"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.
A grown stallion with a crooked smile flapped his wings and soared.
The air was water. Flight was effortless. There was no windchill, no ache of muscle, no gravity, really- just the endless expanse of the open sky and the easy, powerful pulsing of two perfectly beautiful and complete wings. Beneath him lay a sea of clouds, through which swam dark and distant figures, leviathans of the deep. Around him, a pod of whales, his guides and friends - perhaps he was a whale too? He wasn't really sure, but it didn't really matter.
It was hard to be sure of anything, in a dream.
Zero laughed and tucked his wings, diving gleefully between his grey companions. Down he fell, until his hooves licked the clouds and fish jumped around him, swarming for the attention of the marvelous boy. No, not boy- the lightning-backed stallion was the king of them all! Great wings folded against burnt black sides and Zero was standing upon the surface of the clouds, his weight easily supported by the fluffy sea despite his truly impressive height. He often dreamed himself like this: tall, complete, with two wings and no metal oozing from his damaged side. It was a good dream, because Zero had yet to learn about nightmares.
He began to run, strong legs surging beneath his body, falling easily into a lope toward the distant horizon and the rising sun. Around him the sea parted, and marine life rose up to surround him, hippocampi and rays keeping pace with his stride, the great shadows of sharks cutting powerfully through the clouds. Laughter left him like steam, rolling off his body in waves of joy.
She stood in a cathedral, one fashioned idly after the Ancient Rotunda and yet larger than she could ever imagine. It stretched on in both ways forever, a great and immortal hallway, sunlight streaming in through arched stained-glass windows to rest on a soft and somehow reflective floor. With each step the floor was mashed beneath her hooves, the silken texture springing back after she moved away. The air smelled of winter cold and summer grass, a queer juxtaposition that she could not decipher as pleasant or unpleasant, comforting or disquieting; and in her peripheral vision, shadows stretched and shifted, flurrying wings and whispering voices made into darkness. More strangely, perhaps, Lilomiel was nowhere to be found—nor could she feel his insistent, nagging weight pressing on her skull. It was divine.
Nymeria knew she had a purpose, being here; that there was a reason she wandered down the endless hallways, with only blue skies around her and the world falling away. Whenever she moved towards a window, curious to see beyond this place of white and blue and gold, the window stayed away, remaining in precisely the same position no longer how long she walked towards it. One would think that in this bizarre and fantastical state of being Nym would know herself to be dreaming, but she didn't. This place—while vaguely discomfiting—was where she was supposed to be.
And so she walked, never tiring, and never approaching her destination.
Except, unbeknowst to her in this cloud cathedral, something was changing with each step she took. Age began to inscribe itself upon her cheeks, her eyes, her shoulders, her spine, her hips; she swelled and thickened into ripe womanhood, and shriveled into an ancient mare. While Nymeria felt no pain, no arthritis, nor was she even aware of the change, eventually she crumbled into dust entirely. And at that point, she, still walking and clueless, was reincarnated to youth and cherubic, flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
A shark sliced through the window. Eyes rolled back, massive and gray and ghastly, it swam silently before her, gills shuddering in the warm air. And then, without warning, it turned away and swam through the other side.
The songs began, an orchestra of whales, their haunting tunes hanging in the air.
Mildly astonished, Nymeria halted, wearing the body of her older self, a woman in her prime.
It broke through his dreamy haze with the violent brightness of sunlight between trees- no, that's not right. She sounded like the moon, cold and white and alluring, distinctly feminine and indistinctly real, an echo of an echo in the echo of a dream. It drew him like a lightning rod, an without pause the stallion redirected the frightening force of his momentum toward the siren's song, muscles surging easily and wings outspread, cutting rivulets through the cloudy waves.
She was in his dream like a memory he never knew he had, tall and statuesque, radiant in the dark. With the force of a tidal wave he crashed upon her, and she upon him- he grinned, lightning on the auburn lips, suns in his eyes and laughter on his tongue. Easily the boy circled the girl, the man circled the woman- Zero looked upon her with the delight of a child but the face of a man, and saw in her, for the first time, femininity.
