"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.
All things had been blanketed in white since their exodus; the shadowmere had shepherded her sons to a place just as deadened as it was healing. The darkness seemed to have spared the snow, whatever it had tried to do to their beloved homeland—although Circe did not feel herself filled with the same sort of homely pride she expected to feel upon returning to the meadow. As her sons bolted away from her, kicking snow into the air and snarling and laughing in the thin, bitter Frostfall air, she felt the stirrings of a familiar worry to fester in the back of her mind; how are we going to eat? Will we have enough shelter? Will the shadows hide the monsters of the darkness? What will stop my sons from wandering from me?
The day started grey, and ended the same; the invisible sun left, and all light drained from the skies and the covered meadow. The stream was shatteringly cold when she struck the ice, crushing it open for her sons to be able to drink, training them how to reach life-giving water even in the dead of winter, teaching them the bitterness of cold. Then they slept on ice; Circe cleared a space for her sons to retire under the low-hanging branches of a bush, but the ground was frozen under the drifts, and she watched her sons huddle tightly as they drifted off.
She watched her sons for a while, standing there in the black and white, her breath heavy bursts of smoke in the night; she turned away from them a little ways, allowing them to catch their rest, to get them away from the taint of her worry. When she was far enough from her sons, close enough to see their shadows resting under the snow-covered boughs—it was then she began to pace.
The darkness was gone from this place—such tidings were good ones indeed. Archibald was gone from this place—but he always left to fight, and her worry was intermingled with a touch of pride for the ex-General. No, it was not these things that whirled within her mind, but oh, how her mind did whirl about in the snow and the crisp night. They were a vortex within the confines of her skull, and the faster her thoughts raced, so did her pacing; the faster she paced, the more upset the snow was; the more snow churned under her feet, the more she saw underneath its blanket, and discover that apples, even the rancid ones, froze in the snow.
The night had well and truly fallen, her sons were sleeping, and her thoughts wrestled with her painfully, unrelentingly. And so, despite her oaths, despite her past experiences, despite the overwhelming caution that pounded behind her eyes, she partook of the first frozen apple.
It was an odd sensation to step into snow, following the previous night where she'd been wreathed in flames, inside and out. It made a delicate crunching noise underfoot and brushed against her skin with a light, oppressive kiss that was not unlike the hooked forelimbs that had nestled against her hips. Ampere smiled fondly at that memory, weaving in and out of it with a new found giddiness. It had been so long, too long, since she had last felt a stallion, least of all a god, in that manner. She wondered now, as she often did afterwards, why she didn't spend more time partaking of that. It made everything significantly better in a world that was routinely awful.
So carefree was her heart that Ampere whistled a tune as she walked. She hadn't sung since she first met Gaucho in the oasis (another good day), before all the shit started and things got heavy.
It was a nice sound, a melody she'd learned from her mother, which she occasionally interrupted to sigh dreamily or nibble at a passing frond.
She had wandered out here mostly to service her stomach, having grown fond of the weeds that grew in the wild lands during her time living here, The Dragon's Throat was enjoyable, and the activity last night certainly rooted her to its red sand forever more, but cacti and tough brambles were not her pallet's favorite choices,
It was in this manner, singing, lust satisfied, and with a grass blade stuck in the corner of her lips, that Ampere came across Circe as she was partaking. Ampere halted, though it was a slow process, her mind nearly as foggy as the other mares with all her dreamy, steamy thoughts swirling around inside it. Even in her state though Ampere was able to recognize the mare she'd once played games with, and the memory brought a broad grin to her smug maw. "Mind if I join you?" Ampere asked as she neared Circe, her nose sniffing at the apples which were especially pungent, in a sweet way. Ampere lipped at one, grateful for the fruits of the wilds. The flavor immediately burst upon her tongue, a mixture of disgust at the soured flesh and desire for the sweet juices that flooded her mouth. "I know a game for this too," Ampere said through a slosh of apple, her mouth already beginning to froth.
Apples didn’t take away worry—but they had a way with words, surely. For the shadowmere’s mind had started to buzz with the third apple she ingested; by the sixth, a certain glitter had come upon the whiteness of the snow she stood in, hanging about the brilliant ice that sheeted over the creek and showering from the stars above, for the clouds had dispersed, apparently disapproving of the sweet poison on her tongue. Her sons slept—Circe confirmed this by sweeping past them once, twice, then returning to her coveted apples, her reservations quickly forgotten, her worries heavy in the air in a way that didn’t stifle her lungs any longer. She breathed the bitter air easier and it certainly cleaved her chest in two as punishment.
The shadows began to move—but that was expected in the shadowmere’s intoxicated state. She didn’t mind the shadows shifting about her, as long as her sons continued to sleep and the apples continued to appear from underneath the snowdrifts. It wasn’t until the shadows spoke to her with the music of a half-forgotten voice that Circe finally reacted to the creep of the night; she spat the apple she had been working on back into the snow, her head snapping upward and her whole body swaying dangerously from her sudden movement. She stumbled backward, straining to make sense of the broken blue lines that adorned this moving, talking shadow; Circe snapped her head behind her, trying to look for the sleeping forms of her sons and failing to distinguish two dark bodies in the fluttering, multi-lensed mass that floated in her vision. She blinked away the blurriness; as she beheld her sons, something about the striking blue of the creature speaking to her rustled in her memory, and she turned to gaze upon the shadow with a hard, if somewhat glazed, stare.
