"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.
EINARR
careless in our summer clothes, splashing around in the muck and the mire
Einarr had not travelled far from his new herdland, but it was time for the stallion to stretch his inky wings and explore the territories around him. The beast rose with the sun, red-brown eyes taking in the beauty of a desert sunrise. He was glad to find a place that resembled his past so deeply, if only in the essence of its appearance. The warrior had not had the opportunity yet to truly dive into herd politics and discover where he would fit in, but that would come in due time. For now, he merely needed to become familiar with his surroundings. After all, he was a warrior, and if his past proved anything to solidify a warrior's mindset in his nature, he would be patrolling the land and warding off potential dangers to his herdmates. He was already given a small kiss of the tenacity that the pegasi (he assumed all the Throat were pegasi, for that was all he had met) of his new herd possessed. The bay mare that had greeted him at the heart fire was feisty, and fiercely protective of her home. But Einarr found bits of foolishness in her, or perhaps lack in the fortification of border protection. She had been so quick to throw stones at him, and Einarr found that odd. If he was in their herdland already, would he not be a welcomed member? Or had this Dragon's Throat had a surge of border disrespect that he did not know of? Either way, there was correction waiting to happen. Einarr would be glad to help instill that. Once a warden always a warden.
With the Throat to his back, Einarr soared on a warm current. He revelled in the feeling of the warm air running between his feathers. It was extremely pleasant for the warrior to stretch his wings and be free to fly to his heart's content. He felt most at home in the sky, especially in combat. His aerial war skills were that to be envied. He was a master of the air, ready to take everything in stride. Here, his size was not as much of a hinderance on him towards his opponents, although he was quite nimble on his cloven hooves while grounded. Einarr, the epitome of balanced, was large and strong and elegant. His hooves and legs moved with a waterlike grace that his ancestors had given him, and the stallion was quite used to dancing in the solstice ceremonies of his home. His shoulders and hips were strong, his chest deep, able to throw out powerful blows and leave his opponents in his dust. Despite this, however, the white-marked man was quite the magnificent sight to behold as he soared through the clouds.
Now, however, Einarr was descending. His massive, strong left wing dipped and he let his legs dangle some away from his underbelly. Below him was something great of sorts, something he was not completely sure of, and he needed to explore. Landing, albeit with a large thud of his cloven hooves, the stallion folded his wings and moved towards the mouth of what he assumed was a deep catacomb of twists and turns. He eyed the mouth skeptically, sniffing and snorting around the entrance. He was wary to travel into the darkness, into a place of suffocation and isolation where he could not escape into the skies.
GAUCHO
Doubt comes in on sticks but then he kicks like a horse.
Soon flight, magical or otherwise, would be the only way to reach this place from the Throat. In fact, it would be the only way to reach any place from the Throat. Something about this constriction of freedom's made the dun feel at ease. They might rally against him now, but soon they would see. They would see how easy it was for them to go back and forth (for the few without wings who this effected most), and how hard it would be for their enemies to enter. His warriors would be able to focus on things other than just patrolling the borders - they could sweep farther now. Life wouldn't change as much as they thought it would, it would simply be safer. How could they possibly object to that?
Mara continuously reminded him that not everyone came from a land such as he, that not everyone could be a warrior. Why not? Was his faithful response. Being a warrior didn't mean having to fight - at least not necessarily. Where he came from although duties were distributed as they were here, everyone possessed the heart of a warrior. The soul. They cheered as their warriors went into battle, and did not mourn when they failed to come home. Dying in battle was a great honour, assurance that ones soul would reach the great plains in the sky. Here though ... here many were reluctant to even spar. The thought of strife and struggle sent them running. How many had flailed and rallied against him just because he had challenged a thief? Did they think nothing of justice?
The landscape raced beneath his blackened feathers. He was still unable to see the living, but it was getting easier. Borrowing Mara's vision had become more precise for the pair - she was able to share more of what she saw faster so that her bonded's gaze did not wander so far from those he was speaking to.
Below Mara indicated was the Throat's newest warrior. Bucephalus had brought him home apparently. With all of his questing the Sultan had been absent, although he was glad to see that his Chancellor was doing something to help the herd. He still wasn't convinced he had made the best choice in placing Bucephalus in that particular role. Tandavi surely had the heart of a warrior. Did Buce? Gaucho wasn't sure yet.
