"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.
The nymph hadn’t anticipated a given task in her talents, but her heart swelled with pride, with purpose, with motivation, at the thrill of it. A spring in her step preceded their re-entry into the Basin, and Imogen rumbled beside her, a chirruping, ivory entanglement. Lena, all singsongs and well-wishes, paused to incline closer to Roland, hoping to explain their arrival into the midst of tundra plains: where seemingly there’d be naught to gain or snag from forlorn essences. “I know of a couple herbs here! It’d be a shame to lose them.” She nodded, then extended her movement and motion towards several key portions of the woods, nestling into the thickets and copses, and when spying them, smiled towards Imogen. The little vixen followed suit in grabbing hold of them with her fangs, yanking them clean of the earth, and dragging them within her mouth. Lena touched over them gently, murmuring their names for the Thief to hear. “This is a diamond-leaf willow, a great source of Vitamin C and calcium,” pointing to the willow twigs amongst vibrant greens, and then, before she got lost in assuaging, mending properties, she paused, frowning slightly. “Can you think of anything in particular we need to save?”
[Task 3! @[Roland]
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
What defined a precious plant? Were the wildflowers to be lost, stolen and swept away under the waters, or should they pluck each and every one of them from the Basin's fields, and return them to the boat? What of the trees? Would they remain stalwart and steadfast upon their woodland thrones, or would they be uprooted by violent tides and thundering waves? All at once there was too much to consider, too much to worry and wonder about in the chaos that had descended. The Thief hurried alongside Lena to their home, led between the winding trees and over rocky outcrops, knowing she must have something in mind in her haste, something that needed to be saved, that held precedence over green limbed saplings and old oaks (though on second thought, how would they carry those?).
Without question he followed the Mender's lead, picking out herbs between tall grass and violet blossoms, pulling them gently from the ground so as to keep their roots intact. He listened to her definitions, committing every plant to memory as best he could before seeking out anything that might be hiding amongst the tangle of roots and stones. It was methodical work, an almost calming procedure. He sought out what she required, wasting not a second, but the Mender's question gave him pause. He dropped his gatherings at her side, mind searching the vast expanse of their homeland, through hallowed caverns and over snowy mountain tops, to his beloved hot springs and the sentinels that stood guard at their gates- though they had already been hurried away. Roland himself had no possessions, nothing to his name besides a rank; nothing that could be swept beyond his reach. They had the herbs, and the Thief could think of nothing more they might require, nothing that could be lost under the torrential rains. "I don't believe so," he responded at last with a shake of his head, praying to the Gods that they weren't forgetting something.
Öde had been trying to handle all of this on his own; plus Vitani, who was young and unknown. He'd been trying to act grown up, but it was hard. So when another task was given to the crew of the JollyRoger Öde decided it was time to go home.
"@[Vitani], this way," he murmured to her, setting off at a trot towards the North. He wasn't sure what plant he wanted, much less needed, but he thought he might run into someone familiar which sounded a lot better than running around with insane strangers smugly yelling off the top of mountains.
When Lena came into view Öde visibily relaxed, relief washing of his features which cracked with a smile. "Lena!" he called out, soon coming upon her, breathless with his speed. He shot a red look back for his filly. "Do you need help?" Clearly eh had come to rescue her, and not the other way around. Roland was here already helping her, and maybe more, but he'd be damned if he was turned away now.
ÖDE IT IS NOT A GOD'S DUTY TO BOW TO DENIZENS OF MORTAL FLESH
Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
OOC: Being escorted by Deo so she's not, you know, casually trespassing xD
HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED
Plants - the source of life, sustenance for them all. It makes good sense to take them onto the boat, so Nyx quickly sets about the task. Dominus prowls a short distance behind his bonded as she moves at a arched-necked canter, hooves pounding with determination as she follows Deodat. He is a unicorn of the Basin, apparently, and naturally the silver soldier had jumped at the chance to explore a new place when offered. The blood-bay leads and she follows; he seems to know his shit, and Nyx trusts his judgement.
