"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.
08-19-2015, 09:03 PM (This post was last modified: 08-19-2015, 09:14 PM by Zandora.)
Zandora
Yes, dear, I'm smiling
Inside I am dying
The air stung exposed flesh, a slow heart beat was all to be heard. Clear liquid streamed from eyes absent of more then pupil, orbs that were absent of purpose, sanity, composure. These voids are filled with pain, loss, and an iciness so numbing that even Zandora, the mare who was once shielded from the demonic traps the world so seemed to be full of, would fall victim to her own weaponry. This was the power of emotion. Emotion was a parasite, and Zandora, was it's host. To which there was no cure.
A black arabian frame, thinned by self-neglect galloped with all it's might, all of it's little power, to the side of the only thing she cared about, Ashamin. The agony each flick of her hoof brought her chest and body was flooded and ignored with these thoughts in mind, she may be further injured by her blind desire to see if Ashamin was okay, but Zandora no longer cared about herself. It was her doings that brought the painted friend to his knees and as long as she could still muster the strength to walk to his side, she would again, again, and again. Crimson swirled and stained the background of white, if it had not been blood, one could call it a masterpiece. Zandora's salty tears mixed with the metallic taste of blood, orbs filling with the liquid thats arrival meant sorrow and pain. "Ashamin" She cried out, her voice cracking at the attempt of his name. Her voice was breaming full of guilt, worry, pain.
The frozen air bit and gnawed on her scraps and cuts, her breaths shallow and labored. She looked down at the black and white, seeing blood freely flow from his cuts, the way is leg looked swelled and awkward, and pure shame filled her soul. He had to be freezing, he needed warmth. An ebonite dished face looked up, the taunting smell and feel of blood still dripped from her nose and gathered in her throat, but she still felt no inclination to take care of herself, Zandora knew she would pull through, but Ashamin, she did not know. Her desperate eyes found Ashamin's red Sarong, it seemed miles away on her broken body, but she reminded herself, he needed her. With awkward steps and a trail of crimson, Zandora grabbed the silky material with bloodied teeth and ran back to Ashamin's side, the only place that she wanted to be. A cough erupted from her battered body and more blood splattered the white blankets of ice and snow, but Zandora kept going, working quickly to stretch out and cover his black, white, and red frame.She would be fine.
Standing over him, her head lowered and eyes closed, she waited. Purple daggers dug into the solid ivory earth, nothing would remove her from her position, nothing. Everyonce in a while a wet cough could be heard, and more crimson could be seen added to the white and red masterpiece of mistakes.
She would be fine.
Would he?
OCC: Um....sorry for so much emotion(Jen will post then Britt(NPC) will post, and then you healers can post :) )
TAGS: @Ashamin@Enna@Lena@NPC
INFO: Zandora has suffered many broken ribs, as well as a punctured lung, and her lung is flooding with blood, she has a few cuts on her right side from tree bark, but they are minor.
Ashamin has suffered a fracture in his right humerus, as well as many cuts, one major cut that is very wide can be seen on his right(?) shoulder. Both are pretty badly bruised. (Did I get everything?)
"Talk?"
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.
Helovia is full of magic, ancient and mystic though it may be. Overhead, in a blanket of otherwise meaningless stars, there lies a certain pattern. A champion of the just, a hero of legend and triumph, forever staring down upon the inhabitants of Loorien with serpentine head clutched tight in hand, valor seeming to shine through very star. It has a story behind it, one of courage and might.
You could take comfort in such a tale, could you not, Zandora? For he has bled and been beaten on battlefields similar to the one you have just walked off, and it is he who instates himself as your protector. Champion of warriors and kind-hearted knights fighting for family rather than fortune. The Demon Star winks back in mockery of its name - of his name. But Medusa may be silent in her sky, for it is her head clutched in the hands of this warrior, and she is eternally written into the galaxies - defeated for all to see. Algol can do no harm to you tonight.
Perseus gazes down at you, shining brighter than normal, as if aware he will be looked upon tonight. His tale will be told, a tale that you need to hear.
08-24-2015, 03:19 PM (This post was last modified: 10-16-2015, 10:24 AM by Ashamin.)
Ashamin & Zandora
I was your Perseus,
vying for the power of Medusa,
seeking the affection of a snake, a stone, a soldier.
But now it's time to rest that reflection--
now I've got no strength to lift up that blade.
Just rest, now, lie with me.
Eventually, we'll win.
Ashamin was laying in the snow with his eyes shut and the blood still pumping audibly in his ears when the cold dark passed over him. It was Zandora. It was her shadow--somehow, she was standing.
