"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.
How long had he been isolated with her? How many minutes had her nearly white and his pale blue eyes met, their voices hushed, smoky breaths in the moist chill of the Edge? It couldn't have been many—the stars had barely wheeled at all. Could it have been more than five-ten minutes, if even that?
It was such a short time that, in the long run, it became irrelevant. It was the blink of an eye, a mere breath, and yet, so much had changed—he had answered her call a broken, burnt man, and walked away from it with his scars smoothed out. His mind? Untouched.
Far beneath his striped hooves, the ocean rolled, as it always had. From the dawn of time, to the end of days—and the moonlight shimmered upon its ever-moving surface, lighting up the foam topping the wave crests. It was a relatively peaceful night, its constant breaking upon the limestone cliffs a low, rhythmic roar in the background. I could fall—
He could fall, and the wind would rush by him, and he could hit the ocean, and—what then? She had been very vague about the details. If he fell upon the rocks, and his body was torn open, shattered and sundered, would it, by some divine will, crawl back together? Or would his heart just lay there, bared and beating, running on sheer willpower?
Was he even real anymore?
"Angel," he murmured to the night wind; it picked up the shortest strands of his long hair, tugged at them with a soundless laugh. The curiosity—the desire to find the limits of his curse—was overpowering. He wouldn't die (—unless it had all been empty words).
But maybe, he would become too broken. Fade out of sight, out of mind. What a useless way to squander what you had been given.
Irma's talons squeezed his shoulder. The familiar pain was comforting—an anchor in this slow-spinning storm. She was still there, and she would remain, and he could still feel pain, and Diego, sitting on his ass, would remain, too. They would remain: forever. Was it a flaw born of his mortality that he could not even imagine 'forever'? No beginning, no end... His jaws clenched. He needed a horizon with an end. He had his own starting point; his birth. And once, he had been racing time towards his death, but now...
The stars hung low and silent, just like they had when his life, his confidence, had shattered. And for all their permanence, he had heard of stars which had winked out of existence, and of stars which had been born, new and fresh like hopeful lights in the dark vault of the sky.
Not even the stars were immortal—and yet he was.
To think that he would outlive them...
He stood upon the brink of an abyss, the sea a swelling roar beneath his feet; the owls rested their talons in his flesh, and the scythe laid cold and dormant against his shoulder. And he would remain here, long after the sky was robbed of all stars and wind and water changed the landscape irrevocably.
Mauja swallowed. He had never felt smaller than he did now.
03-08-2016, 02:03 PM (This post was last modified: 03-08-2016, 02:04 PM by Tembovu.)
tembovu
The Elephant King had listened in silence, teeth on edge as he ears had strained forward to hear Mauja question the Moon. Tension gripped the great stallion as he listened, muscles standing taunt agains the scarred buckskin of his hide.
He knew, without doubt, which he would choose should the question be turned to him. But, more importantly, he knew which option he mentally pushed Mauja to take— body straining forward against the misty boundaries as he unknowingly pressed to be closer to the snowy spotted leopard. But the mists held firm, unperturbed by the pushes of a mere mortal.
“Immortality.” The whisper thundered into the King’s ears as the mists fell away— “No.” His own, answering whisper was louder, firmer, more painful than he intended or anticipated. After all his friend had lost, after seeing his daughter spill her lifeblood on the sands, after holding him after a man he loved dropped and left his heart on cold rocks of loneliness; after all of that and he just signed up for a continual repeat of those things forever?
“Immortality is not a painless existence.”
The words of the goddess repeated in his mind. To sleep in yesterday’s horrors and tomorrow’s dreams forever— what was time to the immortal but a thread to wind around your fingers? Around and around, tighter and tighter until your fingers are white and the fiber bites sharply into your skin… Only to unwrap it and feel the painful resurgence of blood into the starved tissues. Tissues starved of oxygen, a life starved of an end. How else does one give weight to anything they did, if it was not bound by time? If there was not kind of sacrifice?
An infinite life of meaningless, finite relations. Black-rimmed ears sweep flush with his skull as his navy eyes stared up at the speckled man. The immortal man, shrouded in moon glow atop the cliffs. Inside warred emotions, none of them good. Shame, guilt, despair— but something pushed his legs in slow, sweeping strides towards the still leopard, leaving Erthe behind.