Gaucho too descended, flaming wings elegantly caressing the winds to allow his painted body to lower completely. Through Mara's gaze Gaucho inspected the warrior with growing surprise.
His height.
His build.
His wings.
Anyone passing might have thought the two brothers, or at least surely related if not for ...
Hooves. Gaucho thought to Mara, who in turn lowered her gaze to Einarr's hooves which were cloven. Gaucho's herd possessed non with cloven hooves, although herds that resided farther North did.
"M'ach." The Wildfire offered, eager to see if this creature was truly from the lands of his people. If so, the generic greeting would surely ring true in his ears.
EINARR
careless in our summer clothes, splashing around in the muck and the mire
The stallion's inspection of the mouth of the caves was short lived, for his attention was once again pulled to the skies. However, this time, instead of him moving to take to the clouds, another was descending. Great, flame-licked wings beat before a stallion landed. Einarr watched as he approached, brows pulled together skeptically. The stallion was as large as he, with apparent battle prowess. Across his body paint markings gave way to flashes of other herds Einarr had witnessed traveling on the great plains, causing inky ears to perk up towards the oncoming man. Tail flicked gently over his strong hocks, and the warrior took a step towards the male. Reddened brown eyes moved to inspect the antlers that attached themselves to the man's head, and the snake that found her perch with the stallion. There were very few in his home herd that were bonded to any creature, but none of them bonded to snakes.
M'ach.
Einarr's eyes flicked down for a second to see the stallion's hooves--solid. A southerner. Nonetheless, Einarr nodded his head to the stallion. He smelled heavily of the Dragon's Throat borders, and the inky man knew that this must be the stallion that made marks on them. Perhaps he was their general, their leader of arms, or more. "M'ach." The familiar word falling from his tongue gave way to a little flutter in Einarr's chest. So far in those that he met, the words of his native tongue stimulated nothing but confusion on the faces of others, or they were simply ignored. The fact that this stallion before him greeted him so calmly, and casually, in his tongue, made Einarr relax some. His wings were still folded against his ribs, feathers delicately touching his dark hide.
"This?" Einarr asked, suddenly, tossing his head towards the entrance to the caves. He hoped this stallion would know more of the mysterious caves that were painted with the scents of so many, and the path the was worn deeply and solidly at the opening. "This cave safe?" Einarr asked once more, turning his body fully to face the cave opening. He blinked his eyes, looking over his wing-covered shoulder at the dun stallion and his snake.
GAUCHO
Doubt comes in on sticks but then he kicks like a horse.
That the creature of black so quickly turned his attention to the caves might have struck others as rude. Hadn't he just met one who heralded from roughly the same lands as he? Hadn't they two much to speak of? Of how they both arrived here, how they were finding it, what had brought each here? Others might have wasted time on such conversations, or would have thought themselves rude had they not, but then .... then they weren't from the lands that the two beasts hailed from.
They wouldn't understand.
Gaucho looked to the caves and snorted. Flashes of what had occurred here danced before his minds-eye. He saw the wraiths and what they could do with only one touch or bite ... he had placed his dreamcatcher here and Midas had coated it in gold, a sign to all of the Throat that this is where they ought to meet. He also recalled Ranjiri eating it.
Grimly the dun nodded.
"It safe now. Before there was attack of darkness. Wraiths. They come - everything above ground was infected. Everyone come to these caves." He began, nosing towards the entrance. "Below are lots of tunnels and rooms. Crystal and glowing rocks. Still a good place to hide an army." He concluded with a shrug, darkened gaze glaring down into the darkness. He was surprised how many, as Einarr had noted, enjoyed being down there. Did they not remember why they had been confined to that darkness? Why would they be so hasty to return to it?
"But not able to fly. Not enough room in there."
Einarr smelled of the Throat. Likely it was Bucephalus who had shuttled him to the sands .... with amusement, the dun wondered what Buce thought of this other Gaucho. A creature who spoke as he did and was just as large. He could imagine his Chancellor rolling his eyes and saying something sarcastic under his breath as he was want to do. And what did the great black creature think of Helovia? Did he find it as strange as Gaucho once had? Did he struggle with the language and the customs as well? The Dun had learned a large amount of Helovian lore and their ways since arriving here many seasons past and yet ... yet some aspects still seemed just as strange.
