"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.
It is the perfect place to work—No. No it isn’t. It’s strange, like all the rest, foreign, unknown, untested. It hurts, somehow, to know that the ways he can describe the unfamiliar land are also so easily applied to himself. He is foreign; a castaway from another land, taken by one set of gods and abandoned by another. He is unknown; a sense of self is alone such a new concept for the former god-vessel that he has yet to adequately build up his own. He is untested; for all the days he had struggled to find and to know and to be, what had he really accomplished? Not a damn thing.
Work. The word calls out to him, beckons him like some sweet oasis in the desert of doubt he wanders. If he can work, if he can produce, then there before that stallion will some tangible thing by which to measure his worth. In the Rift he had worked with the metals of the earth, had molded and shaped them with the magic his mad gods had given him, but more than that, he had known them. Each ingot, each fleck, of each different metal had its own look, it’s own feel, it’s own weight. He kew the ring of steel, the clang of brass, the tinkle of silver; each was a symphony in his mind and memory and so to them he goes for solace.
The indigo priest stands at the the precipice, the heat radiating up toward him from the angry pseudo-volcanic pit. Sweat beads, drips, the orange light from the fire casting a strange sheen on the deep blues and subtle greens painted over his body. The heat is relentless but he remains, face to the fire and staring down and waiting… waiting for exactly the right moment. Now!
Without warning he moves, hunkering down to leans his bulk over the edge. In his mouth is a crudely woven pad of dried grass and, more nimbly that one might have expected, uses his teeth to place it over the lip of the cratered stone he had placed on a ledge just above the moving flames. It’s a poor crucible if truth be told, shallow and uneven, but inside the iron ore was glowing, separated from its impurities by the heat. (He had dug up the raw metal nearby, not much but enough to do something with.) Up he pulls, with a grunt of effort at the awkward angle, but he does not stop the movement once it is begun.
Protected by the woven pad, he brings up the stone repository and pours the molten metal in the the carefully dug mold, no more really than an unclosed ring in the dirt. Because his mane was kept cropped, it remained out of his way, but in the profanity to heat, the ends of the pad catches fire and so as soon as the metal is poured, Iscah drops the crucible and the now-fiery makeshift barrier to the ground with a dull thud and gives his head a mighty shake. The sweat-drenched crown dips, almost franticly and he rubs his muzzles in the loose dirt at his feet. There is a faint smell of singed whiskers and when her raised himself again the dust clings to him. The metal does not take long to cool and in moments he begins to unearth his poor excuse for a prize: a ring of iron, several inches in diameter and open on one side like a chain link waiting to be joined. It’s jagged, unrefined, and still clinging to pebbles around its circumference, a imprint of its earthy mold. With his old magic, even with some proper tools, Iscah might have made it beautiful, but he gazes down at the ugly product with something close to satisfaction. Perhaps it’s a start.
It is the only reason he leaves the desert landscape of his homeland, for few things would ever inspire Cera to part from the borders. The physical pain of his own body is one of them, for he feels useless to his family if he cannot even patrol without gritting his teeth against the convulsing of his muscles. The wind off the ocean around the borders only amplifies the hurt. If it weren't for the multiple places on his body that were effected by the cold, perhaps he could struggle through it. But he is small, birdlike. Ranjiri would tease him, but Cera is aware of the feminine body he lives within. He may be rather tall, but he appears ridiculously breakable. The Prince had never developed a real awareness of it, being so alone most of his childhood - there had simply been no others to compare himself to. Even now, he is unaware of his own appearance - only realizing the impact it has on him when the winter season comes crashing down upon the world.
It rattles him, physically. His own shivers make him appear as if he's falling apart, a piece of faulty machinery. He seeks heat - craves it. The desert may be scorching, but as the sun falls beneath the horizon, it is as cold as the Basin - and with no mountains to shelter the racing of the wind across the dunes. So Cera follows the call of warmth, succumbing to his own weakness, pursuing the land that borders his home. His escape, his refuge.
