"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.
02-17-2014, 01:19 PM (This post was last modified: 02-17-2014, 01:19 PM by Reginald.)
Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joyWell, what's wrong with a little destruction?
It is too large to simply call it a stone; a small boulder suffices as a title. Moss grows on it, tempering the edges of the rock, and it is agreeable to the touch. The green skin glows, like the rest of this wretched room; it is a soft, calming glow, a gentle blue that the grey eyes cannot tolerate. The light isn’t harsh to his iris—it is too soft for him. He does not like weakness in all its forms, and it does irritate him to see this calm place, when inside he burns with his boredom, his festering restlessness.
He nudges the rock, for it is small enough for him to shift with his hoof. The moss rolls easily on the spongy earth of the underground; the bluish rock shimmers as it sails away from the grey-eyed prince. Reginald follows behind; he ducks his head down and touches the rock with his lips. He tastes the glow of the boulder; it’s bitter, and he quits it. He nudges it once more, and again, it reacts to his touch willingly and readily, moving across the sodden green of the underground forest. He catches up to it; he nudges it again, trying to change its trajectory. It obeys his curious wish; he knocks it into the bubbling stream that flows its way in the twilight. He goes to the rock; he stretches his jowls, picking it from the mineral-infused, crystalline waters. He gives a jaunty toss of his head; he releases it from his teeth. It sails in the air, a bluish comet in the dusky shadow, and as it falls to the ground Reginald runs after it once more.
Something shifts within the darkling colt’s mind. His feverish, calculating mind becomes preoccupied with the small, glowing boulder rock; all his scheming, his irritations, his contemplations of his brother and that frail white dragon, of the Jorogumo who swore herself to him—all of it vanishes in a different kind of coltish frenzy. He becomes obsessed with the boulder, but this obsession is a thing apart from his usual passions. Those are evil things, gruesome in their contemplation; this rock stirs something else, something that is curious and excited with the trivial pursuits of a child. He forgets his annoyance; he plays,and indeed, he can play. True, he is not viciously powerful in his movements—but he runs, for now he is able to run. He tosses his head, for it does not cause a headache. Abraham is not here to demonstrate the proper strength of a foal his age—and therefore, he is the most powerful in this domain.
He plays an unknown game, but it’s fun to him, for the ball goes where he tells it, flies when he wills it, and glows continuously, drawing his eye away from the irksome gentleness of the world within which he has stumbled. The Son of Hellion is at play, and for a time he does not hate; right now, he has forgotten how.
[Once again, Foals Only please! No posting order, but please wait a few days between posts to give others a chance to get involved! I'm tagging everyone who expressed interest in the thread, but any foal/yearling is welcome!
He was moving from one end of the room to the other, padding slowly across the glowing moss-covered floor with the mind lost in thought, when suddenly something big and hard rolled into a long, spindly hock. Frowning at this interruption Kari looked up and flicked the slightly too long forelock out of the eyes, peering out from behind the silvery strands only to see a large colt come bounding towards him, likely heading after the ball.
Kari hadn't intended to move. He disliked stepping out of the way of others, frowned upon the rudeness with which some shuffled by, scraping their hooves against the ground or hanging their head like slouches. The young hybrid himself was neat in his ways; wings tucked in tidy folds against the sides, the mane that just had begun to unleash from the tight curls of a newborn was sleek and shiny, and while the stumpy horns on the brow had a tendency to crack and splinter in a painful and annoying way, at least the tail would never be anything but nice looking with its long whip-like shape and creamy ridge of pale silk. In comparison, the boy that charged at him seemed like an ogre. Nothing but big muscles, brute strength and, as far as the hybrid could see, a delight for destruction in the eyes that was downright disturbing. He half opened the mind to say something, but instead of letting loose his complaint the boy instead opted to jump to the side, well out of the way so that he wouldn't risk being run into.
"Watch where you're going" he said coolly and gave the mossy rock a tap with a rear hoof as he turned, carelessly knocking it further away from him, only taking his eyes off the other colt for a second to watch it roll. "You shouldn't run around like that, you will end up annoying someone."
Someone like himself. But he didn't let that thought move past the lips and chose to hide the seething irritation he felt at having been bothered. Kari had more important things to think of than foals and games, he had a rescue mission to plan and the weight of passing time was a heavy burden to bear. Already he had spent too much time loitering about these caves while his mother was somewhere out there in the snow and the cold, sick and starving... or worse. In comparison, this little boy (who for all intents and purposes was both bigger and older than himself, not that Kari hadn't noticed) seemed both pitiable, envious and trivial as he chased after his rock, so absorbed in the makeshift game. It lured a trace of a smile onto the gray lips of the winged one, intended to be amused... though somehow it only turned out stiff and cold, mocking in its briefness as he turned to walk away.
