"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.
He howled a silent, unsung fury, predatory, carnivorous ferocity boiling and brewing through the raw, blackened candor his lungs, of his feral, vulturine heart. Secrets exposed and lacquered to the bits and pieces of their shadowy exteriors, and it consumed every pledge of his infidel constitution, a figurine cast in malice and menace, undulating savagery, brutality, barbarity, feeding the wolves with his rancorous traces and devilish sketches. The Reaper King, the demonic monarch, the bestial statue, wanted naught but blood on his daggers and ichor on his rapier, bodies falling on the dais of war, comfortable killers waiting for the opportunity to contort mayhem. Here it was, cast-iron ignorance, sirens of stupidity, inept infidels burning holes in their plans, languidly piercing mothers’ hides and daughters’ pelts, forgoing treachery for foolishness, unraveling at the hands of their glacial persistence. They’d unleashed havoc, chaos, maelstroms and bedlam the moment they touched and scalded one of his patriots, offered violence and villainy like ravenous, swarming extortionists, and he’d rip into the core of their witlessness. He wanted them weeping, crying, sobbing, begging, pleading, and yearning for their lives, and subsequently granted none of the accord: finessed debauchery, licentious creeds promised and pledged in the finality of destruction. He wanted heads rolling, pierced and staked, bodies flung into catacombs and tombs, bleeding sepulchers and rotunda graveyards. The world always paid for imprudence, audacity, and absurdity, and the Basin would gladly serve as the wicked executioners of this round, skinning, flaying, persecuting and devouring, sinning upon the sinners who dared to infiltrate their masses. The icy realm would serve as a reminder of their might, their perseverance, their power, their puissance, the pernicious swing of a sword’s conviction and creed, the unwinding, unholy, disentangling of a vicious touch when one defied, challenged, their antipathy. This Regime awakened, incited, and kindled the harshest of infernos, and he couldn’t wait to listen to their screams and wails as they were desecrated, obliterated, and exterminated. Chasing, hunting, and embracing the rapture of demise, preying upon those who’d struck first.
The deep, raw, biting tone of his voice reverberated through the chasms of his mountain throne, seeking each glacial ear, each chilled individual, reaching for their minds, their motions, their movements. Not a soul would be left in ignorance, to be galvanized deep in the wounds of the Regime’s power, to be pierced or slated away in chunks of this delusional group’s motives. “Basin – a new threat lays beyond our borders.” The bewitching tides of his strides swept through the nestled valleys, the furnished tundra, the quiet, untouched hot springs and lake, grasping for its infidels and pulling the strings of their pace. “Join me in their persecution.” Hell’s augured, ravenous lord promised convictions of the most debauched, unraveling intoxicating, demonic chords left to strangle, to choke, to smother those who touched his brethren. A crossing of swords, a calling of arms, a bestial stage set for all of its malicious players, he settled into the middle of their glacial storm, their hedonistic fury, waiting for his flock to converge upon the bullet, the blood, wildfire fueled.
[Herd meeting for IC information about the Regime/plotting/plans/missions to be set forth. Please post by May 3rd in order to be privy to this information (and so we can move the meeting along ;D). Thank you!]
DEIMOS
delivered from the blast last from a line of lasts
and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone
background pattern by webtreatsetc.deviantart.com image credits
The call awakened him from his trance within his deep work. Farenjer looked around with tired eyes and blinked. Was it already this time of day? Had he been working this long? He gave a hefty sigh and placed the work down, his ears rotating forward, and his head slowly lifting over to place a gaze upon where the basin's leader stood within the thin blanket of snow. He carefully leans forward and pulls himself from the confinements of his small hollow within the foot of one of the peaks. He continuously moves forward, his ebony hooves brushing along the silver powder, and his ice-cold tail swaying upon his tracks as he motioned towards Deimos.
He approaches him, and with a nod in greeting, stands in silence. The reaper's words echoed in his head, and he wondered what it could possibly be? Would it interrupt him with his work? Such as collecting materials for his projects? The metallic statue had already been completed, it stood gravely within the narrow passageway to the valley, and in no way was it possible for any threat of the Basin's to pass through without its intrusion. Ulrik made sure of it. He whispers, a note to himself "What could it possibly be this time?" And would anyone else show up to the meeting? It felt rather strange being the only one here with the Lord. But he would soon see for himself if anyone would come to calling. For it was not his time to wait patiently for the rest to come to the summonings, and all this raveling mystery would be put to and end to for him about this new danger... Or at least he thought it would be.