EINARR
careless in our summer clothes, splashing around in the muck and the mire
Einarr had no time for small talk, it seemed, on his quest for knowledge. He had always been a learner, thirsty for all that could be taught to him. He excelled in battle, as his body obviously screamed, but all types of battle. He was a nearly unsurpassed stallion in his nomadic, home herd, thwarted and defeated only by his khal and his own brother. Einarr had learned and watched as a colt as well, before he was able to move his body in a controlled enough manner to fight. He watched as his warriors--especially his father--moved and danced on the winds and still were able to crush bone and demolish their opponents with force and power. Einarr had become one of them, a dancer and a demolisher all in one. His massive wings gave him great support in the air, and his long, agile but thick legs aided him on the ground. However, the youngling beast had not only sucked up everything about battle he could, no, he also desired the knowledge of old and well-worn elders. He spent ample time in his life at the sides of the council members, keeping his tongue silent as they told him stories of the past and as the oracles danced around the fires to depict tales of the future. It was all intriguing to the inky stallion, and his brain could not seem to hold enough information, for he was always thirsty for more.
Gaucho spoke and Einarr listened, though his sienna eyes never left the entrance of the dark cave. The scents that danced around the entrance, his hooves, and this entire place told stories. Stories that the dun solidified in Einarr's mind. Tales of darkness and woe and strife, something Einarr was not accustomed to. His khal had gained the favor of their sun god, and they were untouched by magical forces that would dare attempt to drown them. Einarr sighed, his brows knit together as he took the history in stried. "No use of place where Einarr cannot fly." The stallion nodded, matter-of-factly, the statement mostly to himself, though his eyes moved back over to the brother-in-arms.
"You lajak of Dragon's Throat? Einarr haj lajak." Another nod accompanied his words, and Einarr took a step to turn his body towards Gaucho, planting his cloven hooves square as his shoulders opened up. If this dun was his brother in arms, Einarr wanted his power to be known and remembered in his blue eyes. He moved up towards the antlers and snake once more, another questioning statement rolling from his tongue, "And snake?" He motioned towards Mara with his broad nose, taking in her reptillian scent all-the-while.
GAUCHO
Doubt comes in on sticks but then he kicks like a horse.
No use of place where Einarr cannot fly The simple truth caused Gaucho to nod in agreement. It was true - during his time in the caves part of his motivation to begin and lead the attacks against the wraiths was merely to get out. Gaucho didn't know if all pegasi were susceptible to claustrophobia or if was just the warriors he had met.
As Einarr asked if Gaucho was a warrior, the dun chuckled darkly and nodded with a decided yes. In his mind he recalled when he had first entered the Throat, likely at the same age Einarr was now, for the black appeared just a touch younger than he. He had been enlisted as a warrior almost immediately under Kri's reign. His training was relentless and he had quickly raised himself through the ranks. There hadn't been much competition then - he recalled Levi's incompetence and Aryel's poor decision making. Hector had been formidable, and Vesta a ball of power, but other than Midas and Kri the army of the Throat had seemingly dwindled with the death of Azzuen. He had become khal, or Sultan as they called it here almost immediately after Kri had left. And another than his brief disappearance, had been ruling ever since.
His gaze met Einarr's easily and equally. Through Mara's eyes he took in the fit form of his blackened brother approvingly. Nothing about Einarr surprised him - not his speech or his clear training as a warrior. He wouldn't have last in the sands of their home land if he had been anything less.
"Throat Gaucho's Khalasar. Gaucho khal of Dragon's Throat. But here... here they call it 'Sultan'." Gaucho didn't actually like the title much but then ... well, he didn't like a lot of things here. Although he only complained about the ones that he could change.
In his antlers, Mara's gunsteel body slithered forward slightly. She had viewed those who had inhabited the lands that Gaucho came from and those that surrounded them in his mind, but never before had she seen any who hailed from that region.
"Snake is Mara. She izat. Can ohazholat." He explained with obvious pride. Mara's onyx gaze surveyed Einarr with intrigue, her forked tongue scenting his air as he scented her.
khalasar: horde loyal to a single khal
izat: to poison
ohazholat: make heavy or ferment
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