"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.
Living for months in silence, he dares not speak, only growl when one approaches. He is a demon now, a monster created from his horrific past. The anger and torment that bubbles and brews within is strong, and he often finds himself biting at his legs, or drawing his horns across his sides to create purposeful wounds. It was his only way of relief, his body covered in fresh wounds in a small patch by his tail, wide and deep from the point of his left horn. He stands in the forest, snorting madly as crimson drips from the wounds, finding it filling him with pleasure. The rush of blood as it drips down his skin, a warm, vibrant liquid.
He simply stands, head bent to watch the blood stain the damp ground beneath him. He watches small drops of his life, his spirit, his soul, fly away free. He pities himself, for being stuck in this world while those little flecks of his soul get to run free, no longer tied to this pathetic body. His muscles flex and ripple under his rust fur, his tangled hair falling over his thick neck. His green eyes were darker now, no longer beautiful and full of life as they had been, back when he was a whole different person. A joyful soul, who was able to push past what had happened to him before he found Helovia. He was able to frolic with Her in peace, his past never coming to haunt him in the daylight.
Her—
She was once his everything, now She was nothing to him. She was once his goddess, he hailed Her, he was faithful to Her, a loyal companion who followed Her wherever She went. He protected Her. He kept Her safe. But that one night where he lays by Her and is stolen in the night by bandits looking for slaves to sell. She had thought he meant to leave Her. It was never his intention. He tried— he tried. He never meant to lose Her... never did he want to.. but it was all just a big misunderstanding.
He didn't want to leave..
Hunching over he breathes heavily into the ground between his hooves, chest expanding as he takes in deep breathes, trying to calm himself. He would not shed a tear. Crying is for the weak, and he was no longer weak. Now he was a beast. And beasts do not weep. They do not cry for their enemies, they do not love, they do not place pity upon their victims. They kill relentlessly, they stalk in the shadows, they are beasts, outcasts from society.
And that is just what he is, an outcast from society. He always has been, and always will be. It used to make him cry thinking about it, how he was different than the rest, how he was alone in this world. But now he simply does not care, and never again will he. Maybe one day society will accept him only out of fear that he will slaughter them, not out of pity as he stands in the cold rain, watching over them as they continue on with their pitiful lives.
There's a certain contentment, perhaps a smugness, that comes with the knowledge of her pregnancy. Even when slim hips ache with the weight of foal and spine complains against lengthy travels, the rose maiden feels a certain degree of pride. The life inside her will be raised true, on a path far straighter than the one her mother had led her down, convoluted and solitary. No matter the gender she will raise them, love them, teach them how to protect themselves and step all over those who wished to take them down. With the philosophy of the stag who had placed the babe within her belly, she doubted the Corporal would have much to object against. It was perhaps ironic, the daughter of the temptress finding no qualms in a loveless union, and yet delighting in the life that had been the outcome of it. Love had abandoned her long ago, and with it any innocence she may have clung to. It disappeared in shattered emerald eyes and simpering tones, and with a broken trust she'd never looked back.
Over time, the dame had learned that looking back wasn't an option anyways. Nothing could be mended with the desire to return in time to the moment when it was broken, and one could only look forward, hoping the rift could be smoothed with future decisions. Yet she'd never seen Tingal since that moment with him in the cavern, when she had ran off shielding her broken heart protectively, spitting venomous words to keep him from attempting to follow behind her as he always had. A soft sigh leaves pale lips, heterochromatic eyes closing, long ivory lashes brushing like eskimo kisses over her cheeks. Revels in the shade of the trees as she shifts her hips, wincing at the ache that resounds in her very bones. Groans softly on the wings of her exhalation, recovering in the shuddering leaves overhead as she shelters herself from the heat of the summer sun. It is beautifully coincidental that little Arya would be born in the same season as her dam, and Hotaru had no qualms with the connection with her unborn foal.
Her love was unconditional for little Arya. It transcended realms she'd never anticipated, and mutely wondered in the silence of the nights she spent alone how Phaedra could have possibly felt anything different. Such a thing was nearly incomprehensible for the slim youth. Arya had not even left the sanctuary of her body, and she loved her so deeply she would move mountains and sway the Gods to keep her safe. Déodat may not have anticipated the joining, nor felt anything for her aside from platonic companionship, but he had blessed her with the greatest gift she could ever have been given.
Strangled, heavy breathing lifts her harks. What in the world...? Closed eyes flutter open, suddenly wary of the trees she had previously been so thankful for. Quietly she advances, lovingly cursing her rounded sides that press at nearby branches and make silence an impossible goal. Does not call out as she moves, pale hooves delicately picking out the perfect spot to place themselves, a habit she has happily picked up in order to prevent any possible slips that could endanger Arya. Trades her dual-colored gaze between the earth below and the path ahead, breathing softly and unhappily shaking the ache in her bones as she moves.
