"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.
As the world around her quieted down and the friends that she had somehow asked to come with her on this venture finished their battles, the queen stood still beside her cart and surveyed the damage that had been done. Bloody bodies, bloody ground, bloody blood… She hated it. She hated all of it. Especially, she hated the armor she was wearing. As she had a flair for the dramatic anyway, it was not a stretch for the queen to take her frustrations out on what she wore. Tearing the wolf-skin cape from her shoulders, tossing it haphazardly onto the ground, the queen then got to work on taking off her armor. Twisting and shaking, writhing and bucking about until it loosened, the metal fell to the ground with a crash. Violently, the queen’s hoof struck out, crashing against the metal piece, creating a loud ping but unsatisfyingly not causing much damage to the item.
Moments later, her head whipped around, attention returning to the wolf skin. More death. Not a horse, but a creature nevertheless, had died for its creation. Screaming to the heavens, eyes watering with all the tears that the poor girl could produce, anger and frustration and too many other emotions overfilling her already full heart, the queen descending upon the cape. Grabbing it in her teeth and flailing upwards, it suddenly occurred to the poor woman what a fool she must look like. So, instead of thrashing about or stomping on it as she wanted to, the painted woman fell to the floor, tears suddenly accompanied by heaving sobs pouring out of her chest.
Burying her face in the warmth of the cape, the queen vaguely felt as Khan settled on her back, unsure of what to do with the overwhelming emotion that was flooding his mind. Her tender heart and soul hurt for what she had asked her herd members to do and were in agony for what she had done to the Falls members. They had not asked for this, had been given no choice, had been offered no alternatives. Nothing, only war, had fallen upon them, and Kahlua, too weak to say no to the man that she had loved, had let all of this happen.
Though her eyes were closed and buried, she could still see Resplendence and Alysanne walking towards this place, healers out of their element. She could see all of the herd members she had invited into her home, promising them peace. She could see the terror on the faces of the Falls members, and the children watching in the distance. She could see the blood pouring from their bodies, hear the screams falling from their mouths, and here she was, beside her cart that she had brought to this place with evil intentions, sobbing on the ground.
She was weak. She had needed to be stronger. She would never be strong enough for this. And once again, the depressed queen hated herself, and hated Kaj, and hated Archibald, and hated the Lady Moon for making all of this happen. She hated everything on this stupid earth, and for once in her small life, the queen did not even know who she wanted to talk to, so she took solace in her own sorrows, and sobbed into the darkness, trying to make sense of what had happened. There was no sense to be had.
@[Thranduil]- set before the Edge leads competition
He was cold. Freezing. That was why he was shivering right?
From a stream’s edge he comes forth back to the field of battle. In the dull light of dawn it looked like the sun had melted upon the field. Red, bold even in this light, sharpens in his gaze like a knife. Bodies still lay where they fell in the chaos, mangled, and uncounted. War still to fresh on the horizon to think there might be a future grave where they could be buried. His horned head turns to the forests behind him. In there with a main force he had charged. And there he had strung on his own path, caught finally in the mindlessness of battle. It had been ever so welcomed. He in fact, missed it. For now it was gone, and, turning to look upon the field again, he was left to face such sites. A heavy sigh shutters through him and with care to step on no broken soul he crosses the field.
The gold had not journeyed to the jungle in vain though. Plenty he had wounded by his blade and wrath. But it was not them who weighed heavily on his mind. In the shadows of the jungle, the gold could run no further with the armor upon his back. Recalling it he stumbled to the side of a stream, wet with sweat and worn with the charge. Reaching to its cool waters he goes to steal a drink. Only it is watched. Watched by two dark eyes. Jumping back the gold readied, to slay the creature, but his weapons were stilled. It was not but a small pink fish. Sighing the gold turns away. His mind rolls to the open field, where the main battle could be heard dying down. A splash startles him back to the fish. The pink creature had turned, its long fins trailing behind it. Horned head tilts, and it looks back to him. Shaking his head free of this madness he turns to go but his hooves clink on an object. Sharp ears lift, and he looks to find upon a black cloak, two necklaces, gold. One a songbird, the other a hawk. Eyes narrow and look to the fish, but it was gone. He stowed the three objects in his satchel, and waded into the stream as red began to dye its waters.
He never did find the fish, only the blood of others. He had taken the objects out and observed them closer, but found nothing unique of them. And now, wandering across the field he had nearly forgotten the affair. He was ready to go back. Back to the mountains and hide from the wars of others. He was not a loyal soldier, not a watch guard, not even a horse of honor. He had no place here, and never did. Even his reason for coming was lost to him. Earth eyes did sweep the bodies before him in a halfhearted measure for black and white pelts. It was in hatred though that he did so. It was her fault he was here of course. Her fault he was tied to the mess. Shaking those stained horns he turns, ready to journey north.
Her scream stops him. Golden head flings up and around, locking onto her. There. In the dull of dawn she stood. By her cart, like she hadn’t moved at all. Turning his sweat stained body he faces the scene, and with a bitterness, her melting courage. Harks tip backwards, but always forward again. He couldn’t ignore her, but he could not leave it. He had done as he intended that day, which seemed ages ago. He had scared her off, and now she stood unharmed by the charge. All he wanted was done. The gold could go freely. Every rational reason crashed upon the rock of his body, but the rock would not move. The clank of metal causes him to flinch and his eyes can not watch her tear the wolf cloak from her body to stamp upon it. He had done all his shell of a soul required and it was clear she was not ready to see him again.
But yet he could not leave. Of course she crumbled. This world, the true world of uncalled for hatred, bloodshed and death was never meant to be seen by her eyes. A step he takes towards her. She was never meant to see the evil of the world and feel its bitter sting upon her innocence. Never to touch the cold steel of a blade, nor feel the strain upon her back. She was meant to wander as she had that day, carefree, humming, and trusting the world about her. Now look, she crumbles to the earth, crushed under the weight of it all. Head looks north, but it is a distant whim now. He can not simply go, but neither does he wish to meet her again. The gold had scared her from his evil clutches, as he should. It would be better, if he never had come to her. That was certain. He had let his strange moods gain too much of a hold on him, and now look what it had caused. It needed to end.
Walking in his silent wake he comes to her. Earth eyes watch only her, blind to the blood, metal and mangled bodies. Gold neck twitches to see her face buried in the folds of the cloak. It was a mistake to give it to her. The thought echoed in his empty inside. Why had he come over again? Yes, to take it. She had thrown it and gone to trample it had she not? And had the gesture not caused him to throw himself foolishly in the head of battle? He could not do that again. He would not do it. His actions were not another’s to control. He would take it, and all this madness would leave her, and he. She would go home, forget as best she could the visions of the night. Perhaps in a few weeks she’d smile, and maybe even hum. She’d get on. And he? He would go on as he always had. Lying, laughing, and forgetting. Why did this feel so familiar? He steps forward, his cloven hoof stepping over the corner of the cloak and moving past her. Not even the soft pad of hooves for a goodbye. In the end, he could not take it. Not while it softened her head against the cold hard ground.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
She had participated in war once before, when the Edge had been attacked by the North, a world crashing down upon her home and her new herd, and she had raced to defend them. Unknowingly, at first, but she had participated. And when it was over, and the war was done, when she was bleeding and frightened, she had finally met the first people in Helovia that she would call family. Resplendence had saved her, Kaj had been there (the cruel start to a cold romance story), and Aaron had berated her for being an idiot. Of course, she and Aaron had made up later.
But… that war had been different. Kahlua had not asked the Basin to assault the Edge. She hadn’t even been important. Nobody had asked her to help, she had done it willingly. She had nobody to hate after that war except the unicorns, and even that hate had fizzled- it was a racism born of others’ hatreds, not her own. She hadn’t fallen to the ground and wept, she hadn’t died inside, she hadn’t taken each breath knowing that she was the worst part of the invasion. This time, she didn’t have any of those comforts. She had fallen and wept, she was dead, and she did know that she was the worst. There was no getting around those pains, no saving her from what she had done, no taking back this black part of her history.
She was no Sunshower anymore. She was only a hurricane.
Around her, the grasses sang a song, the most melancholy one they could muster, grass blades dissonant as they rubbed against one another, wind curling back upon itself, whirling and whispering too loudly for comfort. This was the Father Earth’s home, and yet… yet, his magic sang songs of sorrow that she had even come here. She was a disappointment to him, she just knew it. Him, and every other god or person that had ever asked something of her. Even the Lady Moon, who had given her so much, she had failed.
A step, though silent, on the corner of her wolf skin caught her attention through her sobs.
Looking up, blinking through her tears, the queen suddenly found herself mad at Thranduil. No… mad wasn’t even the right word. Angry? Irate? Maybe none of those things. Perhaps she was just deflecting her anger away, throwing it to somebody else, getting it off her chest. Vaguely, it brought to mind a different situation with a different stallion, but the lessons she had learned that day floated out of her head with any rational thought. “Hey!” she practically yelled at him, though he had probably only gone a few steps.
“What makes you think you can just leave?” she followed up with, forcing her body up from the ground, leaving the cloak in the dirt, damp from the tears that had fallen onto it. Her voice was thick with the congestion her emotions had caused. “The whole world’s falling apart and you think you can just walk away?” Incredulous, she stomped towards him, ears laid back across her head. She didn’t even know what she was yelling about. The words didn’t even make any sense, but there she was yelling, the glow of her rock lighting the white parts of her coat as the sun continued its descent over the horizon.