"Zandora..." he said quietly, kindly, as if no violence had passed between them. What violence was there between friends?
He opened his eyes when he felt her place his sarong over his battered body. He had neither the time nor care to pay attention to the staining of the silken white, the way that the blood was soaked into the cloth and dyed it red. The Haruspex wanted to pull her down into the snow with him; every time he heard her cough he flinched at the harsh sound. It was unforgiving, that sort of pain.
Above, the stars shone brightly in the dark sky. Ashamin found one to be brighter than the others--a warrior's figure, and a long, mirrored blade. He remembered the shapes, he had seen them before, but he had never given them much thought. But now he thought of the stories he'd been told as a colt and the infinite reflections of that sword.
Was he the mirror and its wielder, now, that struck down the wicked woman, the queen of stone? Ashamin had never much hated the villain of that tale, and seeing himself in its Perseus hero was disquieting, to say the least. Was he not, though, the warrior with the mirror on his side? As Haruspex, wasn't that exactly his calling nowadays?
And what of Zandora, who stood above him with blood coming from her mouth like the scattered flake of snow? Was she his medusa?
Why had he struck her down?
They needed help. "Zandora, please... rest," he groaned out, his voice shivering and his whole body growing numb with pain dulled by cold. She had him on the ground now, unable to move with a body like lead and stone, and she stood with her heart cracked by his offer of friendship. Had he ruined her?
In the distance, Ashamin thought he heart the faint sound of hoofbeats. He felt his heart ease as the tether of his bond grew shorter. Lochan was coming close. "Zandora, the stars... they speak of battle, tonight. Maybe this was fate, but... you haven't lost. And you shouldn't stop fighting. So rest, for faith's sake, before you have no life left to live." Every word was strained, his throat rattled with the effort of speech and as he shifted as if to look up at her, pain shot through his leg.
Ashamin fell back to the earth. "I'm sorry... I did this to you. Just please, don't hurt yourself any longer."
Then, as Ashamin felt the world slip into quiet shadow and his lids drift down, Lochan broke into the clearing.
[[Yup, got it all! Ashamin is at the moment on the verge of passing out so he might be sort of delirious.]]
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead
Fairies and pixies of the midnight oils, cast amongst a blackened canvas, a sable soil, drenched and souses and covered in the Stygian brew, molded into the finesse of another time, another place. Where decadence scoured and contorted, they shrouded and veiled beliefs, virtues, essences and passions of wonder, of beneficence, sprinkling their tidings, their fortunes, through the foils of the flawed, the cracked, the torn, the broken. Even when their bottles seemed dry and empty, even when their vessels seemed absent and absconded, they drove onward, through damned slates and condemned fibers; flecks of the gilded, the anointed, the consecrated. Too persistent, too determined, too resolute to mull over the whys and the hows, they continued on in pursuit of finery, of benevolence, of pulling the condemned away from their tethers and shackles, a wholesome pulse, a charitable demonstration of the luminescent, of the fey, of the nymphs. One ivory and cunning, one slender and sienna, furnished and lacquered in the hues of shadows and the blistering mayhem of another evening’s end – rushing, striking, streaming, and dancing amidst the dreaded doldrums of more fallen souls. They twisted, they turned, they masqueraded, parts of waltzes and portraits and paintings, a background muse, a setting’s goddess, a set of queens for the thistles and the moss, scouring the hills, the plains, the ice, for a sign. Beneath the dawning moon and the glittering stars, their eyes sank to the crushed frames, to the familiar beings, to the crippled, broken particles, and the mare’s once distant smile faded away to nothing, nothing, nothing at all – no blessings here but the promise that death was not yet burdening their walls. Her eyes shuttered from one to the next, the tidings of purple and black, the sweeping hands of alabaster and ebony, the awareness of who was who sinking and simmering though her mind. Though she dared not ask, even as she softly tread past their forms, on wings of dulcet and motions of petals, her mind was filled with anxiety, with alarm, with the rush and the anguish of calamity stinging over their hides. How? Why? To what end had they meshed and molded and been so torn, so rankled, so rattled? Imogen, lost and muddled, merely crooned a distant lullaby, stringing them together through the void, through the smoke, through the twinkling, haunting constellations – Lena sang then, full of love and full of hope and full of things so often forgot of in dreams. She glowed amidst the parallels of time and space. She gathered the whims, the speculations, the lush rolls of hours and minutes, seconds and hands, spun them so tightly, so vividly, they clocks may have spiraled amidst the doom and gloom. Her eyes closed, her lips hummed, her words became naught more than precious lullabies and sweet, melancholy threads, painted and stroked in carnations, in figs, in daffodils, close to her heart and curled amidst her chest, threading through the starlit abyss to heal those she considered precious: friends, companions, comrades. Ashamin, gentle and serene, Zandora, vigilant and eager. The Songbird lent her voice, her enchantments, her absolutions, so they could live again, whole and free and unburdened. She dared not cease until they told her, until they said all was well, until they awoke from their grim, barbaric trances.
