"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.
01-17-2016, 11:12 AM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2016, 07:29 AM by Albrecht.
Edit Reason: Per Admin Request
)
Albrecht
The Crafting Cave really isn’t any different from the rest of the caves pock-marking the rocky walls of the Basin. That is, it wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the inescapable miasma of peppermint billowing from the entrance like smoke off a house fire. The black pinches his nostrils as close to shut as he can on approach, wheezing loudly (though more so than narrowed airways really justifies) with each breath.
"Hey! Peppermint-Patty!” Bile threatens to rise in his throat as he toes the threshold of the Weaver’s den. "What’s a guy gotta do to get a fucking blanket around here?” He’s fully aware that shouting demands at max volume probably isn’t what the Haruspex intended when he'd mentioned crafting and requests in reference to the young Weaver, but he also doesn’t care. The aromatic craftsman is shackled by his rank, obligated to create items at his herd members behest, even if those herd members are unendearing asses.
"Come on man, I'm not going in there just to find you with your tongue stuck to some Faerie-Boy's candy cane." Not that he wouldn’t enjoy walking in on that little scandal. "Just tell him the waiting is half the fun and come perform your civic duties!” Unwilling to move any farther and just as unwilling to leave without his spoils the stallion waits with one leg idly cocked. He wonders how much of the Weaver's materials are wasted on mopping up the mess of his personal chambers and whether the smell is a skin thing or a bodily fluid thing. Nobody could be that virile right?
//
OOC: Since I don’t have an item pass I was thinking maybe Johnny could make something like a shawl that would cover Albrecht's withers and half of his neck? (That is, if he agrees to make anything after this whole display. xD ) That way it would still qualify for your medium item slot. Maybe an oblong diamond shape that ties at his chest or an infinity-scarf design?
I was napping if you really want to know. I was dreaming about sunshine that didn’t hurt me and I was lounging in the most delightful sand dune with my friends. At a flick of a tail a fine mist of sweet water rained down on us to chase away the summer heat. Truly a delightful dream and then I got woken up.
In the most horrifying way.
Okay no that’s not true but it was pretty terrible.
A stream of insults and vulgar language comes echoing through my cave. I mean, okay, my thoughts can get a little PG-13 sometimes but I very rarely say any of those things out loud. And, I like to think, I’m a lot more classier about it. Plus it’s cute because I’m a short, pink-pointed stallion.
Not to mention I’m flabbergasted by the anatomical issues of what he was describing. How would that work, exactly? I’d have to be a pretty tall stallion for me to be able to get under there like that. Not to mention absolutely 0 reason to do so. I'm a big fan of beautiful mares and stallions but it's more of a 'you're fun to look at' sort of way.
I roll over on my bed of (dwindling) crafting supplies and walk slowly over to the entrance of the cave to see who it is and I’m both disappointed and utterly unsurprised. With a sigh, I sit down and just stare up at him. “Oh it’s you.” The old geezer that crapped all over the tent that we had been painting on, right? I wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon, I can tell you that.
As much as I delight in my job I have to say, I’m actually offended by this call to arms. “You could start by asking nicely. I’m not in the practice of crafting things for bullies.” I don’t give two Oh Henry’s whether I craft something for him or not and will be happy to decline if he continued to act like this! For someone who was basically a walking sugar cube I’m feeling rather bold at the moment but I’m incredibly annoyed at having been woken up from a pleasant dream for an unpleasant reality.
01-20-2016, 09:56 AM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2016, 09:57 AM by Albrecht.)
Albrecht
Peppermint-Pygmy flounces out of his cavern with all the taken offense and general disapproval the black could ever hope to elicit from him, but the way he sits with his haunches on the ground, staring up at the older stallion gives an impression of tired resignation more so than outright refusal, at least to the latter’s biased and slowly failing eyes.
"Well,” He’s oddly intrigued by the smaller stallion’s pose and carefully inches his own hind legs under himself until they can just about touch the heels of his front hooves. "I’m not in the practice of asking nicely-” Air rushes out of his lungs with a small grunt as he drops his rump to the ground, front legs still propping his forequarters upright in a mimicry of Johnny-Come-Softy. "So where does that leave us?” The question truly is meant for the Weaver, but as the black stares down at his own awkward position – one of those yoga-esque poses that the young find completely natural and that vex the elderly to no end - it takes on a new and horrifying meaning.
He’s not sure he can get back up now - and obviously it’s entirely the Weaver’s fault.
Embarrassment burns red beneath his skin, invisible through the black pigment of hide and hair but real enough to kindle the fire of his vulgar temper. "I thought you were supposed to be all sugar and spice and everything nice." Who knew you could put enough venom into a rhyme to make it sound threatening? "What kind of nice guy leaves an old man to freeze in the snow?" It's a wild accusation, but no less vehement for the irrationality of it.
Alright, as annoyed as I was at this guy at being so rude to me - I start to smile when he mimics my pose and sits in a similar fashion. Aren’t we a pair! I hope someone walks by and sees us because we make an adorable set of bookends like this. I’m still smiling but I just shrug at his question. I have no idea what we’re going to do because I certainly have no intentions of making anything if I’m not asked nicely.
