"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.
I see you, you see me; that's one love, let's be free.
Then paint the town, red as roses.
Sky high until the heavens open.
I bleed for it, I cry for it and I'm free falling.
The beach had never been her favourite place. Play hooves sunk into the wet grains, hair dragged through the wet earth. Collecting miles of grit and grime the ends of her hair where now stained brown, no longer silky but sticking wetly to her legs. Her pale coat shone in the sinking sun, the colours of sunset bled into her coat. Golden orbs turned out towards the edge of the world, a small smile pulled at the corner of her chops. Turning her back on the ocean, the silver doe began to make her way over the sandy dunes, heading towards The Edge. She needed to get home, had to speak with a few people and organise a few things. A trip to The Dragon's Throat was high on her priority list.
As she began to make her way home, a strange occurrence began. Mist had gathered and began swirling, collecting into a ball and beginning to shape. Long, dainty legs, tall ears and a short swing tail. The mist-like doe stepped towards her, pausing as it studied her. Completely baffled Arah simply stared back at it, wondering where it had come from and why it had appeared near her. A scream from above and Wynter dived. Talons extended, the dark magic clinging to the griffin's feet. "Uimh!" Pulling out of the dive her bonded loved overhead, watching and waiting to attack the strange creature. "Tá sé breá, nach bhfuil sí ag dul a ghortú dúinn." Smiling at the doe, Arah turned and continued on her way to The Edge, curious as a rabbit and small bird joined the doe in trailing behind her.
Strange things always happened in her homeland. She supposed meetings like this was not chance. It was fate.
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place
The Reaper had spent a lifetime wasting away.
At first it'd been easy because there’d been nothing for him but the savage, layered torrents of treachery and deceit, where he could harbor naught but ill will, where he could burn under the freedom of Lucifer reaches and Satan sword handles. Then there was loyalty, and he fueled the fire beneath the banners and flags of the World’s Edge, and when they lost he beckoned more hate, more contempt, more pure, bitter loathing, reserving it for the enemies of the Basin. Then when he took the throne, when he loved and cherished and said nothing for it – thought of only action, only motion, only maneuvering through the gallows and hoping they could see what his heart was truly sculpted and carved for – he lost so much more. Every decision took him one step away from ones he used to inspire, invoke, and protect, every travel across the earth to another land brought him further away from all those lofty goals of annihilation and persecution because he had to preserve, defend, and shield those marooned in his shelter, and soon, the Lord of ice and winter and frozen boundaries felt all the more faded, withered, and decrepit.
He knew they’d left – one by one, marching to the beat of different drums, no longer listening to the chilling, barbaric winds, no longer yearning for the swift call of the whistling caverns, no longer rummaging past icy paths and down glacial hills. Their scent grew stale, faint, and then nonexistent, removed from the pale, gone without saying goodbye, without explaining why they couldn’t stay within the wintry walls, and he knew, somehow, someway, it’d been because of him. Some choice, some error, some decision, some rhyme or reason he’d enacted and they’d shunned; and the notion that it bothered him at all, a King of indifference and reticence, was even more incensing.
But he’d considered them his allies, his comrades, his companions, his friends - had risked life and limb for them and would do it all again in a heartbeat – and they slithered away, grown distant, became immersed in shadows, away, away, away from him and his heavy, overbearing crown. And like some ignorant child, he appeared weak and foolish to them, helpless and wondering, ineffectual and ridiculous, unsure and unaware of how he could repair the damage he’d caused.
Deimos wandered through a preferred haunt, because the widening sunset shrouded him from all the mania cluttering his skull, because the open, endless sea reminded him of Huyana and all the other things he’d lost along the way, because he’d once lived on the Moonlit Tides with his family and wondered what would become of him. Alone, sinister, beguiling, alluring, and contorted, one more crumbling shrine, one more ruinous temple, veiled in his unattainable nonchalance, he marched across the sands with no true purpose, no notion or regard, staring out at the mass of water and pondering how far he could go until he sunk to the bottom, until something reached and pulled him out or watched as he was silenced for eternity. He may not have even noticed another nearby had the shouts, had the familiar noise not loosened him from brooding, brewing shackles, had he not lifted his piercing, puncturing gaze to the mist and fog. The screech, the cry, of a griffin, not a gull, fixated his sights upon strange gatherings, upon bewitching spells, upon does and antlers and someone altogether familiar. Lost in the swirl of abyss and desolation, the Reaper peered between the layers, the mysteries, the enigmas, and merely loosened one word across his mouth. “Arah?”
Photo and Table by Time Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary