"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.
Isopia realized now, more than ever, that she would never leave this place.
It had seemed more or less natural for her to migrate here, following the successful invasion. She had assumed her Mother would follow, but that was no more reason for Isopia to choose one home over the other - after all, her Father 'lived' here.
That the God of the Earth presided over these lands was a reason for her to stay.
She had created her secret grove - which had remained a secret far longer than she could have ever hoped for. Iso had built her hut here, lined with warm rocks to keep her sustained during the winter, had made a small garden and a hottub. This place was pleasant, and due to the works he had put in to make it her own, actually made her feel sort of satisfied.
That she had built a home here, was a reason for her to stay.
Isopia's golden gaze moved to the place where her son had been burried. It didn't seem proper to even think of him in those terms. She felt nothing maternal for him, and he was hardly more than an arrangement of cells when he had been born. Still, she could make out enough of his features that her mind couldn't think of him as just a fetus. He had been a living thing, but son, he had not been. He might have had to have breathed even just one breath, for her to have called him that.
That her child was buried here, was her reason to stay. He fixed her here, shackling her to the Falls forever and ever. Amen.
The demi-goddess moved slowly towards the mound of frozen earth. She had stacked rocks magically above his tomb, using her magic to heat some of them so that snow would never cover his grave. Somehow that seemed right to her, though she couldn't locate within herself any sort of justification for this. In his claws, Hubris held the rock-Isopia that Volterra had made. It still had a few of her draconian claw marks in the side. At first, the demi-goddess had scowled, wanting the dragon to get rid of it, but Hubris had protested. It wasn't for her, it was for him. The bronze dragon indicated the grave, and Isopia silently resigned herself to the idea.
Stepping forward, Hubris dug a small opening and placed the small creation inside of it, gently and carefully covering it once again with dirt. He patted the earth, whistling a low and soft tone.
Grief still hugged Isopia's large slopping shoulders, and felt like dry gauze in her mouth. It stifled her movements and clouded her thoughts. The pain was slowly giving away to a broiling bitterness deep inside of herself. A resolution to be different - the way she had been intended from the start. Somehow, though she didn't know how or why, she had become precisely the sort of creature she had promised never to be. She had loved, just like Hototo had, though unlike her half-brother, it wasn't she who had died for her sins.
It was you. But you didn't die. You were murdered. She thought, forcing the words to echo inside of her own mind, disallowing herself to hide from the reality of what she had done.
And I did it..
Snow fell silently in Isopia's small clearing. Yet none fell on her heated hut, and none fell on the small grave.
A heaviness settled through the Falls, stagnant, melancholic air in a gray sky. Snow fell to the ground, though with lethargy and disinterest onto the tired world. Sounds of nature ceased, and only the steady but muted roar of the icy falls remained. Sadness and mourning rested in every shadow and every monotone light; it wept from ice-laden trees and cried from mists. Pervasive cold was thicker, more suffocating, and this is what the Earth God felt when he arrived.
He was a whisper on the wind, a single drop of rain that stirred in a puddle. Vibrations began to grow until that drop formed the outline of the massive stallion, rich coat and thick hair subdued by the season and his own sadness. Green eyes, usually so full of life in the spring months of renewal, were of a jade hue, stony and still. The God of the Earth looked upon his daughter with a mixture of emotions, all of them etched into various planes of his broad, ancient face, and he looked upon the grave tragically.
From the simplest worm to the most complex equid, all life deserved a chance. Some life was not destined for greatness. Some life did not survive to bloom in this world. Some life never truly started to grow. But nature, his laws, were the cause. His balanced world decided the fate of some and not others based on their propensity to grow and develop and their contributions to the delicate ecosystem he had constructed. But this life was not one he could mourn in passing for his death was not natural.
No, by the actions of his own mother, he lay lifeless in his grave. No decorations, honor or sadness could change the fact that the boy was gone and would never explore his future. He was a small star in a sea of millions, though his loss was no less tragic, and the Earth God sighed, exhaling a white lily bloom to give life to the grave. Then, his gaze settled upon his daughter, taking the blame upon his world-weary shoulders for her actions. "Why?" he asked. The thunder of his voice was weak, soft and uncharacteristic of the powerful man.
He came, and she felt him like the weight of an oncoming storm cloud. The air seemed to grow thick with his understanding, but Isopia stood strong beneath it. It was after all, her weight to bear.
For a moment she did nothing. Her body wasn't stiff but it might have looked like it was. She considered his word carefully, and almost laughed at the enormity of her answer. This was of course no time for laughter - and she didn't feel even the slightest bit mirthful or cheery - but enough so, her lips threatened to part and bear a weary grin. That too she bore patiently and forced her lips to remain still.
"Because I had to." She said finally after contemplating her words thoroughly enough to suit herself. Only then did she turn.
Her golden eyes were rimmed with a weary blackness and the lines of her jaw seemed to slack somehow with grief. Isopia's horns even seemed to droop downwards. The weight of her pain was obvious. It was perhaps the only emotion that had ever shown clearly on her features. Her wings splayed slightly and her head drooped, crown lowering to bear herself before her father. To let him peer into her mind and see the enormity of her decision and the bulk of her grief, or to strike her down. It didn't matter which.