Ilaria is not alongside him, if only because he was loathe to disturb her rest. His trip passes by in solitude, and though he is a creature meant for the skies, he does not take to her heavenly domain this time. The wind only grows colder the higher he flies, and physical movement along the earth keeps him a little warmer. The cadence of hooves on rock is unfamiliar to him, and he taps nervously along, feeling like he is breaking the sanctity of silence that surrounds the Heart with his mere presence. He journeys onward, the tension of his skin slowly slipping away as the heat reaches out to him, cajoling and caressing, drawing him inward. With a sigh the Prince moves onward, relieved as the deep ache of scars on his young body ease to a bearable measure of pain. That he lives with it continually is only a testament to his strength, even as he sees this retreat to the Heart as a weakness.
A shadow of a figure is backlit by the eternal fires of the Heart, and Cera angles towards the hulking figure. Perhaps he is as lonely as Cera is in that moment? But as he comes closer, maw opening for a greeting, Cera's greatest dream unravels before his eyes.
The stallion is pouring raw, impure metal into a mold that is clearly crafted by hoof rather than magic. It is the very beginnings of crafting, the ugly truth of labor and realistic opportunity for creation. There is no magic to refine or rely upon, the fumbling of their own bodily limitations resounding in the shape of the metal that comes out in the end.
He's in love.
A strangled little noise escapes him, to see this forger standing sweating and stubborn at the edge of the crater, as stubborn as Cera had been at the lip of the Diviner's fire. Crafting is his obsession, and he does nothing to deny it. To see such a handsome foreign figure struggling through the most beautiful, basic steps of forging is his undoing. He is well on his way into adulthood and yet he reverts to childhood in but an instant, heart pounding as if he was a normal stallion in the face of a romantic interest. But he is not necessarily normal, and he is quivering as he stumbles towards the unknown fellow, tongue like cotton.
"It's beautiful," he gushes, big emerald eyes staring up at this giant standing before him, hardly able to hold himself still as his wings fan around him, primaries curling pleasantly. "May I?" But already he is calling upon his magic, seeking out the deposits in the earth that ring of metal and taste like possibility, urging it up and into the fire. He casts his eyes over into the coals where he twists it with a thought, plucking the impurities and letting it fall back to the earth to become something new. He's sweating, but there is no physical exertion in this effort - it is only because he is standing as close to the flames as this stranger is, reveling in a kinship he believes must exist between them.
In but a few moments he is pulling the metal free and setting it gently on the stone next to the blue's creation - a perfect replica. Perhaps too perfect, he realizes with a sudden bout of panic. What if the stranger believed him to be mocking him for his rudimentary efforts? A shy, nervous smile curls on Cera's cherubic face, bambi eyes flickering up towards the handsome fellow, shifting about and wings curling in, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I meant no offense!" he clarifies a little breathlessly - he wants this stallion to like him so badly it almost hurts. A true craftsman! Someone who loved the art as deeply as Cera did!
"I've been crafting as long as I can remember, it's just so rare that I meet anyone who shares in my love of it," he excuses hastily, suddenly missing Ilaria's presence - she always made sure his tongue wasn't running away with him stupidly like it was now. "Oh! Oh gods I'm so sorry, um," Because what was Ilaria always remind him to do? Your name, Cera! "I'm Cera, head forger of the Dragon's Throat. S-Sorry if I'm disrupting you," he babbled uselessly, wishing he could pitch himself into the Heart and spare himself this agonizing encounter. Gods, he was like a colt all over again! He felt keenly the height and weight difference between them, felt frail and breakable before this behemoth. Oh gods he's going to kill me for being so annoying. Cera's eyes snapped down to where he'd replicated the blue's creation - smooth and gleaming with perfection - and hoped for the best.
Cera is RIDICULOUS but have this cute fumbling baby
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