They arrive, and there is a touch of trepidation about the mare as she steps onto foreign soil. Technically she's trespassing, although she hopes the stallion beside her will assure any angry Basiners that she isn't here on a nefarious spy mission. Her pale gaze lands on three unicorns, using various techniques to collect plants. After a bit of mental prodding, Dominus sets about using his savagely hooked claws to burrow beneath a variety of plants, lips peeled back in concentration. Nyx, meanwhile, is focused on the three unicorns, shifting slightly awkwardly. "Hello!" she says, voice imbued with slightly nervous cheer. She looks to Deodat, hoping he'll make introductions before the iron woman finds herself on the wrong end of three pointy horns.
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
I follow along calmly behind the black stallion. Sarabi is bounding along at my side, finally ready to run and keep up after her nap. She is at his heels, while I am a bit behind. I had no clue how to keep up in the north. There was this white stuff that covers everything! I bound though it the best I can. Sarabi gets through it by using the path Öde had cleared.
Once we enter the Basin, I stay as close as I can. The flower that the pretty white mare with antlers had given me is still stuck behind my ear. I wonder if there are more flowers like this. If so they need to be saved! However since the others all have horns like Daddy and I dont... Well I stay close to the one who brought me here. That would be safest right? Sarabi returns to my side, and I lean down and lip at her fur. I stay quiet, for once in my life. They are all bigger and could hurt me... I'm not taking any chances
Déodat found the impending “purification” of Helovia to be a more than valid reason to drag a stranger north. At the least she was an unicorn. One of their kind. Odette had wandered off with his daughter, which he was glad for. The idea of her roaming about Helovia alone with some Pegasus boy made his blood curdle. Adolescence was approaching and he knew how colts could be at such an age.
As he and Nyx drew over the border of the Basin he could sense her nerves. The Blood Prince was already prepared to face any animosity. Now wasn’t the time to worry about borders or territory. All that mattered was that there was enough food to supply them throughout the rainfall. As he walked he spotted the familiar face of Lena. A smile passed over his lips. Nyx spoke first a greeting and he’d might as well step in with an introduction. “This is my bunk mate, Nyx.” He said gesturing with his head. “If there are any specific herbs you need us to get, let me know Lena. We are here to serve.”
She basked in the glow of something familiar, weaving to and fro over the embankment of nature, calmed and soothed by the daffodil grains and lavender plumes. The nymph hummed and sang while she worked, collecting elemental treasures to restore pending tribulations, and hardly gave a thought to anything but the general splendor of her task. Roland responded, and she grinned, Imogen dancing beneath wide oaks and tall maples, and everything seemed to weave contentment; her heart didn’t quake or beat rapidly at a sign of danger, her mind didn’t unravel at a hint of treachery: she was free to be adrift in the song and waltz of her motives and aspirations. But then a sound ricocheted through the trees, an emboldened calling of her name, and she raised her head from the careful study of a little fern – her breathing stopped. A chaotic shuffle sprinted and dashed through her skull, every nuance, every sound, every droplet or exultation of movement simmered and seethed alarms in her head. Öde? In disbelief, she blinked multiple times, thinking she’d somehow managed an illusion, a hallucination, brought on by stress and treachery and trepidation, but he continued appearing before her eyes, just as bright and whimsical as before. How could this be? The last she’d seen him, the Mender had mourned his death, saw his fallen body across the cold floor, lost and forlorn, as if nothing she’d done to mend him of his demonic traces, of his devil sketches, had mattered, for something else had snatched him away from life. She’d collapsed on the cavern ground and sang little bits of serenity when none had appeared. She’d marched into horrors and trials when she believed she needed to gain strength, to fight against monsters, to beat back the foes who’d conquered the child. Something was terribly wrong here, and the sylph nearly collided into Roland at her quick, abrupt movements, neither shying away nor maneuvering closer, too confused, too muddled, too bewildered by the renewed presence of the little stag. Imogen began to panic slightly at the cessation of Lena’s composure, twisting her eyes back and forth over reborn colt and her bonded, trying to make sense of the notion, but incapable of doing so. The Mender’s voice rang bright, beautiful bells, curling fronds of hope, of confusion, of apprehension, desperate to find answers in the drowning deluge. “I’m glad to see you again.” If her last words ended on a sharp sniffle, an abrupt faltering of indulgent tears, she neither noticed nor indulged in them further. She scarcely noticed poor Deodat and his partner sauntering in nearby, too distracted by the lad’s phoenix capabilities. Her heart nearly broke at the next set of vocals, but she had to know, she had to understand. “How are you alive, dear Öde?”