It’s a bit of a power-trip, you know, being able to deny a request. It might go to my head and I'm kind of enjoying how important it makes me feel.
Honestly was it even a request? More of a demand.
This is the part where I would ask him whether being nice would kill him but if he’s as old as he say he is it might and as tempting as it would be to make a cloak for someone out of his hair it probably would be frowned upon to scavenge a corpse. Ugh no I really don’t want him to die I just want him to be a little nicer to me! Compliment me! Tell me I’m pretty!
Yeah, okay, I feel a little bad and I have a feeling I'm going to need to help him up from the sitting position he painfully got into, but I (kind of) have principles. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know being old excused you from being rude!” You know what I am nice but I’m not a doormat. I could make one but I’m not one myself! “You’re still alive, how many winters have you spent in the Basin? Are you like, someone’s parent? What’s your job here?” All the questions! Trying to figure out why this guy thinks he’s so important to get some cloth made of my precious fleece. I don’t usually make judgements based on rank but come on, gimme something to work off of!
It’s hard to look derisive in such an unnatural position. His ears lay flatter against the smoothness of his neck and his lips sneer unpleasantly, but the overall effect is barely insulting – more resigned. The tufted end of his tail waves dismissively at the questions, annoyed that such things should have weight in a stallion’s merit. The noble always speak of altruism and selflessness, but when it comes down to it all that really matters is who you know and what kind of title you carry around your neck.
"Is that all it takes? Would Thief or Warrior or Haruspex have you jumping up to grant my wishes? Would the brother of Deimos or the father of Hotaru not garner the same complaints? I can see you live in a world apart but surely you’re not so illusioned.”
The black’s jaded outlook is born of personal experience and unlikely to infect those without the heavy hand of injustice in their lives, but some naïve fragment of his character still clings to life inside his heart and withers with disappointment. He forsook the lies and the pageantry of politics in favor of seeing the world for what it really is – or what he really believes it to be - the moment he stepped alone into the snow. This new persona is geared in every way to illicit scorn and distaste. He wants to be seen for exactly who and what he is in this exact moment, not who he used to be or what he may have accomplished all those years of his youth.
"I am no one and I have nothing to give you.”
The words fall lifeless from his lips. A few short weeks ago they might have sounded sad or angry, outraged even, but now they’re only hollow. He refuses to feel guilt or shame for making a difficult decision in a difficult situation. He ran the numbers and chose the lesser of two evils. He did nothing wrong. They would have chosen the same, had they any sense. Let the past condemn him all it wants, he chooses to condemn everything it represented in return.
Shadows clear from his eyes as renewed conviction quiets his thoughts. Peppermint-Patty might be made of sugar and sweets on the outside, but Albrecht wants to know what type of filling hides beneath. What will he offer to someone who cannot (or will not) repay him?
Well alright, I felt bad because it really wasn’t about ‘rank’ or who he was related to - although certainly it would make more sense for Mr Sunshine over here to be related to someone and that was why the herd put up with his nonsense. I’m certainly not intimidated by him, as we sit in mirrored positions - his ears flat while mine remain upright and focused on him, but I start to feel a little sorry for the jerk. I don’t know, maybe he needs a friend? I’m a great friend. Although I still don’t like how he spoke to me.
Maybe we can work on that. My pink-accented head tilted to the side a bit and green eyes regarded him carefully as I picked my next words. This had all gotten very serious very fast and I’m a little out of my element. “I didn’t mean it like that, silly. We’re a herd, you know, a family. You get what you put in and all that stuff. If you wanna keep walking around, pooping on everyone’s parade and using insults to garner favour that’s fine - but you’re going to keep having nothing to give those that could help you.” Oh my god I’m actually lecturing someone? Ugh gross. What has this guy turned me into?!
With a sigh, I stand up - my legs only tingling slightly from having been sat on for a short period of time - and go back into the crafter’s cave (which okay, whatever, I live there now because why wouldn’t I want to sleep on a bed of fleece every night??) and grab a mouthful of the fleece before coming back to the entrance. Placing it carefully on the ground where I had been sitting moments ago, I use that brilliant magic that I had been given to weave it into what I think was a gorgeous thick wooly scarf that could be wrapped around Mr Sunshine’s neck (not to choke him) and keep it and his withers warm or as a small blanket.
Item having been made, I place one of my hooves on it carefully - just in case he tries to snatch it up without my consent - and look back at him. “In exchange for this, I ask you to come to the next crafting meeting and help. It won’t be much, maybe some gathering of plants and materials that we can use, but that’s what you can give me.” And hey! Maybe Mr Sunshine would end up liking the idea of being a crafter and want to join in on the ranks?
01-29-2016, 03:52 PM (This post was last modified: 01-29-2016, 03:53 PM by Albrecht.)
Albrecht
The old black isn’t sure what to make of the smaller stallion’s mannerisms: how he pauses and tilts his head to one side like a curious newborn, green eyes mirroring mixed emotions between them. He stares back expectantly, waiting for the usual anger and denial, but neither come. The younger stallion’s expression seems to soften and his words land so gently that Albrecht wonders if he hasn’t inspired pity instead of deeper thought, but a flush of relief belies his apprehension.