“Or did you just come here to spy on us and then walk away again? Were you even here to help, or are you going to come to me later and tell me how this was all a lie too?” Her chest heaved in and out as she spit her acid words towards him. “What are you even DOING here?” she hissed at him, but the answer was obvious. She was the reason he was here. She had agreed with Kaj and Archibald- war was the answer. She had agreed that they should ask the Basin for help. The Basin had sent Thranduil. Without her, none of this would have taken place. She would not be here, Thranduil would not be here, nobody would be here.
And with that, the queen fell forward, trying to press her wet face into the stallion’s shoulder, to cry onto his withers instead of into the ground, to feel some sort of touch, to know that not everyone hated her, to know they would not run when she approached. She waited for the brush of his fur against her face, for the warmth of his skin to heat her icy soul. She needed him to stand there for her, to stay, to be her rock in this moment, because without him she thought she might just melt into nothingness on the ground. Nevermind that he had deceived her… She had deceived him. He was here now, and she needed him.
05-14-2015, 11:39 PM (This post was last modified: 05-14-2015, 11:52 PM by Thranduil.)
Thranduil
It would have been so easy right? It was just a mechanical step by step. Motions he had done every day. It was just a goodbye, how many of those had he done? The gold who never settled of course had practice in those. He was ever so good at letting memories slip away. So good at boxing them up and hiding them in the attic. It would have been so easy to leave her there. Or so he thought. He would never get the chance to find out.
A shout echos like a shot gun behind him, freezing his gold body. Earth eyes swim to hear it. It was a voice not unlike the one he imagined so many dark nights and cold days. Through every storm, like a hallowed memory he wished were true, he heard it on the thunder. It hadn’t come them, but it coming now. The damsel doing what she hadn’t done all those years ago. So was it really the damsel calling or someone else? Who really called him? Calling him back. Now like a ringing of a bell someone was finally calling it but unlike the tender untouched soul he always imagined would turn to the caller, he stood as facing away, like stone, cold and distant. He felt anything but though. Pulse raced, and body felt a sickness and dread. Had he imagined a moment like this? Perhaps with another caller, but like this nonetheless? Much to his regret, he had.
Movement rustles behind him, ears lay back to catch it. He didn’t want to turn to her, his body seized up like stone, but he was not allowed to deny it. Like a punishment it commands the gold to turn, to face the cold world. So those twin horns turn, and trembling earth eyes laden heavy with rings of guilt, memory, and the weight of the world. She yells, and even after the labors of battle it sounds up like a hurricane right in his harks. But its sting is not just in the noise. Words cur deeper than she could have ever meant to bear them. Did he think he could just walk away? Yes…
Why would you not want to walk away? The world was vast and ever moving. Other places, and other times forgot what passed in one life in one second. The world may fall apart in one soul, in one place, but it could be rebuilt in others. That was the beauty of lies. If you didn’t like reality, you could change it. Wasn’t that the freedom everyone wanted? You don’t like your life, your ill-fated realities, change them, create, for only your imagination and skills were the limits. Actually broke, well now you were a prince. Actually a murder, well now you were a moral compass and saint. Actually a heart broken, shattered, deadbeat? With a well-crafted lie you were an innocent, waiting for true love’s first kiss again, or like the golden, a solid man, without need of another warm body. How pleased he had been to find the work of his trade was also the salvation of his life, the way to put it together again.
But this time someone had called him back. Someone had finally shouted out. Someone had stopped him, calling his bluff. The grand narrative told him to face her, but it made the next words sting all the more. Acid indeed, it rained upon him and seemed to turn the golden man to a pale shadowy ghost. Did she mean what she said? Rationale says she’s spitting out falsities in a fit of anger, not meaning the words that fell at his feet. But it didn’t matter if she meant them. They were still said. The golden was never ashamed to admit he had spun another golden thread through the world’s tapestry. He was always proud to admit with a wide smirk he had told a twisted truth, rather than a lie. But this? Was this a lie? Earth eyes turn inward, searching, because for once in a long era, he wasn’t sure. Cold bone fingers reach out in the dark trying to find the object they lost long ago.