The Bloodskald had been sleeping when he heard the call - or more accurately, when his companion had heard the call. Through their bond, she woke him with curious prodding, asking "Who?" over and over until the bearded giant grumbled awake and affixed her with an icy glare.
"What is it??" he snapped, barely awake enough to understand Irelyn was still questioning him about someone. Who? Who who? Torleik hadn't the slightest idea of what she meant. His owl-griffin squawked, annoyed, and returned his glare.
"Call. Who?" she clarified slightly. The dual-horned beast's brows furrowed and he brought himself to his hooves, venturing out of his cave to look around. Deimos... he sighed, seeing the Reaper's figure in the distance. Irelyn cocked her feathered head to the side, curious, but asked nothing; she merely perched atop one of his horns and settled in as her bonded and her current ride moved forward.
Torleik ruminated over the fact that there was another meeting, wondering why this was necessary. If this was to chastise him publicly for being ambushed, captured, and fighting his way free, he would be so very displeased.... Coming up alongside a lone attender whom he'd never laid eyes on before, the Bloodskald focused his attention on the Lord of the Basin. "A new threat?" he asked carefully, awaiting clarification. This could still go badly for him.
d'Artagnan the Nightshade</style> Death will know your name.</style>
The clouded dark days had brought to life a new side of d'Artagnan, a weakening side that the master of all things vile had never wanted to meet nor come to terms with. The fact that he was now aware of how powerless he could be added a new edge of wildness to his eyes, if anything, the elder days of the Nightshade's life upon the earth were perhaps the most dangerous of all. In youth there was still time to live for, even then the shade had been a beast to watch for, a murderer who cared for nothing, but now that sand was slowly running out and he continued to approach a sick darkness. A place of a monster, who had with nothing left, was the home of a behemoth with no chains; d'Artagnan sailed ever closer each day. This was what happened when a mind already twisted was gnarled more and more, soon there would be nothing left but flesh and hunger. His saving grace a ghost of a mare, his flowerly light, Kou held the pieces of his shattered entity. A broken stallion, but a dangerous one at that.
As he gradually fell into the grips of a unrelenting poisonous mind, so did his hound, the servent of hell drank in his bonded's simmering aura and offered those who passed by the full force of the daggers held in his eyes. Aramis had always been an aloof character, brought to life only by the chance to bathe in blood, but that facade was breaking along with d'Artagnan's. They both stalked around the basin, visiting their old cave now and then to stew in the shadows. Neither were gifted with patience so it was with briskness they travelled to attend the meeting called by Deimos. Trouble on the horizon was like music to his ears!
When they arrived there was only two other souls along with Deimos; Farenjer and Torleik. Neither he knew well, Farenjer was the stallion he'd found in the threshold that one time and now had risen to Weaver. Torleik was a complete unknown to him and now stood were Deimos used to. Both unproven in d'Artagnan's eyes, but then again, it wasn't him they had to prove themselves to. The shade turned to face Deimos as the glowering Aramis fell onto his haunches at his side, tail whipping. "We always seem to be under a threat." His deep voice rumbled, "who is it this time?"
05-02-2014, 10:21 AM (This post was last modified: 05-02-2014, 10:21 AM by Ulrik.)
The Engineer has been tinkering with the first sentinel that now stood guard in the foyer of the Basin. Everything about it was magnificent, dangerous and deadly. He had built a true war-machine, and quite honestly? The stallion wanted to use it just for that purpose. Deciding that spending all day admiring his handiwork would not get anything else done that was useful, he decided to take a stroll through the Basin, perhaps even start on those battle standards Torleik had spoken about.
Like a bored teenager, Kirchoff followed. The hellhound watched, silver eyes blinking with indifference at his bonded's antics. However, the large genius had earned his respect, so instead of hitting him with some sarcastic and unhelpful comment, the beast was silent. He followed in Ulrik's large, goat-like hoof prints, trotting in a content way and looking around at the pristine, spring valley.
Deimos caught Ulrik's attention, and he moved on the group carefully, coming to stand next to his cousin, Torleik. d'Artagnan was there, and he stifled a sneer, clenching his jaw and focusing too diligently on the Reaper. Kirchoff noticed this and sniffed in Aramis' direction. The elder hound had earned his respect, but he could feel tension coming from his bonded toward the horned dog and his red bonded. So, instead of engaging in his usual behavior of rolling around in front of Aramis, Kirchoff stood still at Ulrik's side.
"The war machine can handle some intruders, but I would imagine the ones with flight will continue to be a nuisance," he said, a certain vehemence in his breath. Ulrik blinked his bronze eyes and stood, tense. "The best defense is a well constructed offense. I say we wipe them out."
