"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.
12-27-2013, 12:38 PM (This post was last modified: 12-27-2013, 10:02 PM by Vincent.)
Vincent
I know I cannot control the rapidness of my chest. My heart wobbles there, balancing on a hot needle while my chest caves to ungodly heights. There in my black ribcage, are the pattering pressures that damn me. I cannot tell you how many times I've tried to resist.
Her grey essence drags me by my forelimbs, moonlight staring me blank in my face, seeing through my yellow eyes, to lies that mock me. She knows. Celestial bondage bandages my effort. I know she's calling. Her eyes are in the moon: steely craters that whisper damnation in the gale. She is somewhere calling, and I cannot resist, though my heart may give to the withering heights if I do. But each dinner-plate hoofbeat crawls farther towards her siren stare. Beckoning. I tremble as my legs attempt to buckle beneath my massive hulk, but my eyes drive me onward, tranced by haphazard in the moonlight. I can only think of my brother while I walk. I can only imagine his matching eyes to lead me on home because none are as good, none are as true as Archibald.
I am returning myself to the devil and her dogs.
I can stop, but I won't. Justice is not one of those things that you can ignore. And I will not ignore the wrong I've birthed. There were more elegant ways to rip the Sentinel's bridle from his face and gloriously tie the glowing prize to newborn Knox. It was a way to secure his greatness. The Sentinel's child, born beautiful and willing, ready to undergo his training. He would drink his father's ambrosia, learning to suckle his mother appropriately. Learning that she was his only pedestal to greatness. I wronged them. I left Knox and my mother to themselves in the woodland.
I will die, eagerly. I have accepted death's hands in mine, but only if my last breath is done right. I will not betray my mother's bidding. I will only allow the greatest to take my life. I can only imagine someone dauntless. I can only imagine my twin. He will strike his hoof to my face so my life may delicately pass, and my nostrils spew blood. I may die notoriously, readily, so my mother will not grieve much. I sacrifice myself tonight.
But in my heart, the desire of mortality pushes in the chest, thrumming deeply, sorrowful, desperate to turn and leave - gallop back into the outskirts where I could at least be free. The battle drags on, and fear encases me. I should die this way because the guilt is eating me. I know that the quicksilver goddess watches from everywhere. She is too great to only see through her physical eyes.
I draw to a halt, and open my eyes to the moon's harvest stare, heart ticking faster as I imagine my last breath once more. I am here atop the infamous ravine, watching the moon glow with a familiar tinge at the gates of Helovia, looking for my family to slay me as they should. I know that this is my last chance to turn back.
watch the scythe usher me astray A B R A H A M</style>
Abraham, child of darkness, brother of sin, hellion prince, walked proud back to his home. Gripped in his jaw, in the space between his teeth where a man's bit would fit the damned, rested the handle of the woven basket of beach treasure. Inside the basket, nestled with the natural flotsam and jetsam of the deep, alluring sea, was a tiny egg, glowing in the cracks like a jewel in the night. Truly, what the colt carried was a treasure, and he would protect it with his life. His steps were high, feathered hooves that were already growing large, prancing on the loam. He was in search of his family to show them his newest treasure, and his search brought him to the helm of the Threshold. The colt had never been this far towards his parents' old home, and he knew naught of the stories this ancient realm held.
His prance turned into calculated steps, head lowering as his ears flicked around wildly atop his dark head. His mismatched eyes scanned the area of the looming trees, reaching out with their pine claws to run over his thickening coat. He wished to find his family soon, to feel the protection and strength their presence was. It was then that he saw something in the distance shift--a shadow of a massive, hulking creature, and he knew only one creature of the behemoth size: his father. His heart fluttered for a second before he took off at a canter that gained balance daily. He nearly forgot about the basket of seaweed in his teeth when he opened his mouth to neigh, "FATHER!". The sound was cut short as he clamped his lips closed again to keep the basket from falling. His egg needed safety. The basket, and the nest inside, kept it safe from jostling as he cantered towards the shadowy horse.
Abraham came to a stop, his heart beating crazily, and he set the basket down. He was on the side of the equine he believed fully to be his father, and he threw his head, not making eye contact with the creature. He was too excited, too childish in his wonder, to pay close enough attention to realize this equine was not the Dauntless. "Father! I traveled to the beach! There were so many horses there, some with wings I had never seen before, some with horns like me and some without, like you. None were as big as you, because none are as great. Father! There was this shiny thing--an egg--that everyone was gathered around. I knew I needed it as soon as I saw it. I had never seen anything like it before, and it called to me! Finally, this weird animal popped out of the ocean and started talking to us--it was the keeper of the object--and he gave it to me! He made this basket! I had to gather the things inside to keep it safe and warm, and, Father, he told he it was a baby dragon inside! Father, I have a dragon!"