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
In the frantic upheaval of the entirety of Helovia, Öde had easily slipped back into the way of the world as it had been when he enjoyed it the most, when it had been stable, and calm, and good. Then he had died, a fact which he either couldn't remember, or was incapable of understanding and so thrust it out of his memories like radioactive waste. Hence the gradual response to Lena's surprise was a slow, misplaced dawning of confusion.
"I'm glad to see you," he uttered in dry response to her strange tone, head tilting to the side as he tried to articulate her bizarre mood. He would have discounted it as the stressful work of the flood which had them all running a bit thin, but not Lena. She was a rock, squarely and sternly founded with unyielding strength. She was sure of her place in the world, each footfall cast out with assurance and radiating the kindness that bore her soul. Why then was she now faltering?
The words she uttered next made his features fall. Uncertain his ears transitioned from back to forward rapidly, while his body sucked into itself, haunches holding him up sternly as his tail fretted at his hocks. He didn't understand the confusion, the sorrow, the lack of love. Whatever was wrong he loathed it, feared it, and so he stomped angrily on it. "W-what do you mean? It's because of you," Öde stuttered out, red eyes flashing almost with accusation. How did she not remember a day so pivotal from him?
"You rescued me..."you loved me, I thought. Was I wrong to expect her to take up the mantle of mother, even to a boy now grown?
In the back of my mind dark memories fluttered, and my mother's dying voice echoed between my ears; not one fabricated by my subconscious this time. Her corpse still haunted me. It was so fresh, still cooling in the false light of the caves, washed red in a freshly rooted tree that stood for me, though it would feed on her bones.
What happened to me?
@[Lena]
ÖDE IT IS NOT A GOD'S DUTY TO BOW TO DENIZENS OF MORTAL FLESH
Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
The Songbird stifled, grew instantly aware of how she’d upset him. Painstakingly, slowly, she covered herself back up into the florets of composure, into the idle blossoms of calm, lithe contortions, sniffled only once, drumming back the tears from where they’d pooled, tucked her emotions away, away, away, hidden all the more. She forgot her suffering, she whittled away her distress, and she waved away the rigid desolation. Like armor, she deftly strung together the woven lacings of her serenity, of her tranquility, even when they’d been so quickly fettered by the presence, by the appearance, of a boy she’d known to be gone. The naiad hollowed out another bit of herself, secretive and furtive, stood like a vessel, like a shell, amidst the grand tundra and the scenic vows, trying to forget the ghastly images his fallen frame had left behind. But they were so vivid, so strong, so bound to the center of her mind; every time she blinked there was his collapsed form, no more breaths taken, no more heartbeats woven, a lad given no more chances. Then, a ghost, a wraith, a phantom, he was back again, the tangible poltergeist fluttering away, confused, scared, causing her to falter in her taut fortitude. Lord, she was so confused, so perplexed, so baffled, because she couldn’t make sense of his renewal, when she’d so clearly mourned his battered remnants, and a lingering sigh made its way past her lips, tremulous and quavering, the last snippets of her weakness puffed and exalted into the enigmatic mist. The nymph almost thought to look down, to stare upon the ground as she bore the truth for him, but thought better of it, sculpted steel and warmth back into her eyes, held softness and dulcet quandaries across her lids, along her features. “I remember that time quite well, but its not the one I speak of.” Not when he was a demon, thrust into their midst with scarcely naught but memories of wickedness, but when he was a corpse (and here she struggled again, her stomach twisted into a derisive, rancorous knot, as if she shouldn’t tell him, as if the very picture and tapestry of his cadaver scorched back over her mind; she was incapable, she was weak, she was worthless). Her stare flicked over his frame, very alive, very whole, and the durability of her aria coasted over the wind, enduring in the great mysteries, in the strange upheaval, in the ghastly, ghostly exchanges. “Do you recall being in the caves?” She started and held no means of stumbling again. “Searching for the murderer?” Blunt, honest, forthright, yearning to atone for something she had no control over.
