"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.
04-14-2015, 07:02 PM (This post was last modified: 04-14-2015, 07:03 PM by Confutatis.)
CONFUTATIS But we're talking kings and successions
Darkness roils and seethes around her, waves of curling rot dancing outwards from soiled skin. Nostrils flare, cupping brilliant red flesh, and eyes roll, white flashing around amber ores. Sweat stains greasy skin, turning ash to shadow, and limbs move, ceaseless, in a toxic dance, a black-hearted waltz. Necromancy -- or at least the practice of it. Around her bugs and beetles shrivel, wither, spiders' legs coming to close across their bodies, and the reek of rot prevails above all, decay and iron lashed together.
She misses her children. So much it hurts to breathe.
So she lathers herself beneath the burning sun, lets her magic caress and corrupt the life around her, dreams of relief and escape and seeing them, Nymeria and Volterra, happy and well. I should've known this was coming. And she should've slaughtered him (Gaucho), took her magic and sucked the life right out of him, until his skin sloughed from his bones and muscle unraveled and veins shriveled dry, until he was ash in the wind and a skull left staring on the ground. She paces, she moves, and every attempt to engage her (whether in conversation or action) is met with violent apathy and a lick of her magic.
For a season and a half now she hasn't spoken, not to anyone, her mind turning, turning, turning, a rat looking for the exit from the maze, until she runs dry of energy and slumbers for days.
Where are my children?
Eyelids lash together and teeth snap and grind and she hurts because she told them to go away but she didn't expect them to and now she's alone with only her companion's mockery to accompany her.
Come back to me.
And she sits in the sweltering heat with magic burning up around her and then when the sun slips down behind the horizon she begins to cry because there is nothing she can do.
With each dawn the boy grew stronger, more adventurous. With his other half perched on his rump he walked unafraid, with a stride that showed his heritage, even through the bumbling walk of a child. His newfound companion, nameless for the time, warbles and squawks as Hawke walks, and the boy grunts or snorts in return, their exchange mostly mental. Images and emotions flicker by, raw and unbridled, each knowing almost precisely what the other was going to say at the moment of it's thinking. The shadows grew long as they wandered, farther from their dam's side(for the chick could not help but believe the snow-mare his dam as well) than the previous day, and as the sun grew low Hawke's heart quickened, anticipating the tingling of his magic.
It was the stench, of rot and decay, that first pulled Hawke's attention from the chick and back to the world around them. Under his feet dead insects crunched, and unperturbed the boy examined his hoof and the insect guts that splattered it. His chick chirruped, and the pair regarded the death around them, the wilted plants and dead or dying creatures, with calm eyes. They did not fully understand what was occurring, why things that should move were not. Nor did they understand it came from the mare nearby, the one that gnashed and pawed and stalked like a cat bound in a cage far too small for it.
Hawke was the first of the pair to spot her, and in the growing twilight, the growing night, he approaches, carefully, for she is far larger than he, and does not look like his dam. The sun finally slips beneath the horizon, and the child's attention leaves the mare mid-stride. He watches as his own skin fades, then the muscles and organs, all with a fathomless curiosity. The owlet too watches, though worry is more his thoughts as his beloved changes beneath his tiny feet. A peep of concern, quickly banished by Hawke's disregard for the chick's worry. For the boy, this was utterly normal. In fact, he returned to looking at the skull-faced mare, waiting for her to change as well.
She doesn't.
He can't understand it.
"Not change?" He asks, skeletal head tilting slightly, regarding the mare-not-mother with confusion. His sister did not change, but she brightened the world so that was fine. Mother did not change as well, but she was, as far as Hawke knew, an angel, so that would not make sense. This mare had a skull on her face, yet her body did not change.
04-14-2015, 08:22 PM (This post was last modified: 04-14-2015, 08:23 PM by Megaera.)
Megaera A kiss with a fist is better than none
As a Guardian of Dragon’s Throat, it was part of Megaera’s duty to take a shift in guarding its current prisoner. Normally she was a servant to duty, loved knowing that in doing hers she kept her family safe, but this particular task she hated. Or at least this particular prisoner. She did’t know the exact circumstances that had led to Gaucho’s capture of there skull-faced mare, but the warrior had heard enough to know she was dangerous. Even with out knowing her history, Meg knew a deep seated-distrust and disgust. The prisoner had an aura of death and decay and if it had been up to her, Meg would have seen her expelled from the desert instead of held there.
She kept a bit of a distance, usually within a twenty meter range of the silent prisoner. As long as she had no move to escape and made no threat against any in the herd, Meg saw no point in interacting at all and simply followed. It was a strange thing for the warrior, only to watch and to wait, but with Gwaihir off guarding her daughter, there was no pleasant company to be sought during these hours on duty.
Nearly as restless as her charge, Megaera shifted her footing in the sand and glanced towards the horizon as the sun began to dip below. Only a few more hour and her shift would be over and she could return to Mordecai. Black eyes turned back towards Confutatis and narrowed to see in the dimming light. Is she actually crying Had Megaera know the reason for her prisoners grief, she might have been more sympathetic, but she only let out an impatient huff of breath.
It was then she saw the child approaching. Sohalia’s strange son, already shifting towards his bony nocturnal appearance. He was marching up to the hostile prisoner, bold as brass, with clearly no idea of who or what she was. Megaera surged forward, kicking up sand and crossing the distance quickly. The combination or warrior and mother inside her had her moving to stand protectively at the side of the small child and aim a glare at the mare he addressed. The warning was clear, ears laid flat and teeth flashing for a second, she was not to so much as think about touching a child if the Throat.
CONFUTATIS But we're talking kings and successions
Teeth grit and grind together, saliva pooling out from her dark, closely-pressed lips. Hungry amber eyes roll, shifting to fixate on the interloper headed her way. Curiosity gleams in that burnished gold gaze, a wicked, wicked, frustration and desperation.
Those tattoos, those markings, remind her of someone.
An eerie stillness falls over her rapidly moving body, and she comes to still, statuesque in her fucked perfection. Nostrils flex wide, ribbons of red becoming visible; green-tinged ropes of saliva slither and foam around chapped and burned lips. Sweat thickens over her body, white foam and soaked damp glistening visibly, even from a distance.
She chafes against the chains of her prison.
Rapidly she swings 'round, planting herself to face those approaching. Her guard looks fierce—which begs the question of why.
Was she afraid Confutatis might bite the foal's head off? Good.
She should be afraid.
Forward she paces, oozing malice, her neck flexed and hips swaying in a viperous arc of her poisonous intent. She breathes disdain, the coldness of her wild eyes exotically bright and glowing with rage. Bones rattle. Lips curl into a sneer.
Go.
Mongrel growls low in his throat, his tails writhing as he gazes over her poll out towards the intruders. Confutatis' eyes hurt from her tears' salt, but she doesn't fuss. This would be fun.
With a final snap of his tails, Mongrel unleashes a tight-knit vision aiming to capture the two of them, an illusion. He scrubs away Confutatis, leaving nothing behind but dust and sand; for all the world, it would seem she has disappeared.
She hopes it pisses off that annoying fucking guard. Or, even better, that it would scare her into panic, shouting for guards.
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