These days, Sacre was more or less confining himself to one corner or another, the Sanctuary stifling in it's crowdedness, but much better than what lay out there. His reason, however, was that he was now no longer alone, he carried something that had become very valuable to him over the days, but difficult to carry. Not without jaw ache that was. He moved carefully, slowly and at short distances, watching strangers eyes and carefully placing his beloved treasure in strategic places so he could always see it. He often found himself talking to Roux, even though he wasn't there, the arrow that was neatly tied into his tail had now become the embodiment of his twin. Sacre told crimson missile many things, from random thoughts to his most darkest worries, it soothed his lonely ache when they were apart to know that he was connected to his twin in some way, even if it was only to let him know when his sibling was in danger. Sacre prayed every day that it's smooth, red feathers didn't stain the walls with an ominous glow.
The boy was slowly becoming accustomed to the lack of light, fair to say however, that the flower the Moon Goddess gave to him was a little worse for wear in the shrouded darkness and wilted, still tied to his mane. Sacre never removed it, intended to return it to her one day, no matter what state it was in.
Today he decided to explore a different side of the many caves, branching off from the main sanctuary, walking along the hard floor until it became spongy with moss, lips firmly holding his treasure in place until the room opened up into room full of marvellous trees and spectacular glowing leaves! Awed, Sacre carefully placed his egg behind a firm looking boulder, "wait here" he murmured to it, like in the next few minutes it was going to sprout legs and runaway from him. As all eggs do. Confident that he knew exactly where he'd left it, the colt walked further into the room, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes until he turned to look at what or who it was that was making all the noise.
Another colt, younger than himself, was charging around after a stone and seemingly in a world of his own. His grey tones blurring into one as his impressive body bolted after it, hooves skittering this way and that in a scene that looked like so much fun. A wide, boyish grin exploded across Sacre's dark features and he laughed gleefully before eyeing another colt, who stood rather reserved in his observation of the joyous picture. This one had two horns and wings! Like the Earth God, but this child looked a world different with not nearly as much presence as his Majesty, Lord Earth had. Still, the child was an enigma and a sight to see, but his words were rather disappointing on the ears of an adventurer like Sacre. "then they should lighten up a bit, wouldn't you say?" He asked, his face a picture of child like mischief, always the one to taunt, but his intentions were sincere. The more players, the merrier the game.
He took his moment then to enter into the grey's game, who was equally adorned in an impressive dark crown, quickly bending down in hopes to nudge the stone towards the colt who had started the frivolities, then trotting off across the room with a twinkle in his eye. Hoping his horned brother would play along, and the intriguing hybrid would step off the sidelines to join in. After all, a game was much more fun when there were more parties involved.
Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joyWell, what's wrong with a little destruction?
The dark prince ran; the dark prince panted; the dark prince nudged the rock endlessly, and he adored it. His sides heaved; flecks of foam began to form on the side of his mouth. He did not slow his pace. He ran, and it was the flight of his frivolity that gave him his strength—the grey-eyed colt feared that, if he slowed down, all these detestable would catch up upon him again. His frail and sickly heart, his trembling knees, the hiss of blood that rushed in his arteries with pained urgency—all these things he feared would drop from the sky as soon as he decided he was finished with his game, and once again he would be brittle and anemic, a useless vessel.
His eyes trained upon the rock; he saw nothing else. He followed it wherever he chose to send it, and even though sometimes it shot off into its own trajectory, he followed close behind with a single minded intensity that interested him. Surely afterward he would analyze this new feeling, this growing obsession that seemed to have sprung to life of its own accord; for now, he chases the rock. He does not waver from his devotion—and even when the flow of his game is seemingly broken by the sniffling, pompous words of an annoyed little thing that cast the stone aside, Reginald does not register this thing passed a noisy, messy snort of impatience as he shifts his movements to further follow the rock’s progress. He does not know where it goes—he follows it regardless.
The rock is stopped—then returned to the grey-eyed prince. Only then does he tear his gaze from the make-shift ball to see a boy who towers over Reginald in a shower of black and crimson sparks. A daft moment of confusion and subsequent rage for the interruption of his game commences—then, almost at once, the flames of hatred die out indeed. There in the shadow boy’s lustrous sapphire eyes blaze the same feverish desire for the ball’s movement that Reginald himself had felt moments ago—and in the recognition, the dark colt feels himself fall into the pit of his frenzy again, for it is seductive to him, and he cannot resist. He does not want to.
On a whim, he follows the movements of the trotting black colt before bending down and nudging the ball powerfully, aiming it for the black-and-red colt’s possession. He follows behind before his body fails momentarily; he must slow his pace to a spirited walk, for his breath comes in heaves and he has started to sweat underneath the thickness of his winter coat. He does not mind these things; his eyes are alight with excitement as the ball approaches the black colt. “To the water!” he calls, demands, but the demand is tempered by the exhilaration in his voice; he urges the colt to shoot the ball into the gurgling creek that lays beyond them, nestled within the glowing nest of the lush underground forest, while Reginald catches his flyaway breath. In an aimless game, the grey-eyed prince has decided there is now an aim—and the ball must make it into the water.
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[O] Capture-the-Rugby-Basket-Ball [FOALS]
HP:42.5