@[Öde]
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
She held him in her gaze, and there he found the return of the light, the warmth, the love he remembered and cherished. Yet, her words continued to ring cold and hollow, even if only in the way he perceived them. What she said didn't make sense, or maybe he didn't want it to. His brother had tried to make heads and tails of it all for him, and he'd shaken it away then as madness.
If she was saying something similar though, could he dispel it so easily?
"Y-yes," he replied to her question, guarded and uncertain why it mattered. "I woke up there," he went on, clarifying her statement. Although, had he been searching for a murderer there? He didn't really remember that part, although further back he did know of the meeting of them four, vowing to find the darkness which plighted Helovia, even if it was for self gain. The Goddess had done it, that's what Reginald had told him.
"My... my." Öde glanced away, unable to look at the mare that was the charade of that which had perished by some unknown cause. He took a moment to regain his composure, searching for it in the distance. "My mother was there, when I woke up," he finished soundly, turning to look at her finally. "She was dead." He wasn't sure why that mattered, or what he expected her to do with that information, but it seemed important to say, and it was honest.
"Did the goddess kill her? I heard she was the murderer."
[IDK I'm sorry]
ÖDE IT IS NOT A GOD'S DUTY TO BOW TO DENIZENS OF MORTAL FLESH
Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
There were too many uncertainties, too many questions, laden in the fumbling foil and the recoiling turns. She listened, but couldn’t comprehend all of the missing pieces. He’d woken up – but she’d seen him, still, quiet, sides not filling with air, heart not beating with the quiver of veins, muscles, and sinew, a throng gathered around his fallen form. Only confusion filtered through her mind, and his frame seemed to reflect it, hesitantly, poignantly, searching for the answers neither apparently had, speaking in strange tongues and foreign languages. His mother? Where’d she been all this time – and she had been murdered, condemned, too? Had she been one of the unknown victims, sprawled in hellish wakes and devoured, swallowed, by the disastrous Moon Goddess. The Songbird stared resolutely at the stag, buried and convoluted in too many secrets, too many spells, too many incantations she didn’t know or understand; her brow furrowed into a mixture of determination and precariousness, unsure of which track to follow or mire within. Her voice maintained its semblance of strength, for him, for herself, for the riddles they were casting and attempting to solve; had the murders not even taken place, had the shadows not entranced, had the darkness not illuminated their lifetimes, this never would have happened. “I don’t know about your mother. When I saw you…” She ceased and paused, then drove the resolution further into the schemes, still warm, still tender, but rasping down a subject she hadn’t yearned to speculate and derive. “There was a crowd around your form – prone, lying there, unmoving.” You were dead, I thought you were dead, but she didn’t say it, didn’t maneuver upon the threshold of demise, not until he wondered and pondered over it himself. There was something missing, a link she couldn’t surmise, but was leading into a strange potency, like when she’d healed little Arya, who had seemed designated for the heavens, who had ceased breathing, who couldn’t have been entirely mended by her songs or time, because Lena had no power over the slain and fallen.