Something akin to compassion.
His legs only faltered once, as he neared the man he had ignited. “Mauja,” his low voice was reduced to a rough whisper, “Mauja, I…” his hooves stopped as his voice died. He stood off the side of the spotted flank, with enough room between them to not impose his dangerous bulk on the Frozen Light.
Ears tilted back, eyes glancing away once from the glowing white skin of his friend (friend?), before returning to search for his face, for his eyes. “Sorry isn’t enough,” he finally murmured quietly, as much to himself as to the immortal man.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
[ Mau needs to come un-blocked so you're unfortunately the recipient of giant, unrelated word vomit. ]
(Who are we—)
Just beggars and thieves, wolves and whores—
Lighthouses in the darkness, ruptured and fractured, shattered glass and struggling embers choking in the shadows—ultimately, forgotten. Darkness had risen from the sea, sunk its claws in deep, sundering bedrock and crawling up a staircase turning cracked in its wake.
And their hearts were those beautiful, pulsing lights encased in glass—trapped and blaring out their life for all to see, and too high up to ever be saved; helpless in the face of the darkness. Devoured. Shadowy tendrils sprung their fragile armor, a pressure growing, slowly, surely, until it all came apart in a torrent of shards and a single, quivering, terrified breath. A gasp.
Broken in every way you were left in the destruction of yourself, gouts of flame—your blood—sputtering haphazardly but darkness is no fuel for fire (desolation and love) and one by one they will go out, until only the beaten remains of your heart is left, a smoldering mess that will never again be a bonfire.
Like moths drawn to a flame—
(The darkness which rise from the seas.)
Because we cannot let something beautiful be beautiful without destroying it.
Cynicism, misery, greed...
That was life: the struggle for your glass to stay strong.
The rest was just a wait for death.
And his would be very long.
He had already failed. He had already come undone. He was perpetually trapped in a broken, beaten, defeated body, mauled beneath an army of silent stars and left to die in the cold snows. He would never be more than he had been on that night, wracked by fever and shame. He would never be anything but a soldier who failed. That was the night he had died.
"Gods," he whispered softly, the closest he had come to praying in a long, long time. Nine years since that night.
Nine years without a heart.
“Mauja,” but never without a name; the soft sound fell from dark lips, a curse living in the blood of them all. His ears flipped back momentarily. They all called him that, a name lovingly given in another life, but it was hollow. It was as empty as the body which hearkened to it. He was what others had made him, what others had needed from him; at times, he had been cruel. At times, he had been kind.
But was there any thing, any memory, any trait he possessed, which was truly his?
Shame.
Guilt.
Grief.
Tembovu apologized, his bulk teetering on the limestone brink, his demons leashed (—for now). But what did he apologize for? Burning him? They hadn't spoken since, after all. Or was it something else? Something related to Mauja and the Moon disappearing behind a wall of fog, and exchanging secrets? Perhaps he was not used to witnessing mortals (for I am not a God; I am not their equal) bickering with Gods. His pale head turned a fraction, blue eyes locking onto the deeper ones of Tembovu. The lost darkness branded into his memory, cast into deeper shadow by a charging, molten beast, was nowhere to be seen.
"What for?" he asks lightly as the cool wind blows.
He was rooted— no, he was pinned— in place as Mauja’s pale ice eyes slammed into his own, navy gaze. Any thought (any hope) of turning away and leaving the spotted man alone was lost beneath the intensity of the stare; at such odds with the lightly asked question. A question buffeted so easily by the cool breeze, tossed mindlessly upon zephyrs before falling (almost by luck) into his black-rimmed ears.
But the question undid him.
“What for?” So open ended, with an answer so great (so heavy) that it could drive an Elephant to his knees. The simple answer: ‘For burning you,’ was a non-answer. Because, yes, Tembovu was sorry (a thousand times sorry) for incinerating Mauja. He felt badly (how inane and deficient a phrase) that he lost control. That rage overcame him and a beast of flame and fury burst from his chest at the slightest insult of a fiery sparrow. But that was the easy answer, not the fair one. And Mauja deserved that, deserved authenticity and honesty, after all he had done for the Dorobian man. Offered a home, offered a job, offered a kingship…
The answer to this “what for?” caused a burn overcome him. A cold burn, beginning in the icy fear of his chest and spreading its cold heat through pulsing veins by a heart that beat too powerfully— too painfully. It was different that the burn of being discarded by a woman in Mara’s likeness had caused— and that was what he was standing here, in the chill of night, apologizing for. That his own demons had manipulated him (that he had allowed them to rise and contort his mind). That he had lost himself amid a sea of despair, loneliness, and fury only to find Mauja and turn his monsters against his friend. That the Elephant King, who was tethered to this world by a lifeline made of moral justice, had — for those few, dark moments in the Deep Forest— severed the line and been adrift in his darkness. And it had taken burning someone alive to re-fetter him to rectitude. A life (Mauja’s life) was worth so much more than the qualms of his heart.
