Where is its mother, that it is allowed to wander so, free as a wild thing upon the hill and vale, unbeholden to a world where the minds of others are a construct you must learn to control, not intrude at your whim? Subtlety and children do not a marriage make; but the whitewashed queen does not scowl, does not show this on her face.
Instead she watches as the filly draws near, blue eyes bright with the appearance of welcome. Sharp lines warm and relax when the child stops short; a glance is thrown to the demon brother, the laughing warning of do be nice, and the angel returns to the onyx foal, blinking but once at the flash of soulless eyes. Odd, she thinks, yet composure remains, only breaking into words at the fearless approach. "Be careful darling, my brother bites!" The laughter is set with a firm vein of iron; while boldness is admirable, it is not always wise. Behind eyes that simmer with smiling falsehoods she wonders if the girl will approach her Reaper with as much brazen abandon, and finds herself disappointed when the creature does not; still, it speaks of some hope for the filly, that a slight whim of sense still runs in her mind.
She shakes her head, twisting her mane to dislodge some imaginary insect, letting the white of it ripple in the sun, tight eyes closed against the black of the child, the abrasive grey of the mountains, the greenish gleam of a lake which is not her sea. She does it to stretch sore ache, to hide behind the curtain of natural beauty; she does it to give herself a moment to think, to size up this infant and decide what to do next. The girl is bold, this much is true; but brazen and thoughtless as well, as children often are.
Fight fire with fire, the actress decides. Test the filly's resolve, see what she can hold. "You have remarkable eyes," she states as a fact, some gentleness still lingering but the laughter left behind. There is sincerity - the white eyes do startle, though she has seen things far stranger - but mostly the question, and a challenge, and behind that, just blue. She glances at Deimos, the Reaper King, and wonders if he will step into the fray- probably not, if she remembers the young god right, but perhaps he has changed in his rise to the top.
Forged connections, once a hindrance, were now inescapable. Bonds thrust and molded time and time again, even as he managed to mar and solidify them into dissolved aspirations or forgotten, forlorn entropies, forced into his nefarious qualities, simmering and bubbling below the surface of his blackened, charred organs. Some, like those stoked at birth, could never be truly done away with, siblings cycling and circling one another like voracious hawks, plucking at their weaknesses and mauling anyone else who desired the same. Family, carved and nuanced from coals, embers and devotion, calamitous streams and echoes of rancorous resolutions and chaotic semblances of creeds, power lined with more power, blood soaked with fire, reverie slashed with icy daggers and fuzzy recollections. Even the wake, the force of elements, water slinking into the chambers of his heart, sinuous and unwinding, clandestine and rapacious, avaricious and binding, cascading in a rippling pool of constancy, repose, warmth collected and streamlined into a deadly statue. His attempts at shackling them away were seemingly impossible, for they continued trickling back into the King’s life – one by one, rhapsody and rue, raingirls and blossoms, demons and infidels, siblings and upheaval. Instead of pushing them away once more, for it didn’t appear to matter, they flocked back to his quietus, to his acrimony, to his pernicious slate each and every time and he didn’t dare to drive them away (not when there could be a moment when they were truly gone, and he’d be left bereft again), he sought to display, show, the competency of his dominion. What was a master of demise without his satanic requiems? What was a sovereign without his unending kingdom, summits, mountains, and cliff tops rising into the darkening skies? What was a tempest without the uncurling, unfurling storms breathing into his movements, his motions, his contorted armaments? What was a monolith without his subjects, bending and swaying to the Machiavellian concoctions building amongst his scheming mind? Even now, in the quiet, poised artifice of the Basin, he yearned for Zuriel to be proud of him, to manifest, reveal, convey, the true concoctions of his labor, of his efforts, of his maelstroms set to warrior oeuvres and opuses. The Reaper’s gaze lingered upon hers for a few seconds, sought to claim her distinction of this frozen land, but the mischief sprinkled amongst her tone told him. It wasn’t enough.