Abraham was talking rapidly, growing body shaking with the excitement in his heart. During his speech he had jumped to the front of his believed-father, closing his eyes and tossing his crowned head happily. He made haphazard gestures towards the resting basket, until, finally, in his last sentence he made eye contact with the molten gold. It was as if the word crashed down around him, for the equine before him of monstrous proportions, was not Archibald. The colt swallowed hard, ears falling back into the thick of his dark mane, and he scrambled to stand defensively over his egg in the basket.
"Who are you, deceiver!?" The talent the child held for his breath to come out in happy bliss one second and angry ice the next was only a gift given from his parents. The child's odd eyes darkened and narrowed, and he remembered Circe's training in the forest. Carefully, the child tucked his chin and aimed his horn for the slab of muscle in front of him. "Speak your name, face-stealer!"
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
I am finally home-bound. I stand between the eerily shaped, swaying silhouettes of sparse forest, eyes peering ahead into the quicksilver, waning moonlight. It fills the area like smoke from a distant forest fire and I'm caught up, smothered mentally, wishing with every drop of blood in my body that I can wheel on my haunches and get the hell away from Heloiva. Long shudders send me into a vibrational attack, and my eyes widen until black, gold, and white are visible. I feel glazed in this stare between the moon and I. Between Mandrake and I. She, the silent devil continues to pull at my conscious, sending me deeper into myself, wishing on a star somewhere that I will soon be slain. I imagine my twin’s hoof will be the sweetest touch across my cheekbone, the most beautiful hour of my own slipping life. What a beautiful pity it would be, sleeping away in the coming time.
I face the solemn gusts as they pool in, Orangemoon leaves tousling in their grace. This is a nice last sight, I think, feeling my sweaty, anxious mane lift in the breeze. Numb thoughts have come and gone, but never have they been so soft, so pleasing. I've come to myself. I've opened my last door. I face the choice of walking through, entering the Threshold walls for the last time, seeing the golden eyes of my twin and then the crooning light of Neique. All in one moment. All in one decision. All in one swift shift of brain neurons.
I can't do it, I think again, remembering the gentle touch of the Orangemoon breeze, the comforting hideaway of my season-long stay. It's not that the world has ever been nice to me. It's not that I deserve to stay — I'm afraid to go. But there is the question ringing freely in my mind, a lit dove in morning light, which stands away from my confusion and my forlorn thoughts. I wonder how many other sons lay dead in Mandrake's name? How many before the inseparable twins, Archibald and I, walk this gracious Loorien, to spread around more of our scummy lineage? How many more of us have been baptized in our father's blood, and sipped his features onto our own? What kind of curse consumes the more of us that have survived her tenacious spider web and escaped on God given wings of strength and valor? What kind of gift am I returning?
With light in my eyes, I see out clearly now the closeness insecurity bid me, I see my own ambiguous fortune in the moon's sinister face. The hours surely seem long and telling of what ghouls reap ahead in the Helovian woods if the sun may rise to light their faces.
But instead of ghastly beasts, out bounds a youthful spirit, laden with mischief and surprise of a familiar bearing. I leap backwards over the hill, hind end screaming to wheel, tail tucking, eyes widening. I quite literally shake the ground. Windswept strands bounce into my eyes and my body is more tense than tall. But the creature, low to the ground, keeps coming, yelling all the way. He’s seen me, I am his target. I must stand my ground, I think while planting feathered stockings into the soil. He’s just a kid. But who truly knows what he possess?
My body shakes in its cage, rooted somehow to the earth as everything I know tells me to run. From what I see of its nearing shape, it’s a foal, harmless in youth. But it reminds me of Konx and the sins that taint him, that will pull him further down the continuous grooves of life’s throat. He’s carrying something.
Hopefully it’s something I can impale myself on.
But as he nears, I see that he's holding a woven basket, tightly wrapped in folds of green seaweed lays an egg. I stand taller than most youthful trees, but I cannot trust the possibility of what creature inside may forsake the world. It looks ancient. It looks valuable. It looks cursed.
But all the while, as I stare haplessly into this basket, he's talking through proud eyes and over-joyous recognition of some kind. I'm still shaking, and I back away form him, feeling terror slip into my eyes as his tone instantly changes. His tiny, oddly colored eyes narrow and his horn aims directly at my throat. I fall back onto my hind, wheeling in the air as the razor-tip glints in Mandrake's moonlight glow, landing on hooves with a shake of the earth. My body stiffens, sidestepping through his assault of mature words, and they sting like bees on my hide.
I think I should let him stab me.
"Speak your name, face-stealer!"
"Vincent!" I halt abruptly, molten eyes thickening, falling into the routine of his command. I don't remember what he called me, but it made me think of Archibald. I stand, silent, ready for his next command.