“….Ampere,” she finally breathed—or rather spat, for the apples numbed her tongue and loosened her jaw, and speech came blunt and simple from her maw, uncontrollable by the hands of etiquette. “Little blue…warrior mare,” she said in thick, heavy tones, and she relaxed some, the memory of this tiny thing rushing to the Pegasus’ defense; the meadow on top of the world, long ago. Circe tried and failed to stop the sway in her stance, so gave up and dropped her muzzle for another apple. “Help yourself. I do not wish to claim this orchard any longer..”
In her inebriation, the shadowmere had let slip her innermost worries into a convoluted thing, the words tumbling from her lips faster than she could properly think of them. “You have games for all things, it seems,” she growled in that throaty, garbled accent of hers, yet there was a chuckle in the fold of her tongue, settled in the back of her throat. “Very well, then. Teach me, little mare, this game of yours.” She gave a slight hiccup, yet stood tall and proud, a dignified birch trunk swaying gently in the non-breeze of the brilliant winter’s evening.
This world is too fucked up and far too short to spend all of it worrying and staying sober. You have to take the time to enjoy something just for the sake of enjoying it, especially if you want it. Otherwise you'll be left laying the the dust, gasping your last gasp with a wheeze that causes blood to foam of your nose, wondering at all those missed moments and the opportunities they boasted.
Ampere didn't want to die with regrets.
Besides, with all the wrong in the world and its habit of getting wronger, everyone has a vice they lean on. It's just too shitty of a life to not have some way to cope - anyone who says otherwise is lying. Everyone copes, just in their own way. Getting drunk was one way, because it had a way of numbing the hurt and clouding the memories that wiggled in the darkest corners of your conscious. Somehow it gave you courage too, which at times could be on short supply. All in all, seems like a pretty good deal given all the crap shoots you usually get.
Ampere took another, and another, foam gathering on her lips at the same rate a grin did. She wanted to lose herself.
"That's me," she agreed with a light laugh, although it quickly turned into a pout when Circe seemed ready to leave. If one thing was for sure, losing yourself to substances was a sad thing when done alone - but the event improved dramatically with company. Misery loves company after all.
Before she could get a word in around her apple juice though, Circe had swayed and stayed, her lips dry but her mind already moist. Ampere's eyes flashed in the dark as she slung her head back, dropping another fruit down her gullet. "It's called, have I never," she began informatively, her lips smacking together exaggeratedly. "I tell you something, something I haven't done," Ampere paused to wipe her mouth on an extended foreleg, "but if you have, you eat up!" Ampere's wings had begun to lose their tight fold against her back, though her gaze remained firm as it held Circe expectantly.
"I'll start momma bear," Ampere whispered, not waiting for any protests on Circe's part. "I have never danced."
The shadowmere furrowed her brow as she listened to the playful, azure words from the shorter mare. “Never have…I...have I ever?” she stumbled with her thick, clumsy tongue, lisp and all, trying to repeat the name of whatever mischief Ampere seemed to have up her sleeve. Several seconds elapsed while Circe processed the rules of the game, her eyes wandering vaguely from Ampere’s electric gaze and floating over the still, snow-capped nightfall, the clear, bitterly bright starlight that shattered over the landscape, the blurry, ghost-like images of her sons still huddled together underneath the shadow of the splayed branches, where she had left them, supposedly not very safe but very much sound for the moment. She snorted then, snapping her head back towards the Pegasus, the idea of the game finally making some kind of sense to the inner workings of her fuzzy, pseudo happy mind.
“Alright, then,” she sighed heavily, settling on one hind hoof as she waited for Ampere’s assertion, slightly melancholy at the restriction of her otherwise boundless apple consumption. Dancing, hmm? The dark mare mulled over that one for a moment (admittedly, everything needed to be mulled over in her current inebriated state). The term nope sprung to her lip, for the word “dance” brought to mind images of dainty, surprisingly gorgeous equine creatures tip-toeing through the tulips, a vapid mist in their eye as they contorted their limber bodies in time to the phantom music of make-believe dreams—and Circe was certainly not a creature inclined to such garish behavior.
But then…then another memory permeated her apple-soaked mind. The memory of her sons, so tiny back then, sitting before her wide-eyed and bored as she explained to them the importance of a limber, flexible body in the heat of battle. What had she told them? ”You will grow up to be large, like your father, I’m guessing. You have seen the power with which he moves—yet he dances in battle…” Circe blinked away the blurriness of the cider, only rising from the turbid waters of confusion as she made the discovery that she would be able to partake of the fruit once more. With a sloppy, triumphant smirk, she quickly ducked her head and plucked one more rancid apple from the snow. “I am most graceful tribal stomper,” she slurred dryly through the sour juices, and she swallowed her coveted treat while thinking of a claim she could throw into the fray.
“Hmmmm….” Circe pondered, an ear cocked as she strove to come up with an idea for a task impossible for the shadowmere, yet quite conceivable for the electric Pegasus. “Never have I—no, no, not that one...” she muttered, furrowing her brow and catching the tail-ends of her phrase before it wandered too far from her tongue; lies would’ve been released from her maw if she had allowed her claim to escape passed her teeth. The only merit her phrase had was that it had been most interesting indeed, bold even….and after the shining intensity of her previous claim, Circe found herself floundering for an equally suitable phrase to challenge Ampere with. With a hapless shrug, she blurted, “Never have I….crashed into thorny tree from sky.” Her wording clumsy and her thoughts as fuzzy as her tongue, Circe kept herself from going for another apple, some distant piece of her mind alarmed at her sudden dependence on the fruit.
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