Turns. Feels the breath still in her throat.
Tiger stripes. Ram horns. Deep green eyes. Orange pelt.
It's a form she knows better than any other, if only due to constant exposure instead of sentimental memorization. Hotaru's insides shutter, but she steels them against the nerves that twinge from various emotional bases. No, she will not be that terrified little filly that could not stand up against his pathetic gaze and endearing words. She is a warrior, and needs no love aside from her own to validate her existence, to prove her worth and power. He is nothing to her now, a memory like a phantom pain, a missing limb she'd personally removed. His love is a ghost, haunting her past; she does not need him, she does not fear him. Time has made her stronger.
So she moves forward, engages him head on, brow arched as she readjusts the silver crescent moon upon her forehead. "Tingal." His name is ancient on her tongue, old soil and dusted-over memories, well-worn on her lips yet new with age. An unwanted familiarity. "So you're alive." Words fail her, instead deigning her response fitting. There is no desire to welcome him back, nor to question where he's been or how he has been faring. No. He does not deserve such courtesies, for the petite princess had a grudge streak the length of Helovia, and he had been effectively smeared beneath it.
He listens to the world around him, a soft, gentle rhythm of hoofsteps, and his rounded black ears perk forward, whiskers twitching and tail lashing. He could hear the soft steps growing closer, ears flicking back when he catches the sight of it.
A bloated body of strawberry top and golden bottom, he knows this figure. He flicks back his ears and curls his lip, brows narrowed. She speaks his name, but he dare not speak hers. It would place a curse upon his head, and he won't be able to shake it. Her next words hit him and he growls at her, eyeing her fat, round stomach.
"Who got into your panties?" He spits. What a whore, he tells himself, eyeing her stomach. She looked ready to pop, and boy did he want to see her splatter. Somehow, the sight of her made him sick to his stomach. Leave him claiming she isn't ready for love when really she just wanted to go and fuck other men. Apparently he wasn't man enough for her.
Well was he man enough now?
"And I see you're still a stubborn bitch." A low grumble resonates from his throat, muscles flexing. He wanted to leap on her now, show her how beastly he had become. He wanted to taste the warm flesh of her unborn child against his tongue, slipping down his throat. He wanted to tear her open and let her watch what he could do to make her world hell.
"So... what shall you call the little thing?" He walks closer, if she does not move, he prods his dark muzzle towards her bloated barrel. He wanted to be close enough so he could hear its tiny little heart beat, and then sink his teeth into her strawberry body, find that little devil and throw it to the ground. It would be a nasty, slimy job but he didn't mind. As long as he could end both their miserable lives, he would be okay. His nostrils flare as he walks around her, surveying his prey. He didn't want the dam's flesh, but the child she bears, he always wondered what the flesh of a babe tasted like. Savory? Sweet? Bitter? It was likely tender, fatty—
Despite the desire to intimidate her, she's unimpressed. His snarling face and narrowed eyes don't scare her anymore. Did they ever? However he's changed...it doesn't matter to her. She cut those ties long ago when he broke his promise to her. His acidic words make her laugh, loud and amused as she shakes her head. "Jealous much? Everybody but you, honey." She doesn't reward him with any sort of vinegar in her tone, instead it's mocking in how sweet and sugared it is. Her mother would have been proud, had Hotaru at all cared what her dam thought of her. She is relaxed in her posture, because he is beneath her now, a peasant before a queen. Oxy's words ring in her head, and while the druggy wasn't the best of references, she already knew that Tingal had nothing on her. Old memories couldn't be used against her anymore. He had no remaining power over her.
She laughs, low and mocking, as he tries to spit her own words back at her. Hotaru should have known better than to try and summon concern for the striped hybrid. It seemed civility was a long dead possibility between the two of them. It wasn't much of a loss in her eyes. "Never claimed to change, sweetheart. Stubborn bitch is probably my favorite descriptor." She flicks her plume idly, head high and royal, refusing to show any sort of emotion aside from those she crafts purposefully to show him. He has missed out on so much, including the moments when she came into herself, became stronger and more in control of who she was and what she could do. He would never know her as he once did, not again. He had burned that bridge and then begged to rebuild it. She had denied him, and now he was nothing but a shell, a bitter container of rage and broken hopes. Let him think her promiscuous, because it would never be him who would seek carnal comfort in her body. He would never be worthy of the canvas of her flesh. Let him posture and flex all he wanted. She had defeated him in battle once before, and she would find no shame in doing so again. With the life inside of her, she never would, would rather be seen as cowardly for fleeing. It would never be cowardly to her if it kept her precious child from harm.