her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
She almost didn't realize he called out to her, his voice so tender, so loving, it had been strange to hear in the smothering ruins of their battle. If she were to look, she'd see charred soil burned by her own doings. Smoke arose with an eerie translucence around her, a cloud of slate shame. How was it that one who was once so polished, once so put together, could fall apart so easily? Was this the power of emotion; to have the ability to cut through the strongest of glues with blades sharper then diamonds?
The cold bit fresh pain into her thoughts, her purple locks drifting with the howls of the wind. Teeth begun to chatter, her body being unable to keep up with all the demands. Zandora pinched her eyes closed, trying hard with what little might she had left to keep standing, keep prevailing. The only warmth was the continuous stream of crimson liquid, dripping and oozing from coal lips. Her head started to spin as the chilled wind beat once more upon her bruised hide, it was in this moment that she was no longer sure if she could keep going. Zandora wanted to prove to Ashamin that she still loved him dearly, that they would be alright, and even in the darkness of this moment, that Zandora always had his back.
Ashamin called out to her again, it was no use though, on swaying limbs she continued to stand. "Worry not my Haurspex, I will be alright." She spoke with strained soft tones, as if she was hiding the true agony that was but a deep look away. Each second was drawn out, as if time himself played tricks with her. Another pained cough erupted from her chest, ugly and wet with the vile liquid. Her body suddenly felt weighed down, her lungs burning and screaming with each breath, was she going to be alright? Would anything be alright?
Ashamin spoke again, his words no longer about the battle of blood, but of the constellations that loomed lookingly above them. She didn't know anything about stars, where she was from stars were rarely seen. His words haunted her, what did he mean? Did these sparkling orbs suggest something that correlated with her? Shaking her head she tried to phantom a response, the connotation of Ashamin's chords distracting her. "I-I...are you talking about my father?" She asked, hoping that he had some sort of answer although she knew that he couldn't be expected to know what this meant for her, that it was for Zandora's justification, she still hoped. No one knew her history, not one soul on this god forsaken realm had heard her horrors that meant her story. No one should know either, she kept it hidden for the reason of her sanity and for the sake of others.
What did he mean?
She kept asking, pondering, until even the thought of words became too tiresome for her body. Her eyes blinked with pained drowsiness as she absent-mindely watched flurries of snow dance and play with the breath of frost. She tried to concentrate on his breathing, her soldier of chiffon and charcoal had fallen by her hand. She did not dare venture to the what ifs, for Zandora knew that she wouldn't be able to return from those lands, the guilt would surely be her bane. Somehow Ashamin had managed to speak an apology, his words slicing through the structure of her heart, the very strings that kept her breathing were severed. Her mouth drooped open, this love, so deep and strong rattled her body. It was strange, to be loved, before she had met Ashamin she had no idea what love was. What they shared was no beautiful story of the what love is like, no Ashamin and Zandora shared something special. Their love was the type that could pull shattered pieces together, that two souls desperate and broken could become whole. Ashamin had seen her at her state of utter rawness, when tears streamed her face and her armor had cracked. He hadn't run from her, he didn't see her as a burden, but rather he endured the pain with her. Ashamin saw her in plain sight when she was invisible to others, and the amount of respect she had for him now that she realized this was more then any subject could give to their deity.
"Ashamin you do not need to be sorrowful. You have given me more then I could ever wish for. You have showed me things that I never thought was possible for a daughter of hell to learn, I cannot express my gratitude. So please, know that you are in no need of expressing your apologies. If anything it is me, I have put you through too much and I will forever be in your debt." She hadn't looked at him until now, she turned her head to look at her soldier, laying in the ground with lids heavy with exhaustion. Was is fate that they met? Or was it written in her destiny?