BRINGING YOU ANOTHER DISTURBING CREATION
from the mind of one sick animal who can't tell the difference
The king called and so Déodat would come. He for once was resting in the safety of his cave until he heard the call. Well, Odette heard and so she began to yap and bite the Blood Prince’s ankles until he finally woke up. Such an awakening put him into a foul mood, and his companion’s eagerness to annoy him did nothing to help it. Both ears were against his skull as he walked toward the meeting, not the first to arrive.
Deimos mentioned a threat and immediately this caught his interest. Others around him began to speak and for the moment he would simply listen. Odette proceeded to prance about between his two front legs and he ensured that the bitch would stay there, last thing he needed was her boisterousness getting her into trouble, especially at a herd meeting. As an officer he couldn’t afford to be embarrassed in front of his soldiers and leader.
“I agree with the Engineer,” he said glancing over at Ulrik. He hadn’t gotten to know the weaver particularly well, but anyone so willing to spill blood surely could be a worthy ally. “We should simply crush them and it will let all know what happens when you oppose the north.” This place was his family, and he intended to annihilate whatever threat loomed at their doorstep. One threat had come and gone leaving the Basin weak and low on numbers, he wouldn’t let another destroy his home. The Blood Prince had already seen one home become nothing but a memory, he didn’t intend to let that happen again.
She was exhausted still, yet after some time the doe struggled after Deimos. When her broken body finally arrived at the meeting, Arah noticed just how few members answered the call of their Lord. Pressing her lips together in a disappointed line, the ivory queen wondered where the others had all gotten too. Was this truly the number of The Basin? Had they lost so many to the darkness, or did they all think themselves too busy to answer the call of their liege lord? Perhaps she should go off in search of the rest of the troops but what if this was truly it? Was this The Basin's current strength? Making a mental note to get recruiting as soon as her own strength and confidence returned, the doe allowed herself to be drawn slightly out of the shadows. Wynter was fast asleep on Arah's back, the griffins soft breathing ticked the hairs on the doe's neck. While the griffin had only hatched a few days ago, she was clearly already going to be one of the larger and stronger creatures. Narrowing her golden eyes, The doe stood listening carefully to each word spoken by the others that had made the effort to arrive. Exhaling, Arah moved closer to the meeting as if to better hear whatever response Deimos would offer to each of the warriors that gathered.
They spoke of the threat of ones who could fly, it was then Arah realised none of them knew anything about the true threat. None of them yet knew about the addiction of the torture she had gone through...but soon they would. Would that be enough for them to head to war against The Regime, or would they just strengthen their defences and try to keep this new threat out from their home? Arah simply had too many questions. all she could do was wait for Lord Deimos to speak. He used to be general, it was The Reaper that she now placed her faith in. Fixing her enchanted gaze on Deimos, Arah barely even noticed anything else that was happening around her.
[Drawing by aeolle]
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
I had been out wandering and exploring when the call rang out. My ears turned and my frame soon followed to head off in the direction of the call. I had to assume the one calling this meeting was the Lord Deimos that Dèodat had spoken of when he brought me to the Basin. Eagerly I set off, trying to gain the ground lost by being so far out. This was where my draft bloodlines did not aid me one bit. I was thankful for the speed given to me by the other half of my blood.
By the time I arrived, many others had gathered including Dèodat. I moved among those gathered shyly. Many of those who had arrived to the meeting before me, seemed to be more seasoned in this herd. For me, I was new to herd life entirely. My eyes focused on the one figure I knew, his young pup at his front hooves. Carefully I moved to stand just off to the side and behind the blood bay stallion. I nickered a soft greeting to the officer, immediately regretting the choice as this was serious business.
It was not long until the leader was speaking of a threat to the herd. No, not already. Surely we couldn't be in danger so soon after I arrived? What if it's those two legged things? Had they followed me here? "I may be new, and untrained, but I am eager to learn the ways of battle if it keeps my new family safe." There, I had chosen my place among them. I would become a soldier, unless I was lifted to another position otherwise.