But that was too much— to voice all of that aloud was beyond the ability of the Elephant King to convey. So his low voice rumbled quietly, “I am sorry I lost control— sorry that I hurt you.” He visibly cringed at the asinine emptiness those words carried. He had done so much more than ‘hurt’ his friend— had he destroyed their friendship? (their relationship?) “I didn’t mean—“ he cut his deep roll off as the meaning of his words sank deeper and deeper into idiotic commonalities. But, at least, the timber beneath them and the agonized gleam of his navy gaze were earnest and sincere.
A long and low breath escaped his flared nostrils, clinging as vapor around his muzzle for a moment before being disintegrated by the cliff’s breeze. A question: ’Why immortality?’ bubbled, unbidden, on his lips. But he no longer felt the right to ask such questions of his friend— not after what he had done. So, instead, he simply said, “I’m glad the goddess fully healed you.”
Have all my italics and whatever this post was. I don't know.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
[ - takes it all - ]
Silence.
Mauja's heart beat painfully in his chest, remembering things it shouldn't—not here, not now, things he did not need to think of... But Tembovu offered no distraction; perhaps he was wrestling with his own demons, leaving his friend to roll in memories both old and new.
He knew what fire could do to you. He knew what fire could do to your life, and the tingling left behind by the Moon's healing magic spoke only of its mildest consequence; pain. And courtesy of some brat on a battlefield where he had had no place, Mauja was all too familiar with that consequence. He had felt it far more intimately than he had ever dreamed of, and it would always haunt him.
But fire was a killer—its utmost consequence was death.
One way or another, it would kill, over and over again. Slowly, calmly, Mauja let his gaze drift from Tembovu's troubled face and out over the star-lit waves again. An errant flame had caused one death, but it could've done so much more—if Mauja had come to the trial when the death of Torasin was still fresh in their minds.. would they have condemned him to death? Would they have succeeded in taking his life? Would he have fought, laid into those around him, managed to take one or two down with him?
He sighed, softly, and shifted upon the limestone brink. A little dust came loose, drifting slowly down to the sea. It felt unfair, that he stood here and thought of Torasin (of his own pounding, cruel fear—) when Tembovu stood next to him, still in the throes of the cruel fire. But with the silence stretching between them, how could he not think of the polite golden man..?
But finally, the Elephant King spoke, his voice a low rumble causing Mauja's ears to flick in his direction, though his gaze remained out at sea. Sorry. Tembovu was sorry for what he had done, and Mauja heard the words echoed in his head—Torasin's leg extended in his direction, a spire of ice silencing his heart as his mouth gave his last words, I'm sorry, before the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.
Mauja had whispered the same thing into his dead ears.
He stifled a bitter laugh. At least he was still alive to hear Tembovu apologize to him. It seemed cruel—that he would survive the same encounter someone else didn't against him. That he would have to go on, with his memories burdening him.
You chose this, he reminded himself, tail flicking about his hocks as he listened to the weight of Tembovu's breath, hearing words yearning to get out—so he waited, the image of patience carved out of blocks of ice, just smoother around the edges.
“I’m glad the goddess fully healed you.” Was he attempting to change the subject? Or did he truly feel done talking about the incident? Or was he simply frustrated by how inadequate words were in the situation? Slowly, Mauja tore his eyes from the sea, and, pointedly, let them fall to Tembovu's burnt and scabbed knees. The brine took the edge off their smell, but if no one did anything about it soon, Mauja had a feeling it would fester. They were too.. open, too damaged, flesh seared off and hadn't he gone down on his knees at some point? Hadn't he lain down beside Mauja? Grinding the sloughed-off skin into moist earth, embedding soil in the wounds—
"Did you even take a bath after it?" he asked, before realizing how out of place the comment was. Out of context like that, it almost sounded like a wash-your-hands-clean thing, except, why would he even bother trying with that? He'd been found on the scene... Mauja snorted, a smoky exhale from dark nostrils. "Since you got dirt in your knees, I mean."