@[Öde]
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
"Her body was, fresh," Öde clarified as this other mother of his (could he call her that?) struggled with her words. His gaze continued to hold her, strong and unmoving with this certainty, but swerving and shadowed with doubt otherwise. Like Lena, confusion, even fear, were writhing inside of him at this moment, cast free with every syllable their breaths passed.
The Songbird continued to sing about him though. For a moment he could only stare, as if he could search inside of the mender's own heart and mind and see for himself the cold form of his youthful body sprawled out beneath the 'brow of condemnation. He wanted to see himself, not for any sick pleasure, because then maybe he might be sure, maybe all this madness would make sense. His teeth set on edge, and in that instant he blinked, seeming to revive himself.
"I was dead." he finally uttered, the statement heaved with a long and breathy sound that wound from the very core of his being and out from his nose. Although he still had questions, he felt to say something like that required a direct confidence, and out of all of this madness, of the two horses closest to him explaining it no other way, he could do little more than face it as the truth. He, Öde, had died.
Now he lived.
That's when it made sense. He fought the welling of tears that edged in his eyes, forcing himself to stare straight ahead, looking now beyond Lena while his jaw grit together tightly, his muscles corded so tight they hurt to hold him up. "She could raise the dead," he whispered, pushing the words out between his teeth. "Just bones, or bodies... she'd let them dance and play with me..." He blinked away a tear, turning his head in shame of it and all that it stood for.
"She revive me. She went too far to do it... she's gone."because of me
Damnit mother.
ÖDE IT IS NOT A GOD'S DUTY TO BOW TO DENIZENS OF MORTAL FLESH
Tag me only if starting a new thread. Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating. Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!
Sometimes the truth was a bitter, acidic pill to swallow, drowning and bestowing, proffering and ruining, releasing havoc, unleashing subterfuge, beckoning gospel interludes, fanning burning sincerity. The Mender had been on the receiving, searing end of many of these befuddling, confusing, sagacious claims, and was forced to either blossom, bloom, from their understandings, or become a muddled, worthless character, never reaching beyond the ills of actuality. She watched as clarity, as sense, transformed over the colt’s features: transforming raw candor into unsung veracity. A dead mother, a dead son, murdered then revived, a plunging course of spells and phrases, a femme capable of reviving the fallen, the deceased, a child wrapped and ensconced in his dam’s love even when she knew it could take her far, far, far away from everything she cherished. Lena’s heart clenched and her head bowed for the femme who’d given her life for her child’s, the one standing before her, all obsidian and fire, draped and drenched in confusion and validity, transformed from killed to living. She allowed a snippet of breath to unfold from her frame, basking and murmuring in the summer haze, yearning to reach out to comfort him, watching tears fill the fringe of his gaze. The Songbird pressed closer, inclining her soft maw towards his, eager and ready to offer her consolation, her solace, her serenity and repose, to ease the overwhelming sense of loss, or the powerful lament, dirge, requiem he’d already placed upon himself. Her aria was gentle, light, soft, and dulcet, crooning into the bewitching tales and beguiling snippets (she had so many questions, but none of them were appropriate for the moment; wiles of immortality, of fountains of youth, of enduring lifespans for years, decades, and eons), whispering into the portal of Basin finesse and Tallsun vestiges. “Your mother loved you dearly.” The sylph paused, Imogen rustling a little beyond her front limbs, entangling several of her tails along her legs, as if providing a sense of comfort Lena was unaware she needed. “You must make the most out of this second life, for her sake. She would want to see you succeed.” Though the nymph, the fairy, the fey, knew little of his desires, of his aspirations, of his ambitions, he couldn’t take his dam’s sacrifice as a means and measure to melancholy, to persisting, enduring sadness; she was certain the matriarch would have yearned for her son to triumph over everything he craved.
@[Öde]
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love