Knees dared to bend, but as the call of another filled her thoughts she stood strong. The slow moments that had passed between them suddenly felt as if no time had passed at all. Zandora's black and crimson faced turned to see a mare, bay of color and horned, as well as Lochan. The mare's voice was beautiful, enchanting, it seeped into her exhaustion and replaced it with awe. Zandora then recognized her as Lena, although they had never personally met, she knew of the songbird and her qualities. As her voice penetrated deep within her core, Zandora's ears perked forward, a wave of renewal washing about her. The raw taste of old blood was all that haunted her senses now, the sickening minutes of warm liquid gathering in her mouth was no more. Lena had stitched her together, like the broken doll Zandora had become. Still fearful of pain, she slowly inhaled air expecting the sharpness that her damages had produced, but when it was but a dull ache she sighed with a sudden contentless. Although she knew it wouldn't last long, she savored it.
Lena might have healed her scars, but only time could heal her soul, even time himself might not be enough. Zandora had mined through bedrock, and somehow managed to reach an abyss lower then the cold, hard, rock bottom. Glancing down she saw Ashamin, she felt regret, had she broken him? Just like she had broke herself? Where would their friendship stand? Would he be okay? Her eyes looked troubled, scared not of pain, but in fear of losing Ashamin. She wanted to reach out and touch him in their awkward special way, but she felt as if she had dug a ditch between them and he was too far for her grasp. Tearing her eyes away from him, she tried to hold herself together to show her gratitude underneath all the layers of agony. "Thank you for answering our call, I cannot express my gratefulness enough." She bobbed her head, attempting to show her respect for the mare who had answered with no obligation.
The equines of Helovia continued to show Zandora the values of life, values she never knew of before she entered the walls of this realm. Sure she might have had a moral compass, but these inhabitants were so rich of knowledge, so willingly to help, so inspirational, that she was always surrounded by this idea of how to be a better Z. Perhaps this was where her faith to keep going rooted from. She didn't know much anymore, expect for the fact that Helovia wasn't going to let her fade away easily, she wouldn't be allowed amongst the colors of art and beauty, to simply cease to exist; she would thrive. (whether she wanted to or not)
OCC: My first 900+ post (1330 words o.o) I'm sorry if this is a bit emotional and all over the place, I've been working on this for quite a few days and life influences my writing. so yeah here's this post
TAGS: @Ashamin@Lena
"Talk?"
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.
In passing, our moments
dissolved into an emptiness I considered
suitable. What made sense for me
surely was come from you, birthed between
your mind and heart.
I was come from a hollow between
your childhood nights and your womanly days
I was made out of clay like a figurine
puddy in your hands.
"My Haruspex... alright..." were the last fragments of speech Ashamin heard before the world was taken completely up in blackness. Above him, with slow pocking noises, a new sky emerged and filled itself with stars. They were constellations of a heartsick dream, but they were constellations nonetheless.
His subconscious heard Zandora's continuing words enough to take them in, but his active mind was otherwise occupied. In a dreamland, a dizzying state of uncertainty, he wandered in space searching for something. Something, but... but what? A deeper meaning, maybe? But no--a deeper meaning to what?
Questions formed like nebulae, surrounding him in awkward mists. He felt unable to see, it was difficult even to hear. He thought maybe, for a half formed moment, he wasn't going to wake up.
It was Lena's song that pulled him out from that netherworld. He felt himself waking the way one feels themselves shedding a heavy coat, and he knew he was stronger even before the healer let her last note fade into silence. He didn't know all the kindness Zandora had spoken--maybe it wasn't time for it, yet.
"Lena..." he murmured awkwardly as he struggled to stand. He knew, just by the patient and even rhythm of his own heart, that she had patched him up with skill. He stood on shaky legs, meeting Lochan's concerned gaze, and let his long tail unfurl to keep him balanced. When Zandora thanked Lena, so did he:
"Yes, Lena, thank you," he added. The words felt numb--everything did. He became very aware of the snow under his feet and the aching of his body, wanting him home. "I think I should go, I should rest," he went on, feeling suddenly anxious at the thought of how far he was from his cave. He couldn't face Zandora, even if she was healed. He trained his dark eyes on the ground and started to turn away.
"I'd like to see you again, soon," he said. Lochan fell in step with the haruspex, and the two very slowly took their first steps. Ashamin would let the pair decide who he had been speaking to, and he would let them come to him again.
As far as he was concerned, he couldn't see either of them again for quite some time. It had just been a formal lie, really. The only thing he could imagine was hiding forever in the shadows of his cave, grappling with the shame of a wintery glade soaked in blood.
[[Sorry for the wait and the cutting this short, both are a result of my obscene business. Would like to thread Z and Ashamin again next time I have more time.]]
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead
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![[Image: 56a075b49df35]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56a075b49df35)