"Life shouldn't ... shouldn't be that arbitrary or sloppily made." She continued, her stare rising somewhat. "When you create life you do so thoughtfully and intentionally. You do not create lies." Fervently, her gaze roamed to the small grave where the snow wouldn't fall, and then back to her Father. "It was my fault -" Here, just for a moment, her voice broke. Sadness shattered her academic and sterile tone, infecting it with the truth of her pain. "-and I couldn't let him enter this world. Like a seedling that thinks itself unique and special, only to blossom and find itself drowned in a sea of others-" The girl shook her head. Her words weren't right, her mind was delirious now and she couldn't find the right way to articulate her justification for the murder of her son.
Perhaps that was because there wasn't one.
"I loved him." The d was like a ghost. Was it even there? It was also unclear if she meant Volterra, or her dead son.
But why not both?
"I was hasty, I gave in, and I was nothing. How could I commit myself to rearing a life born out of such a corporeal sin?" Again that shake of her head, as if trying to erase the sloppiness of her words. "I made the choice. The life. It was mine to take away, though I do not bear that choice lightly."
Isopia's eyes began to sting. She had never felt this feeling before, and suddenly her head raised sharply. She expected to see her Father angrily using some magic or other on her - to perhaps burn out her eyes for her treachery. But what she felt next was even more shocking that her lack of punishment; tears. Saline burst through and down her cheeks and Isopia inhaled sharply with the exquisite pain and surprise of it.
In that moment she wanted to scream. To wail, and run to her father. Some instinct that lay dormant inside of her until just now, suggested that some how he could make it okay. She had never thought of her father as anything more than a sperm donor, but in this moment she thought that maybe he could provide her comfort. Somehow - she wasn't sure. But she was immobilized, thinking herself undeserving of comfort. She was a murderer now, after all.
The words I'm sorry danced on her lips. But she wasn't, not really. What she had done was wrong, immoral, unforgivable perhaps, but she wouldn't repent. The consequentialist calculus was clear in her mind: whatever price there was to pay was still better than the outcome she had avoided.
[He can feel free to read her mind if you want :D I can elaborate on what she's thinking/past stuff if it's helpful!]
Though there was stillness among them, reminiscent of the lost son that forever still would remain, the world was not so eager to halt. Her world perhaps, but her's was like a grain of sand upon the shore, significant in its own right, but lost amid the vastness of the beach. So the world kept moving, noticed there in the gentle snow fall that collected in the groove of his back and the slope of his horns, but not on her hut, and not on the grave.
A flick of his ear disturbed some of the collected frost. It was his only response for a long while as he stood, a monolith of patience and disappointment, listening to what was surely the weakest argument she had ever given. He wondered quietly to himself why it was in this that she seemed so incapable of understanding. She had shown more care and thought to some of his ruined crystals than it seemed she did this babe, and for that, he felt worn.
How big was her world?
Big enough to weigh on him.
He paid heed to both the beach and every grain as God of the Earth, but he took special notice of her speck now in this moment, as a father.
"It was not yours!" his voice broke suddenly like a boulder breaking from a cliff side, imposing and dangerous - rare. In response the earth shivered with his baritone, a wild groan of displeasure from substance better left to sit in antiquated silence and rest. The hard edges of his flinty stare flashed in the moderate light as his head turned more towards her, abandoning the sight line towards the mound which lacked snow. The verdant gaze settled on her with an enormity of disappointment.
Yet the power of a falling stone is mighty, but brief. Water rushed on with more reliability, but his was not the sea where the Moon pulled the tides into fervor; the God of the Earth was the careful stream and the steady pond as much as he was the fallen rock.
Quiet descended on him, which only seemed to punctuate the roar.
"What in this world has given you the notion that life is not sloppy?" he asked her honestly, a sigh, rugged with age and dust, heaving into a visible cloud. "Life is a design to some extent, but its beauty is in its free will, in the way it tumbles and races beyond control, surprising with all its various turns and decisions." She seemed so protective of the flora and the fauna, so why did she fail to prize her own flesh and blood? Lies she had said, its echo in his ears setting his 'brow to furrow with lack of understanding. Her mind was available, but he was much more curious about her heart so did not peer into something when it was already visible before him. No matter the motivations, it was there before them, and he'd have her evaluate the aftermath more appropriately than whatever selfish reasons drove her into it.
"Better to let your seedling grow and watch it reach for the heavens like all the rest, to let it fall or falter of its own accord, than to never give it the chance to try. If all the seedlings were scuffed underhoof for fear, then a barren world we would have indeed.
Gently he shook his head, and the motion carried on into his beard and across his nape, loosing water droplets and particulate that hadn't even been apparent. When he settled, the lines in his features seemed to have deepened, but neither with rage nor defeat, just a raw grief that was palpable in the gray wash of the world that ought to be blossoming like her seedling, but wasn't.
"My child, no life is yours but your own. You are a living egg, a mother, both for your own children and all the lives of those around you, as they are mine. Ours is the duty to protect, not decide the roles to be played nor govern over the worth of what lives.
Her tears did little to persuade him, though he understood their importance. In this moment he could not go to her as he ought to, not when the corpse dwelled so near and fresh.
Not when her only explanation was a reed flapping its noise in the wind.
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