The Siberian walls responded to his ruthlessness with their own savagery, tangible, corporeal wrath and iniquitous inquiry pervading their surroundings; chipped away particles of contempt and loathing, reserved for the shadows, the stains, the specious world seeking to distort and contort them. They were fully capable of crushing the enemy, of brewing annihilation and possessing devastation, grasping, clenching, drawing blood and scattering sinew, predilection and monstrosities settled across their invocations, their ravenous raptures, their rancorous reveries – and as they gathered one by one, he pledged a sinner’s oath, a King’s conviction, a Reaper’s scythe through the maddening pulse of his veins, the searing rush of his callous calamity. They would show these ingrates, these buffoons, these inept patrons of the sinuous realm what danger really looked like, how treachery truly felt, how absurdity and ignorance led kingdoms into ruin; because the Basin didn’t allow the hands of time, the slinking grind, the crawling entrails and innards of idiots to maul and besiege them. They would cherish, swallow, consume and devour the hooves that sought to tread upon them. No mercy, no clemency, no compassion or forbearance – the Regime had lost such delusions the moment they touched and scalded a member of the tundra, the icy kingdom, the Northern sovereign. The promise of wreckage, of havoc, of chaos and bedlam drummed against his ears, flooded through his demonic soul, pierced the puncturing shade of his surroundings, and his comrades flickered into the boughs, into the alms, of their armed fortifications, malice embroiled, contained, matched within each cretin, each figure, each fiend. Throughout their queries, he listened, embraced the notions, the ruminations, the speculations, the search for massacre and slaughter (in the gleam of the Doctor’s eyes, in the coiled, curled vehemence of Ulrik’s machinations, in the bloody specter of Deodat, or the haunted eyes of Arah), before his silence faltered, and became replaced with his deep, penetrating vocals. “An outcast band, the Regime, lives within the Ancient Rotunda. They are led by a skull-mare, Confutatis, stole several of our own, and likely aim for others.” He paused, stole glances towards others, and gave no names to those who’d suffered (a quick, swift stare towards their Impersonator would reflect who’d been locked into grievous oubliettes, who sparked an inferno, who incited and forged a fight pulsing through his muscles, through his core - blood will have blood). “They seek a home– but it will not be ours.” A refreshing task: the overture, the symphony, the orchestra of war, for they were the only songs and requiems he needed to sing. Those who longed to ravage and storm their castle would find more than slivers of ice and frost-laden land: beasts of distortion, ruination, massacres and termination. All they needed were opportunities, ghosts and wraiths spirited into audacity, led to slaughter. “Increase patrols, seek out information, imprison and bludgeon the beasts who dared to touch those of the Basin.” With one already in custody, boiling and festering in the condemnation of a deadly touch, an impending demise. Deimos, barbaric King with his court of malicious infidels, allowed his eyes to gesture towards the sentinel, and then back along the throng, the barest hint of a smirk etching its place along his malevolent lips. “Will you assist me in their destruction?” Bring me their heads.
[Let me know if there's a certain task you'd like to employ. ;D There will be a board updated in the Basin secret room soon.]
DEIMOS
delivered from the blast last from a line of lasts
and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone
background pattern by webtreatsetc.deviantart.com image credits
Torleik's displeasure at everyone's assumption that simply running out and laying waste to another band of horses was quite large. He supposed this was the idea of a herd meeting, to let all voice their opinions, but it seemed everyone was content to speak to a thing that should not be taken flippantly: fighting.
Ulrik's words rubbed him the wrong way, family or not, and he grunted at his cousin. "No - the best offense is a well-constructed defense," he rumbled. "We cannot simply march out of the Basin and wipe out any who have any manner of quarrel with our herd or where we reside; there is not an ounce of diplomacy in that. Not to mention that we barely know anything about this Regime - anything concrete. Their core is a small band, six or eight at most if I am being generous," the General said, looking around pointedly at everyone who had simply jumped to the conclusion that open warfare was the correct answer.
"While they are small and fragmented, and it is tempting to seek them out to crush them now, I propose we wait, let them either fall apart on their own, or gather enough traction to congeal as a more solidified unit. If the latter, we draw them into a trap to crush them in one, swift, fell swoop. We outnumber them three to one. There is no need to expend useless energy hunting them down and picking them off in separate battles, stretching our ranks thin by doing so," he reasoned. "If, somehow, they are far larger than we know, then they will want us to spread out, and once we have spread out, they will strike - and we will have ranks too thin to mount a proper defense or retaliatory attack."
Deimos ordered that all should 'imprison and bludgeon' and by that Torleik took to mean capture and torture. That he could approve of as a wise plan. Imprisoning enough to crush their morale would be useful. "Stealth and kidnapping is a good plan of action at this point in time. Neither are my forte, but if I find a member of the Regime, rest assured they will learn their place in our prisons," Torleik rumbled, giving his Lord a bow and setting off to attend to his duties.
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OOC: Iunno, opinionated Torleik just kept begging me to write him going ">.> no" so I did. -shrugs-
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