Mild irritation follows. He has no stake in whether the candied stallion is a decent soul or not and shouldn’t be bothered one way or the other, but he admits (to himself at least) that he’s glad the little guy isn’t all appearances. That lonely sliver of character wasting away within his breast chokes in another breath.
"You never get what you put in Candy-Man.”
He’s living proof of that, but the Peppermint-Pony is already stepping away, vanishing momentarily into the dark of his crafting stash. Surprise flashes unguarded across the black’s features as the Weaver lays a bundle of something loose and fluffy between them. Was he really…? The loose fibers straighten and twine together seemingly of their own accord, but the crafters look of utter concentration proves his part in the magic.
When he’s done a thick woolen scarf lies between them. Albrecht reaches out to nose at the material, but finds a tiny ruby hoof blocking the way. Of course there are conditions. He snorts unhappily, purses his lips, and looks every bit the uncooperative curmudgeon, but still the Weaver stares at him expectantly and still the chill of winter pricks his skin.
"Fiiiiiiiine.” Begrudgingly, gustily, dramatically. "Just tell me when it happens.”
That's as close to acquiescence as anyone is getting.
Honestly, there was a part of me that wasn’t expecting him to go for the deal at all and when he did - GOSH - my face just lit up like a Christmas tree. I smile a lot, you know, but even I knew that the smile that came on then was bigger than usual. I would have danced right up and given him a peck on the cheek, only I didn’t want to push my luck. “Wonderful, we’ve got ourselves a deal.” My first business transaction! I just blackmailed someone into service but I don’t even care. It’s going to be a most an afternoon’s worth of easy wandering through a land looking for a plant, or helping me sort through the materials into piles in my crafting cave. It’s not like I’m forcing one of the Basin elders to do hard labour in the prison or something.
My little red hoof lifted off of the beautifully crafted (if I do say so myself) scarf and I step back a little bit so that he can take it. “Here you go then! Let me know if it needs to be altered at all.” I want to offer to help put it on but that’s another thing I fear that is stepping over the line and I feel like I’ve tentatively started a little friendship here with the village grump.
I’m just bursting with happiness and more than willing to strike up a conversation that will last us the rest of the day, but I’ll let him take the lead on whether we’ll end it here or not. I sit back down, further signalling that I’ll make no more attempts to barter anything out of him in exchange for the item. Sometimes it’s all about what you don’t say with these Helovians, strange bunch that they were.
His ears stand in opposite directions, one forward and one back, telegraphing the mixed emotions churning through his mind. He doesn’t like the way the Weaver’s eyes are wobbling at him, all bright and hopeful. He doesn’t like the way his little candied body practically vibrates with good cheer, all his annoyance and dislike instantly forgotten. He doesn’t like that there’s no expectation of dishonesty in those radiant features or knowing that the little stallions heart will be absolutely crushed when he doesn’t reciprocate on their “deal,” because that’s what he’ll do - isn’t it? No one in their right mind would expect otherwise but those little emerald eyes keep staring at him with unfettered trust.
It's like watching a newborn foal touch fire for the time, completely unaware that things in life can actually hurt, that it's not all loving mothers and protective fathers. Well, if the little pygmy gets disappointed it’s his own damn fault for being so naïve. Albrecht is simply doing him a favor; flicking him on the nose so that he knows to flinch when the real punches come. Better that he learn his lessons now than when real stakes are on the line... so why does it still feel like he's the bad guy here? Johnny's no foal to be coddled and guarded. He's a grown ass man. A grown ass man with pink highlights and ruby slipper hooves.
With a grunt and heave of effort the old stallion drags himself to his feet, a chorus of unpleasant creaks and snaps accompanying the movement. He flicks his tail back and forth in an effort to resume normal blood flow through his body, silently berating himself for letting the peppermint-ponys ridiculous exuberance infect him. His ass might never regain full feeling and he’s going to end up hobbling around like some geriatric pirate for weeks thanks to this little yoga session. He hopes the fucking scarf is worth it.
Snatching up the newly crafted item, he dares the Weaver to spew some new line of mindless pleasantry with an irritable glare before flipping the swathe of wool over his mane-less neck and contorting himself to lip at the loose ends until some miracle of physics organizes them into a rough knot at his chest. The soft material settles into folds around his withers and shoulder blades. “At least it isn’t hideous.” He mutters the words, unwilling to compliment, but not wanting to outright insult either. He likes the scarf and he wouldn't say he hates its maker either, but he’s been entirely too nice already and he won’t be responsible for harboring any misguided feelings of friendliness - in the Weaver, obviously.
“Have a nice life Candy-Man." He'd bound away if he was a spry young thing, leave no space for replies or questions, but old and broken as he is he just lugs along, wondering if there are any nooks or crannies left that the Weaver doesn't know - somewhere dark and quiet he won't be able to stick his stupid pink nose and make an old man hurt with guilt.
//
OOC: You can stop him or call something out, but I think he's pretty much done for now. Would love to thread with you and Johnny more though!
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