With another flick of his ivory tail he let his eyes return to the waters. Each wave-crest was topped with white seafoam illuminated by moon and stars, a glowing blanket for the ocean to wrap itself up in on cold nights; a lonely gull flew above it, night-hunting perhaps, silent but gleaming in the light. It was beautiful, and his eyes followed it with mellow hunger—while his heart burned fiercely with envy.
Part of him wanted to remain silent, to just keep staring at the gull gliding slowly above the water's surface, looking for the glimmer of fish scales perhaps, but.. just because he had his mind spinning with futures and pasts and disappointment and wonder and awe.. Tembovu had come here, to apologize. What for? Mauja had asked, because if anyone should be apologizing, it was him—for the stupidity of sparking more fires in a soul already ravaged by flame. But how do you explain something like that? How do you tell someone, so obviously burdened by what they had done, that you don't care? That it's fine they almost incinerated you on the spot?
Maybe you did just that—just said it.
"Look," he said, softly, after an interval of silence, still staring out over the sea, his mind elsewhere; gone, in winding hallways of unending futures and opportunities (en eternity land-bound). "Once, the roles were reversed. I..." He guessed the only real difference was that Mauja hadn't burned Tembovu, whereas Kiba had actually torched his shoulder, but the threat of fire is real enough to the one who has been burned. He sighed. "It's a knee-jerk reaction, right? It's not like you stood there and thought 'oh look, there's Mauja, let's set him on fire for fun!', right?" Right? "Shit happens, I understand, it's okay. Don't beat yourself up about it."
Idly, he wondered how normal it was on a scale 1 to 10 to be so casual about one of your best friends setting you on fire, but then again... How normal was Mauja, on a scale 1 to 10?
“Did you even take a bath after it?” A frown creased his black and ivory brow, navy eyes following Mauja’s icy stare to his swollen knees. New skin covered his left, but his right… “Since you got dirt in your knees, I mean.” He flexed his right leg slightly, feeling tight skin resist the bend and the small pierce of pain from the inflamed joint. Slowly, he shook his head in answer to Mauja’s— somewhat intimate— question. “My knees have been dirtier than this,” was his simple, if ominous (and perhaps metaphorical) answer. He paused, a heavy pause pregnant with the many meanings of his answer, before continuing, “Though my legs were rinsed in water when I saved my companion’s egg from drowning.” But that was by chance. He had not been of the right mind to wash his knees, or his body.
He still wasn’t in the right mind, now. Even as Mauja filled their silence with words— words of acquittal, words that released him of responsibility of his crime. A long and low breath blew out of his nostrils, mimicking the very cloud that Mauja had just sent out his own nose. He watched the profile of the Frozen Light— truly Frozen, now, in his immortality— who stared out over the inky waves. How easily he forgave; how easily he swept aside his transgressions, as if the were inconsequential. As if they weren’t life altering.
Maybe they weren’t.
The thought rocked the Elephant, as he swayed once on his solid ivory hooves. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Too late. He already has— he still was. His regret had driven him into Elsa’s embrace, into a darkness so absolute that another had to draw him out. And now this spotted man could stand here and tell him that “shit happens”?
A hum of disbelief rumbled from his thick, black throat. But what was he to do, argue with the man? Tell him he wasn’t worth the forgiveness? No. Instead, in his lingering silence, he shifted closer to speckled stud (did his skin feel different, healed by a Goddess and imbued with immortality?). Tentatively, almost mistrusting himself and awaiting Mauja’s reaction, he leaned his massive shoulder against the glowing white skin, “You are a mystery of a man, Mauja,” his deep voice quietly rolled, “But I thank you, my friend.” The timbre of sincerity vibrated from his barrel.
His eyes turned from the stallion, tracking the nocturnal gull in his evening pursuits— some semblance of peace finally settling in his soul.
the elephant king
I'm officially the worst for not realizing this thread needed a reply/letting it die. I just needed some closure for this ;-;