She reminded him of someone else, someone with a skull on her face and legs as long as the sky, but the feeling she gave him- well, it was entirely alluring, and new.
He did not pause in his motion, though he did not seem to be leaving her- he simply rotated around her as a satellite might the sun. The words that fell from his lips were clean, as clean and deep as the ocean trenches that stretched beneath their feet. "I am Zèklè -" he wanted her to know his whole name, for here he was whole, more than merely Zero - "Son of the Lightning and King of the Whales!" Had he been awake, the introduction would have been foolish*, but the freedom of dreams provides brevity and poise to even the most questionable of speeches, and the stallion truly believed in his words.
Carefully Zero regarded his new companion, sunbeam eyes sparkling in the light of the clouds and sea. "You, I think, are a warrior queen- perhaps the most beautiful I have ever seen."
For a minute his voice was a boy's again, sincere and free of all knowledge of guile, and he shifted back to what he was, young and innocent and full of faith. Between them, an orca's dorsal cut the sea; he vanished behind it, and when he re-appeared he was once more a man, strong and whole and ruler of his world.
*I say it would be foolish, but let's be real: such an introduction would be pretty par for the course in the case of our Zero, perhaps with a couple more exclamation points thrown in.
08-11-2015, 07:46 PM (This post was last modified: 08-11-2015, 07:49 PM by Nymeria.)
Bad romance, turned dreams into an empire.
In the emptiness, Nymeria’s voice rings out too loud. It thunders against her ears and slams against her skin, almost physical in its violence. The echoing, slurring mockery of her voice, a slithering whosethere, whosethere, whosethere, seems to last for too long, and the silence that follows is like a moonlit lake with a surface unperturbed by wind or rain. Or, perhaps, crystal and gemstones and unseen sights, hidden within the cavernous ribcage of the earth and forgotten over the ages. Eerie, and alien; where the shadows seem to flicker without reason and you can’t help but feel the hairs on your arms rising in arrays of goosebumps.
Quiet closes in on her, an unsaid threat perceptive as any living being.
Then wings thunder and down comes upturned earth and frayed lightning, and silver-orange-red all bursting outwards in a hypnotizing display. Light splays out around fringed feathers, glows in a halo behind a brilliant skull, casting the stallion’s face in deepest black. Here, at this point, something should be cautioning her to the possibility of foulplay, but today no alarm bell rings. Instead of stepping back, instead of preparing for possible danger, Nym cannot resist looking at him in bright-eyed astonishment, glued to the faux marble by the angel’s? sheer audacity. Some false breeze comes, conjured up unwittingly and subconsciously, to sweep up the locks of her curly mane and tail, rustle them in the wind oh-so-majestically.
And he, Zèklè, orbits her as if she has become center of the world.
Nymeria, as would be expected, loves it immediately. It feeds to her ego.
Son of the Lightning and King of the Whales. Some charming, errant smile slides across mature and devious lips, softening Nymeria’s imperious features. Just as Zèklè is more comfortable here than in the living world, Nym is pumped full of confidence, and swollen by a sense of [admittedly false] success. In this dream life, in this dream world, she has done what she has always hoped to do, lived out her every ambition to victory’s highest degrees. When he, her Hephaestus, surveys her (Athena) she doesn’t fear inadequacy; instead, she flourishes beneath his stare, grows and blossoms beyond a natural range of beauty into something fantastical and Aphrodite-like.
Her smile’s voltage is like to kill a man, and the confidence to her stare would scare off even the leanest, meanest wolves.
“Thank you,” Nym says, and her body does not portray sexuality or flirtatiousness as would Confutatis’, but instead a queen’s collected poise. In this world it would never cross her mind to use her woman’s body as a tool—in this world, her mind is all she needs to triumph over her foes. “But as a Warrior Queen,” and she puts an emphasis on those curlicue W and Q, “I’m still Nymeria.” Something playful fades from her tones, a silky edge of steel rising near to the surface of her words.
Then the strangeness is gone and she tips back her head and laughs, and when he disappears behind an orca she only waits in fleeting amusement before Zèklè has appeared again.
“So, Son of Lightning,” she begins. “Can you solve a riddle?”