"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.
Restless, I wander, my soul writhing against the confines of these stone bars, the castle dungeon that kept us safe from the menace that crawled above. I am torn between obeying the mare called Circuta and my desperate need to feel my wings spreading wide, caressing the wind as it ripples past me. I long to feel the Moon’s soft light kiss upon my hide once more, to hear the stars sing their soft, lonesome song through the vast night.
Here, it is always night. The light is unnatural and false, a harsh orange that bleeds across the pelts of the masses huddled in the central chamber, a pale, flickering blue in the room in which I had met Quilyan and the other writers. It was not without its beauty, this is sure, but I am not made to live in a stone box. I am made to fly freely among others who know the joy of gravity’s release upon their bones, the subtle croon of the breeze as it slips past feathers.
My tail thrashes and writhes behind me as I stalk irritably out of the main cavern. I grow weary of being jostled and touched by the unworthy, so close to their stagnant breath and impure bodies. I grow weary of this life that I have found, the damnable hole into which I have been forced to hide like some weak colt rather than the proud princess that I am.
So many bodies would leave such a stench in so small of confines; it is the only logical boundary through which I can confine the rancorous snarling of my blood as my blue, ethereal gaze seeks out the narrow path between the gathered groups of my inferiors and those who could be better than the company they kept, if only they could see as I saw, if only they could hear the call of the black bell.
Into crystals I wander, the light refracting through the glassy walls and expanding deeper into the maze of walls and stalagmites that rise to and from the ceilings than it would otherwise. It is a room of splendor and fantasy, a place where my eyes flicker about to follow the trail of the lights deeper into the surely dangerous and confusing rabble of the labyrinth.
I wander deeper into its embrace, the gentle lull of its serene and winding paths. If I am lost, at least I will not have to look upon those I wish to maim and murder; I will be free, in a way. It will have been my choice and my actions alone that led me there.
So long as I do not trace myself back to why I am underground to become lost in the first place.
For many hours I delve deeper into the cavern’s serpentine belly, an occasional, useless secondary covert or scapular feather plucked and dropped to the glistening floor to allow me some sort of Hansel and Gretel trail to follow back out. The light blue sheen of the feathers trail quite elegantly behind me, dropped every few feet, and while I have many of them to use, I am soon short on any to spare and find I must desist on my travels inward.
I am surely not as wise as many women I have known, but I do know one thing of life; there are no coincidences. The Gods have built a path for you to walk on, and while it is possible to force a stone to crumble or to create a separate branch from the main road, the line is the same.
We end, always, on the same point we were born to find ourselves upon.
I move to turn back around to follow my feather trail back out, but something catches my eye in the motion; it is round, for the most part, and of a pale, ice tone with white and steel flecking all along its surface. A strange rock, I think to myself, curiosity pulling me nearer to the object in order to classify the stone for later reference, should the need arise.
What I discover is only further proof of my theory on life’s path – I had only enough feathers to bring me here. That was no accident of timing, no alignment of events born of random selection within the universe.
This was meant to be mine.
I look at it quietly for a long time, from a distance that allows me to ponder over the implications of this situation. There are no other animals around, decided with a quick application of my sensory abilities, not a scent rising to my nostrils of the scrabble of claws or paws. The egg has been alone for some time – it may not even be alive. But, from what little I remember of my studies on companion animals (the women of Elysia were not prone to keep bonded creatures, believing themselves to be above the common rabble of nature and finding the emotional connection between such a great being and a lesser one diabolical in its notions), these things tend not matter. By simply touching it, accepting whatever life may reside within the thick shell, I will give it purpose, and an existence.
The black bell tolls, tells me I do not need to become one with a maggot.
My true heart sings out with longing for someone who can understand me without a spoken word.
For the millionth time since I had been branded with the sinister marks of my people, I defeat the malicious call of the poison. I step forward to close the gap between the egg and myself, and gently touch my nose upon the surface of the infant’s cradle to roll it nearer to me.
I find that there is already love held in my heart for it, even at that first, tingling touch.
[ OOC: Birthday give-away prize for a newborn normal companion is going to Cealestis! :3 ]
BEOWULF "Lonely? I don't know. They tell me this is cold. I don't know what cold is, because I don't freeze"
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The beast made his way down a labirynth of tunnels, he wasn't entierly sure which direction he was headed, due to the lack of the sun or moon, one could not tell the time or the direction he was headed. Though that did not phase the beast, He simply carried on his way.