The damsel hisses at him again and it bites him. Head tucks, and harks turn back. The bone hand was desperately searching. He for once, wasn’t sure. Then a head falls into him. Body jerks, having forgotten the real touch of another creature. Not a seductive kiss, or rage filled wound, but a touch in the basics of emotions. Her hot skin, burned even through the cool of air, but the golden did not move away. How long since he felt the bone of another dig in, and not move away? How long had he felt their hot tears trail down his own flesh? But it brought like a flash of color in a black and white, the light needed. The boney hand reaches out, and finally seizes upon the object, bringing a smooth youthful skin to it again. Its fingers grasped at the shape of a soul, the beat of a heart. Like a strike it brings reactions, not of the gold as this world, Helovia, knew him, but of a long lost place. You would be right he acted not like himself, for to this world, what the hand gripped had not belonged to that golden man, but the one before him. So he does as one would have in the days of dust and memory. Her hot skin presses into his shoulder and golden neck, high and taunt, uncurls, and reaches over. Long vanilla tassels fall over her like a shroud, hiding the world she fears so much from her view. Here next to him, it need not exist. It could be forgotten. Muzzle reaches out to brush her neck if she allowed. To run down her straining muscles, and let warm breath roll over him, as gathers her closer. For a moment it was alright. For a moment this felt right. He had been called back, and he came with what was needed. The broken had found a piece of the lost. For a moment he holds her closer, his gentle gestures trying to draw her closer, to hold her against the storm of the world. None would touch her here. What was he doing here? “This.”
Hand reaches out, its fingers, flesh and skin while their tips brush the old soul. It can feel it, and almost grasp it. Tips brush against its old familiar surface. He need only reach a little further. Arm reaches. It stretches. And for the first time since those days, struggles with all its might to grip it. But it is not enough. Touches, brushes, and glimpses are all it can find, and like the setting sun, the flesh gives way to bone again, left again to move about the dark, if it even cared to at all now. All is dead once more. It can not reach far enough. Though sparks had crackled in his soul, and he felt the old machines turning there was not enough power, not enough connections left to pull him all the way. He was in the end, still the hallow shell.
That’s all that had been left after that evening in the storm. The story she had wanted to know is what had torn those connections and left them unrepaired. Pieces were sewn, by his and other hands. Together they pieced together again the golden coat of pride and assurance he wore. It covered the scars, till he almost forgot they were there. But they were. The damage done inside had not been undone. Why repair when you can ignore? Why face the horrible nightmares of reality that caused those scars when this coat looked just as wonderful? So while forces had moved him, and a brush of her skin had brought a surge he hadn’t felt since then, it could not yet overcome, and his world grew dark and senseless again.
No one could live in a dark and senseless life though. So the pillar of lies, and blinders rebuild. The golden this world of Helovia knew began to return. The world he had built of a heartless creature, painted on the walls once more, and brought the dim glow of a replica of life. But if that dim glow was all you ever saw, was it so far from the true light of life? For a moment he had stood embracing her. It seemed like the moment ticked by as much as she allowed. But then he finally pulls back. It wasn’t there after all, and so nothing was left to keep him. Would it ever be there? Only fate and time could answer. For now, the gentle creature who held her close moved back, stepping back in place.
His earth eyes still scanned her, troubled. There might not have been enough spark, but there was spark. Unlike their history, he felt a guilt to prove to her, this was no lie. His reframe was no sign of a troubled conscience, even if it was. So he lies. What more could you expect? Crowned head as it pulls back turns and reaches to the satchel at his side. There it slips in pouch for a moment. Would this be enough to hide the trembling of his flesh at the last traces of her touches? Lips find what they seek and pull them from the depths. Two necklaces slip from the grip of his teeth and fall to the earth. Harks fall back at the slip from grace. His lie of ease was slipping. Earth eyes glance to her, hoping she hadn’t noticed, then dip to the trampled grasses. In the grass rests the two necklaces from the fish. One a songbird. The other a hawk. Considering them for a moment he grabs the songbird. Muffled in the drain of his mind was the notion of the knowing purpose of these gifts from the fish. The songbird truly fit the damsel. Ever innocent, and delicate, singing in the freedom of the sweet earth. So the gold holds this necklace up and extends it to the damsel, and even if she allowed, helped her slip it over her neck. Was this all their meetings would be? Gift giving and stinging words? If only you knew what it was for the gold to give. It, like the embrace of before, were signs of a bygone era, a lost version of the golden. And for it to feel to necessary, and so right to prove his intent with such things was more telling than all the words he could speak.
He says nothing of the gift though. He could not. What was he to say? A fish gave this to me and it reminds me of you? What a pathetic thing to say. What a quick death to this lie that his draw back had had purpose. Earth eyes rolls closed for a second as he lets the mess of this all wash over him. Hoping it would wash away the reality of this moment. They open to the world again, and find it hadn’t. Still before him was the damsel. What question he could never answer was if the sigh that followed was heavy with sadness or relief.
Still there, in the grasses lay the small hawk charm, its metal changing, and gaining properties. It waited. Impatiently it shivered in the grass, ready to complete the bond to its mate.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: Look I didn't tag you! lol Also, if you don't mind, for reality's sake Thran needs help getting this necklace over his horns, so if you want you can do that or I will have him ungracefully figure it out in the next thread. =D Her necklace shouldn't feel anything until his is on.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
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