Disappointment coiled deep into his veins, threatened to pulse along his features into some juvenile petulance, but he held them taut, rigid, and structured into the clean rigor of a soldier, of a General, of a King immune to the damaging ridicule of his sister. He pondered over what else to demonstrate, seeking her satisfaction, grating and grasping – perhaps Loth, with her bright allure, or Huyana, with her quiet, calm glamour, but the sound of another drew his attention away from attempting to gain recognition from his family. A child, not his own, but postured from some portion of the frosted, glacial palisade, dragged into their midst either by curiosity or ignorance. The piercing fold of his stare fixated on her for a few puncturing seconds, unfamiliar, not chiseled from any of his soldiers or femmes, dipped in shadow fixtures, with her own haunting glare. He offered naught but the dreaded, trenchant, mordant, scathing diligence of his silence, but Zuriel prompted the youth, and if they were back upon the sea, children again, he would have rolled her eyes at her accusation. In the present, he continued to glare, bestowing no reprimand to refute the notion. The grating coil of his vocals stirred with nonchalance, a dispassionate figure cut into the frozen landscape, nearly as frigid as winter itself, permitted one scrawl of his reticence. “Who are you?” She was not honored with his appeasement, with his desire to unwind all the precise, calculated ruses marked along his membrane, the extensions and wealth of family, but perhaps, with time and loyalty, she could serve, and become, a reason for him to remember her presence.
12-15-2013, 07:28 PM (This post was last modified: 12-15-2013, 07:29 PM by Jorogumo.)
Jorogumo
Throw along youngest stare arms reclaim stars unnamed.
Jorogumo listened to the warning of the white one, and then she laughed. Did this mare see her as some joke!? If the white one, with far too many horns found her a joke, what was to stop her brother? Well then, the dark filly would just have to prove what she was capable of. Perhaps her feelings toward the stallion were correct, but she wouldn’t let this adult see her fear. “So do spiders, and I don’t fear them, in fact, I find their company pleasant.” She said simply. What was that even supposed to mean? Whenever her mother had spoken to her in riddles it only left her frustrated, and it appeared she was taking on the habit as well. The spider child felt her stomach twist and turn in disgust at herself. How could she take after that creature that abandoned her? Few things were worse than becoming what her mother was. To be like Yuki-Onna would be Jorogumo’s worst nightmare. These two most likely didn’t know what it felt like to be rejected, especially since they had each other. Siblings that loved and cared for one another. Again her stomach twisted and turned, she wanted to destroy what they had, take it for her own. What right did the white mare have to be loved? These adults of course wouldn’t be able to see all the internal jealousy, strife, and something that resembled almost hatred. The child kept it all contained, and it simply manifested itself within the blankest and most apathetic of stares. If she was a joke to them, they wouldn’t get to see her heart. In that moment, she came to the realization, no one had any right to see her heart if they would laugh at her. Huh, maybe adults did teach her things, even if they had no intention of doing so.
Her eyes rested on the stallion until the mare spoke again. Jorogumo turned her gaze from him and back on the mare. The mentioning of her eyes made her feel almost defensive. First the white one laughed and now it appeared she had the gall to insult her. “Are they?” She said, unsure of how to react to the mare’s words. "I find them to be quite useful."
The dark stallion asked for her name, the tone about as apathetic as her expression. She simply shrugged, and just to see how these adults would react, she would give them her true name. “In my mother's tongue, my name is Whore Spider.” The filly had come to believe whore meant black, which made sense within her mind. Before she gave them her true title, she let that hang in the air for a very long moment. Oh how she looked forward to seeing their reactions, little did this child know of the connotations, she simply believed it to be an almost hilariously literal name. “Within my father’s tongue, it is Jorogumo, which is what I am called.” She almost added how little she cared for his own name, but disrespect was unwise with the potential of either of these unicorns to being rulers. Obviously the mare couldn’t be one of power, Jorogumo told herself, Kisaki is the one that rules this place. Not this mare that has too many horns.
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