A feint glow could be seen up ahead, The Beast did not think much of it at first. He saw it as just the way out, knowing he had taken the right path towards freedom. Or so he thought so. The way turned, pushing him along, only to be suddenly blinded by the sheer brightness of the cave. Crystals adorned the walls, ceiling and even the floor. Light streamed across them all. The cave sparkled with an incandescent light, captivating the Beasts easy mind. He glanced to the ground, taking in everything around him, though too his dismay something else caught his attention, standing out from the floor lights, sat a small feather. He picked it up, tucking it neatly into the hair that pretty much covered his body. Only to find another not to far ahead, then another. The beast followed the trail, having only collected on of many. Where had these come from? What had dropped them. It was odd to think a bird would live in such a dark vast cave system. But perhaps one did.
He followed the trail, though when it ended and the Beast raised his head, he saw something he would never have dreamed of. Actually he did dream, but the images of them were so much more different than with real eye's. He'd only ever had stories to paint a picture.
The winged goddess of the skies.
The Beast simply stood mouth a gaping in awe. He couldnt even move nor speak. Never in his life would he forget this moment, the feathers must have belonged to this angel. And at the he snapped out of the trance. "Such beauty I have fallen upon. I am sorry for the intrusion. Please do not mind me. I will be on my way. However i understand that this may belong to you" he reached into hid neck fur taking the feather and placing it upon the ground infront of the Angel. Bowing ever so gracefully in the presence of something so rare. He truely was a gifted man.
I am being approached, the heavy thud of hooves alerting me to the presence of another who I have not welcomed into my company. It seems the way of this place, to be approached by strangers; my life was not so in Elysia, feared by all beneath me and respected by most above me well enough to let me rest in my own aura.
I tear my eyes from my prize, the gift that has waited for me in the bowels of the earth, to look upon the brutish oaf that stares at me as if he has never seen a woman of any true beauty or any woman at all. He is broad and muscular, covered in a thick layer of fluff that lines his entire pelt as if he some wintry beast with a horn.
My people would have bound him in chains and used his muscles to build, to pull large stones and timber, or taught him in the arts of protection and sent him to guard a Lady. If he was lucky, myself, or my sisters – or whatever poor wenches had taken our places since our departure.
I can almost hear my mother screaming her rage to the heavens from here – if only I wasn’t so distracted by the gore hued tongue that is so close to lolling out of this plush man’s mouth, the droll bonging of the bell that has been so taunted by his foolish gaping.
Men, is all I can think. It’s all I can ever think when presented with the hormonal morons.
The usual nuances are spoken of my splendorous appearance, something I carry little pride in; often times I have wished to be maimed and made hideous, so that I might be better appreciated for the mind and soul that are trapped within my figure, not the curves that grace me with their feminine embellishments. I nod courteously, my tongue gripped between white, strong teeth.
And then he presents me with one of my feathers.
I feel panic overwhelm me momentarily as I sweep my eyes savagely across the rest of his grotesque fluff for signs of more markers, the only way can assuredly find my way back out of the maze of crystalline stone. A vicious snarl rises in my mind, claws at my extremities and sends a hot rush of tingling rage through my brain, perhaps darkening the pale, pupiless gaze with which I barrage him, but I am not such an animal as to let the monster within me escape.
My sun sister, our sweet daughter of darkness, I remind myself, a silent prayer that subdues the writhing fiend in my veins long enough for me to take note that this is all he has collected of my path.
A sigh escapes my lips, tender and delicate on the air that has grown still and silent in the moment it has taken me to assuage the seriousness of this man’s stupidity.
"Yes," I say, slowly, perhaps rudely. I don’t give a damn. He deserves none of my attention or concern, anyway. I turn my eyes from the stallion and back to the egg, nudging it loose with my nose and propping it against my forelegs.
I take a moment to ponder how it is I will carry the object out. It is smooth and round, with no obvious means of transportation other than to roll it, which surely is not the best method; the shell may be strong, but any stone will chip if struck enough times, and this is not stone. It is alive.
I raise my eyes and turn to face the unicorn stallion again, a hopeful light to my expression as I gesture with a cloven hoof towards my prize as an idea strikes me, suddenly quite glad for the interruption and mildly disappointed in my prior rudeness. "I would like your help," I state, too proud of heart and spirit to ask in a formal question. I angle my body so that the cascade of my ice hued mane is directed towards the stag’s eyes, pondering how to word this as simply as possible.
