"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.
LIRIOPE
draw me a map that I can hold, lines that tell me where to go
my head is full of lonely harmonies, and questions no one's asking me
It is summer and humid and charming out in the earth's blessed air; the flowers cup precious gold in their velveteen palms and the sunlight is heavy with clusters of dust, frothy and torrid with the spectral luminescence of an otherworld's stars, whispers of fluttering breath through the skies. There is vibrance on the lip of every hollow, every vein, every chalice of silver morning dew, and there is a haze rising from oaken feet in the soil and the pearly glistening of the leaves and the taste of it is sweet and naive and rare, but then there is a girl who is not so much a girl with holes for eyes and blood on her crown, sweating shards and beads and blushing tears of the fire between the sentinel trees, the arc of her breast rising and falling with laborious pulses as the silence consumes the raucous song of her own footfall, and she is a child of something wicked.
She moves with iron and sleep-laden legs, but there is a stirring from the world to kiss them awake and they remember why it was that they had drawn her here, and so they still, and the cruel sculpture of her face emerges from its brooding semblance of monotony. She is ensnared in a deep reddish hue as daylight slithers over her frame, and her cheeks are alive with the shadows her lashes cast, and there is very nearly a smile pressed to her mouth, but not quite, for the warmth has reminded her of home, and so she busies herself with watching the dark places of what has presented itself to her; an entryway, an end to nothingness, the beginning of something real, something tangible, something beautiful and foolish, and of what else, she could not know, but the thrill of being somewhere was enough to quell the passionate rage of her heart if only for a revelation's moment.
She takes a tentative step.
Perhaps if it was not for the heat, she would've turned away. Perhaps if the forest was not so curious, so cherishing, so gentle on her swollen flesh she would not have let it settle into her bones, but it has wound itself within her now, and perhaps if she was not so lonely and broken and half what she once was she would have poured her desperation into something more attainable, something more glorified, something more... more, but her stubbornness is unrivaled. She will find her missing parts here; she prays, and she holds the idea of men and kings and thrones and war in her head with a tender grasp until she can touch the watery softness of silks and smell the sweat of soldiers and feel metal burning into her skin, and she vows to know it as she had once known it and be it as she had once been.
She vows to find her son.
A shrill voice at her ear that she knows is not there tells her that she no longer has a child, and that she is no longer a mother, and that all that is left of her heart and strength and soul is ashes and a hollow skull and that it was her father, her emperor, her lord and master that had sent the flames to eat him whole, and she listens to the fingernails scraping down the iron between her ribs until she cannot stand it and she has to move and shake her head and get away from it, but then she sees that it is only the touch of leaves against her ankles and wind on her neck and she fears that she has lost her mind, for only the sane doubt their sanity. All sound has collapsed and she is standing in hallow emptiness, and she waits for what she hopes are the insane.
And all the harm I've ever done, alas it was to none but me
Déodat hated the Threshold. He hated facing strangers and joining in the auction for new recruits. He was a soldier and he preferred to leave the fetching of newcomers to those like Lena. Ones that could smile and spread their sunlight and joy; with Déodat there was no bright sunshine or pretty smiles, he was more of a harsh storm cloud that awaited to ruin ones day.
As the heat of summer burned his back, he patrolled the forest that was familiar to him. Odette walked at his side, looking about and sniffing. The pup had been adjusting well to her now partial blindness in one eye. She also had earned some level of caution. No longer did she blindly charge into whatever fray caught her interest. The extroversion and outgoing nature was beginning to fade and it pained him slightly to see Odette become hardened by the world already. Yet, it was the price he had to pay if he wished to see her sculpted in to a heinous hound of war. One couldn’t share the soul of a soldier and not witness death, destruction, and chaos in its wake.
Strange scents wafted in the air and occasionally he could spot a foreigner, but they were of no interest to him. All bare headed and tainted blood. He walked on until he came upon a figure, still and silent it seemed. Déodat scanned the stranger over, a mare it seemed. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but before he could even think to approach Odette was toddling toward her. So much for the loss of extroversion and outgoing nature it seemed.
Rather than bark at the mare, she stood a few feet away toward the front wagging her tail, waiting to be noticed. Déodat approached but kept a larger distance than his companion from the mare. One never knew what they could be heading into when facing newcomers and strangers.
“Pardon my companion, she’s too friendly for her own good,” Déodat said eyeing the white dog. “I’m Déodat of the Aurora Basin, welcome to Helovia’s Threshold.”
@[Liriope]
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LIRIOPE
draw me a map that I can hold, lines that tell me where to go
my head is full of lonely harmonies, and questions no one's asking me
Before long there is a figure that has replaced the shadows with which her eyes were dancing, and how pleased she is when she sees that it is a man; a king, at long last, throwing his lucent crown against the dribbling ribbons of daylight so that it may embody their brilliance, and she stares at him, at all that he is and was and will be, and she wishes to bend before him, to say his name and thank him for being, but then there is something white obstructing her view, and she is still. An ivory wolf, or some odd variation of one, had very nearly launched itself at her, and now it stands and shakes in its excitement and looks at her with deep, deep eyes, and she looks back at it incredulously, something akin to disgust pulling and twisting at her lip, as if for it to soil the very air that she breathed was unthinkable. When the prince, tall and crimson, introduced the thing as his companion, she swallowed what had begun to brim and turned to him with a narrow smile, deciding against trusting her tongue and instead announcing her forgiveness silently.