He moves towards her, and she lets him touch her for a fraction of a second before dancing from reach. As she always had, always would. Forever untouchable, unable to be caged or tamed. "Shall it be female, her name will be Arya. If it will be male, his name will be Albion." Why the hell is he interested in the name anyways? She watches him with her differently hued orbs, concealing her wariness as she dances from his grasp gracefully. He walks round her, and she firms her stance, prepared to beat his ass into the ground if he even tried to do anything. Did he not remember how he'd shamefully lost to her before she was even an adult? She would remind him, vividly, if he attempted to harm the one life she loved most resting inside her.
A grunt from her response, dulled black ears flicking back at her comment. "Well then aren't you a little whore. You're being passed around like a ball, and quite frankly I'm glad I'm not participating in this game of pass the tramp." He spits, voice gruff and words painted with acid that hungrily reach out to burn the bloated coral body. Predatory instincts tell him to lunge now, take her floral pink flesh between his teeth and tear it away, peeling it back to reveal reddened flesh that oozes crimson fluids over pale, pristine flesh.
She chuckles, a silly laugh that makes his stomach twist. All he wanted was to tear his ears from his skull as her little giggle echoes around him, wrapping him up into a horrible nightmare that made his insides churn. He draws back his lip, ears lying flat against his orange pelt. He listens to her words, shaking his head. That's truly all she had ever been, nothing but a stubborn bitch and a god awful child.
His dark, velveteen muzzle bumps the bloated flesh of the bitch, the warmth making his skin burn as though he had brushed his nose against the hungry, angry flames of Hell. She steps away after the contact, clearly finding no joy in the moment of their flesh touching. He lets out a snarl, as she does, glaring up at her. All he wanted to do was make sure that the child was in the right place, so that he knew where to cut that wouldn't taint the child's pure flesh with the mother's soiled, tainted blood.
"Oh aren't those names just so sweet?" He huffs, looking dreamily at her wide barrel. "But I think their flesh would be sweeter—" A devilish grin crawls across his lips as he tenses his body trying to prevent himself from attacking as the urges becoming too strong. All he wanted was to sink his teeth into the dam's flesh and tear her open wide, take the child and feast. But he wanted to make sure the dam could use her last breathe to watch her child's blood spill out across the ground, mixing with hers and leaving her last memory of the beast hunched over the small, premature little body.
Whatever harm he'd wished to cause her was irrelevant, sliding off like oil meeting water. Perhaps that's what they were, though Hotaru was certainly not as pure as water nor as tainted as oil. In fact all the words he'd conjured, spitting like corrosive acid that could not deteriorate the titanium of her soul, only amused her. Eyes crinkled and lips curled with hilarity, as if he were some mildly entertaining bug trying to bite at her impenetrable hooves. "Sarcasm, my dear, seems to have disappeared when you were declawed. I found myself a highly ranked mate, so call me whatever you wish, it is merely amusing." Partially lies, of course, considering the Corporal was far from her mate. Truth, however, was what lay in the fact that she was untainted by any other. Of course none of this was detectable, for it was all stated with the velveteen purr of honesty that only one as silver-tongued and serpentine as she could devise.
Sunset ears flatten and her grin turns predatory. She doesn't fear him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And she had seen him fall in the most shameful of ways, beneath the hoof of one seasons from adulthood. Beneath her blows. No, she didn't fear him at all, and his sour expression and bared fangs only served to fuel her sadism. He was nothing to her, a nuisance at best, and his disgust only made her more eager to cause more damage.
All playfulness of her antagonism disappears in a snap as he snarls. She will not be bullied. A growl builds in her throat, ears pinned and teeth bared in warning, snapping her teeth repeatedly in his direction to gain some distance. "Bitch," she mutters nastily, disgusted. His words seep through, eyes never leaving her sides, and finally he has crossed a line. Sweeping to pin the deadly tip of her horn at his chest she plants her hooves deep into the earth and fire brews in her eyes.
"I kicked your ass once before, bastard. Don't think you're any bigger or better now. I fucked you over and I'll do it again, you disgusting piece of shit," she snarls, all venom and fangs. The desire to pummel his stupid striped ass into the ground is strong, but she won't risk the damage to the foal in her belly. As much as it would pain her to flee a fight, she would never harm her foal, especially not when it depended upon her so heavily to survive and thrive at that stage. "I always knew there was something fucked up in your brain," she snorted, disgust evident in her voice. They were toeing the line, and if push came to shove, even pregnant there was no way he could beat her in a race when her foal's life was on the line. And when her call rang out for her family? The Basin would take joy in flaying the pelt from his skin and placing it in their caves. Cold though the world may call them, the Basin cherished their children.