I cannot know if the man is an idiot or not. I can only assume so.
"I need to bind my mane up into a sling, to hold the egg," I state, "but I cannot do it alone. You may keep the feathers, if you’d like them, so long as we may follow them back out before you collect them all."
BEOWULF "Lonely? I don't know. They tell me this is cold. I don't know what cold is, because I don't freeze"
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Beowulf's simple mind did not allow for such emotions to rule him, Hate did not exsist in the Beasts eye's. His switch was permanently on survival, To survive was to win at life. So when the winged Angel was somewhat rude towards him, he did not react at all. She could have torn him apart with sharp edged words and still they would barely have created a scratch upon his wool. Perhaps it was because of all the hair upon him, not only did it protect him from freezing temperatures, but the evil that laid upon the world.
A simple guy with a one track mind.
Golden orbs picked up upon a small stone that this one seemed ti be playing with. He was curious as to why. He looked closer, or just outright stared without a care. The texture was not unlike any stone he knew, it was too smooth, the shape was somewhat strange too, slightly tapered at one end.
He felt it when eyes became trained upon him, glancing up he looked right into her eyes, no feelings swept over him at all, it was a simple motion with no meaning behind it. Though he knew something was about to happen with the way this winged beauty was acting. And there she asked for his help. He didn't ask any questions, for to him it was rude. The beast pulled himself more upright and stepped with on cloven dish forward. "It will be an honor to be of assistance" He bowed formaly, tilting his horns away from her. "How can I help my Lady?" He spoke as he pulled his stance back up.
So the stone was an egg, how bizarre. The beast again, did not ask a single question. He stepped forwards. "I will do my best to help" He spoke simply. He would gladly take the feathers for they were offered to him, a symbol to remember the day he met his first winged creature.
He moved forward and there waited for her command for what he was to do.
I have been presented another buffoon, though this one is at least brawny and well enough in the present to keep me on my guard around him. My eyes threaten to roll as he repeats his eagerness to help thrice, a mental reminder flashing silver and bright within my mind that it is I who have invited him into my ruminations, to strike at my rancorous mind with his idiocy.
He took his first step nearer my mane, and I raise my head in and turn my face away in expectations for him to begin the assemblage of the sling. Instead, he only breathes on my skin, a hot and moist touch that causes the flesh to crawl and my muzzle to snap back over in his direction with a perhaps to harsh glare in response to his ineptitudes.
"Well?" I ask sharply, gesturing with darkened lips towards the locks I wished to form a hammock of sorts before realizing that he perhaps didn’t even understand the basis of weaving or knot tying.
I sigh, heavy, sorrowful.
Why, dearest dreams of mine, have you led me to this land? To hide in a hole, bombarded by fools? Not a damn one of them are my sister, not even those who wear wings. I have come here to be alone.
I wish to have come to the land from which Quilyan has come, a place where men are civil and the populace learned. I miss my Elysia, the black bell taking on a note to its song that is sweet and inviting, and I am bitter towards everyone I have met until this point in this putrescent kingdom for tempting my heart into those dark waters so quickly.
I had wanted to burn it down, to drain it empty and void of all life – and now, in ways, I longed for it.
It forces me to have to collect myself, though thankfully, it should appear as if I am just pondering how to direct him in the task.
I am good at directing others in the arts of hair braiding and decorative finess; I was a princess, after all, and all slaves are born with heads like hollow jars until you fill them. What more is this man then a slave, if he does not know how to aid me without verbal direction? What more are any of these men, then, if I am to set my hopes on the numerical ratios that have been presented to me thus far?
This is a place of fools and pompous morons, where the winged have forfeited their birth rights and the women have fallen beneath the hooves of men, all fire and blunt force with no intellect or tact as should be required of those who lead.
"Grasp the longest strand," I begin in my directions after having composed myself well enough to speak without shouting, thankfully wise enough for us both, "and those along either side of it. Push the others over the other side of my neck, for the moment. We will return to them later." Holding as still as I might once I have returned my gaze to the fore and lifted my crown as high as it will rise, I tuck my wings tightly to me so they will not interfere with his work. Thankfully, he is not so small as my last handmaiden, and can easily reach the crest of my nape without a stone to stand on for additional height. "Grasp the left strand and place it atop the center, and hold them in place while you rest the rightmost strand over those. Repeat the process until the whole lock is braided."