And, quickly, as if her bones could not bear it any longer, she bows.
With her horn to the soil she hears his title, Déodat, the word unfurling from his mouth in masculine tendrils, and she repeats it to herself with a whisper against her tucking and shifting flesh - "Déodat," - before her woman's legs recoil and she rises as his brother again. "I am Liriope," she says now with fervor and strength behind her teeth, her name accompanied by nothing more than its harsh and and fruitless lyric, for it was all that was left that she knew with certainty was her own. She walks forward a single step before she remembers the dog and leans away from its supposed ground, stretching her neck forward as if to reach out to the crimson prince, to touch him, to see if his skin was as cold as hers, but he is too far away, and she does not wish to upset him if there is a custom to uphold, so she watches from her place on the other side of the world.
His eyes burn like violet embers and she looks to them in the hope that they are ruthless. He is pitted and round with years of muscle, lacerated and torn by years of war, and it is because of this that she can trust him, and because of this that he can trust her, and so she asks for mercy from the merciless:
"Your Aurora Basin; is it home to many soldiers? Men like you?"
And all the harm I've ever done, alas it was to none but me
Déodat caught the expression of disgust upon the mare’s face towards his companion. For a moment he considered beckoning the pup back to his side, but found that she truly wasn’t harming anything. At least she was leaping up on her as her previous habit had been. He then noted the shift in her expression, and all he could feel was slightly confused.
As the mare lowered herself to the ground, he lifted one brow. How long had it been since anyone had kneeled to him? Had to have been back in his homeland when he was simply the noble brat. Even then, there couldn’t have been a common occurrence. After his name passed from his lips she rose up and he still pondered why this mare kneeled.
“It is a pleasure to meet you Liriope,” He said dipping his head slightly. Was bowing a greeting from wherever this mare came from? God, he sorely hoped he wouldn’t offend the mare. That was precisely what he needed to do to lure a new recruit back home. The mare met his gaze, and he returned her gaze with a proud fire burning in the midst of his eyes. If she sought signs of weakness, she would find none there. His eyes told enough of him, he was a hardened man with skin of steel, and a heart layered in stone. Her next question brought him to perk his ears forward.
“Yes,” He answered, “Though our soldiers are both male and female. We are led by a mare named Illynx and a stallion named Deimos.” He paused for a long moment and allowed the information to sink in with the mare. “We are composed entirely of unicorns, and we always welcome more to our numbers should it interest you. Should you desire it as well, we’d be glad to have you amongst the ranks of our soldiers.”
LIRIOPE
draw me a map that I can hold, lines that tell me where to go
my head is full of lonely harmonies, and questions no one's asking me
Of this soldier, she is unafraid. He, with his bitch and his battle eyes and his hide woven with tatters and blood, is more of what it was that she reveres, that she so craves than she would ever be, for of their differences there is only one that Liriope could never cherish so thoroughly as he. No matter the elaboration of the metal with which she adorns herself or the permanence of her wounds, the skulls of which she has punctured and sliced or the bitterness of her words for they are but a ruse, a hollow facade if without that which runs through a true gladiator's veins, and she is indeed without, only half, and so, yes, she bowed, and, yes, she is silent, now, draws her lips into a smile befitting and does not call to him as her brother, for she is still not worthy, still tainted, still a woman, and how she despises herself for being so, as if she once had a choice and chose the color that looked the prettiest.
She revels in the warmth and brazen edge of his gaze, hoping that it finds her pleasing, praying that it does not think her a vile, fragile thing but an able and willing warrior, a hunter and her weapon polished, and she listens gratefully to the baritone that slips so artfully from his throat until he mentions soldiers, and female, and a Queen, and a frown cuts into her face and spreads like wildfire. "Your soldiers are led by a mare?" Her voice is broken, and she immediately wishes to rid the taste of sourness that spills over her lips as she speaks such filth. She can barely hide her disbelief, and has no room left between her raging thoughts to regret the quickness of her tongue, for he, this creature so handsome and so powerful that she has bowed to had been bowing to one even subordinate to herself, for in all her lowliness Liriope would never soil a throne by sitting upon it, and she felt a flutter of rage settle behind her breast at the thought of another lesser so shamelessly breaching such boundary.
It takes a few precarious moments for her to realize what had been offered to her, and with a hot swallow she breathes a hesitant "Yes," before she is returned to solemnness, reconciled. "I will accompany you to your Basin to serve amongst your men." For there is nothing more sating than to witness a woman-king's fall.