Realizing quite suddenly that I had no bindings, I flick my lion’s tail in his direction in a gesture that suggests he might grab some of the strands from it to tie the ends. "When you can overlap the locks no more, bind them with some of the hair from my tail. I unfortunately didn’t plan to find the egg so as to gather other means of ties."
BEOWULF "Lonely? I don't know. They tell me this is cold. I don't know what cold is, because I don't freeze"
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He stepped up, doing as she commanded. The beast took the longest strand between his lips, being as careful and gentle as the large mass could manage. It was a hard task when one had three spikes protruding from your skull. But he managed just enough to complete the task at hand. Following her every instruction with precision. At first the beast got a little confused with all he had been told, but after a few attempts he managed to get the braid going and soon he was to the end.
As her tail flicked up towards him, ready for him to take a single strand from her to tie the braid, he held it into the corner of his mouth, gently as he plucked a thick strong strand of her silk. The beast knew how to tie a simple knot, something they had all been taught where he had dwell. Without much to it the braid was secured and gently he let it drop back to her neck. "There" He spoke with a slight hint of pride in his voice as he stepped back ever so slightly to admire his work.
Such privilege he felt from having aided such a rare creature. if only he could send a message home, to tell his people that he had met the ones they so highly spoke of. That the stories were indeed true. The only one of his people left, to have met the winged in person, in over a century. Perhaps one day they would all get to meet them again. Another part of his adventure was complete, but yet the beast still had much more to learn, to see and experience. And to do so, he would have to leave the caves.
Thinking back of home, made him feel a little sick and lost. He missed the company of his family. he had met a few here in these lands, but not any unlike him. There was such a wide variety of beings living under one roof. At times, he wished that maybe someone from home would find him, someone that understood him better than all here. Beowulf longed for some kind of friendship.
"Anything more you may need of my assistance m'Lady?"
@[Cealestis]
OOC: Urgh sorry for the long awaited reply and the sucky reply ;_;
"Speech"
03-26-2014, 03:46 PM (This post was last modified: 03-26-2014, 03:51 PM by Cealestis.)
Despite his yeti like appearances, the man was with decent tact and grace, the sharp tips of his horns not once grazing my flesh and his lips, while they had fumbled at first, soon caught on to the theory well enough that after the first few faltering moments, his speed was efficient and the product (not comparable to that of any of my handmaidens, mind you) was satisfactory. I stand still enough to let him admire it for a moment before I turn to inspect it, not able to miss the aura of pride radiating off of the overly fuzzy unicorn.
I revel in it, in a way. Not like most teachers do when their student has learned from them, with a smile and a brightening of the heart, words of praise falling like drops of rain in the midst of Ánoikse’s wettest months. I have no praise or smiles, barely even a rising of the brows as I take note that he has indeed made a braid among the rippling strands of my pale, ice toned mane, the only offering to him for a success being the promise of the feathers and a gentle bob of my head.
I do take note of the fact that the gleam in his eyes that I earlier named for the usual male reaction to pretty women still lingers, though faded, but I have been mistaken in calling it lust. What gleams in his eyes, as he stands back to observe me, is wonder.
How curious.
"Loop the bottom of the braid so that it is attached to the top, in a hoop shape," I say more softly than before, intrigued by my newfound question of why it is I am so fascinating to such a creature as himself. Surely he has looked into still water before, hasn’t he? It is most probable his sort knows very little about mirrors.
"I suppose I’ll need help getting the egg in it, as well…and looping some more hair about it so it does not fall," I turn my eyes away again, back to the crystalline wall I had stared into while he worked on the initial braid, ashamed to ask assistance from such an inferior beast and my poisoned heart aggravated by his nearness and my own emotions revolving around him; it is the usual game. My true heart tries to sing over the sound of the bell, and the bounding noise of the bell attempts to swallow my heart whole.
I try to enjoy this simple man, despite his stupidity, regardless of my own wicked temptations that lure me down a path of murder and darkness, a black palace for broken minds. I try because he knows how to live in ways that I cannot understand, as do all the other slovenly peasants of this land.
He can love life, and those he finds in it. He has a choice to hate. He has a choice to slip into dark caverns of the soul, or to wander in the gleaming fields of bliss.
I am forced to walk across a barren land, each path strewn with thorns and sharp lipped glass. I never had a choice, not really; I had been the only voice in a chorus of chanting that had not believed or known all the words. It had taken six of us, that choir, until we could bare the mindless droning no longer and tore from their tightly grasping talons the only one left of us who still knew the song of her own heart.
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