"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.
The raven stares at him from its perch high in a snow-dusted fir. Tunguska stares back.
'Hungry?' The raven says again. Its mimicry is perfect, but it only knows one word. For the past hour, it's been following him through these woods, croaking, 'Hungry? Hungry? Hungry?' every time he stops to smell something or listen.
Tunguska shivers. Not from cold. From a rising fury that shakes his muscles like a fever.
In desperation, he breaks into a trot, then a gallop, veering through the trees in an attempt to put the creature behind him for good. A burst of wings in the canopy tells him it's no use. The stallion skids to a halt, wheels, as though to face an enemy, but there's nothing. Only silence, a thicket of frosted green. Until -
'Hungry?'
"Fuck you," Tunguska seethes as the black bird bounces into view on a spruce bough, lower than before but still frustratingly out of reach. He considers lunging anyway. The considerable muscles in his haunches bundle; his hooves dance almost daintily, his body is so tightly coiled. The raven wings to a different roost, much higher, and makes a garbled sound.
For the hundredth time, it seems, Tunguska turns and stalks away. Stray tendrils of his forelock fall unchecked in his face. With ears pinned and lips twitching clear of his teeth, he looks ready to throw himself screaming into a fight. Not an appropriate response to a bird. Not appropriate from him, especially - he is not supposed to lose control like this. Once, he could have leashed himself in an instant, taken his rage fully in teeth and either done something with it or put it away.
Now, it's all he can do to walk, not bolt and buck and kick. The Frostfall-hardened ground crunches beneath his hooves and he hates the noise. He lashes a silvery flank with his tail, snorts white vapor into the frigid air.
There are things he wishes he did not remember. Mostly those which, in retrospect, suggest occult patterns beneath the surface of his life.
In vanished days, when the empire stood, the warlord came to them, his Nonpareils, to cultivate loyalty, to learn about the herds, to give them a face they could think of when their orders came.
What were the people saying?
Deos, the old god, blessed the land no more.
"He's angry with you," Someone said, bold enough to tease.
"Deos didn't choose me, I ate him," The warlord replied, grinning. "You start letting a god choose the kings, sooner or later, somebody is going to think the holy anointment's been given to someone else. If they want their god back, they can cut him from my belly."
Even years later, the claim was a mirage in Tunguska's understanding of the world. It was in everything, everything...
It seems a mark of sanity to believe what you see, but in the days since he left his homeland, Tunguska has seen things that defy his explanation, that contradict all laws he was ever taught about nature; things that turn his best understanding into shifting sand. And the raven, mouthpiece of Deos, ghost of a dead cosmology - that's the very last thing he needs right now.
Dimly, he registers the smell of horses. He hasn't seen any yet. A nearby stream runs freely despite the cold. Tunguska makes his way to it, his big, rolling gait still springy with tension, and his mouth is so tense and shaking he has to bare his teeth and stretch his jaw before he can take a proper sip. His pale grey eyes give him a staring, loath expression, glowing from the sooty shadowing of his face. He closes them. Thinks only of the icy water biting all the way from his tongue to his stomach. His silver grullo hide twitches once, twice, stills.
'Fuck you,' The raven crows from somewhere in the trees.
Nerves crackle, his head snaps up, and he lets out a peal of helpless rage.
of course when I go to write him I HAVE NOTHING BUT TROUBLE ;-;
please tag in all posts // force permitted barring permanent injury or death.
03-27-2016, 06:49 PM (This post was last modified: 03-27-2016, 06:50 PM by Colt.
Edit Reason: spelling mistake :x
)
Colt had been slacking, dilly dallying away with two children in tow while her Empire crumbled beneath her. For too long her mind had been kept away from it, but now as her children grew, she became more and more concerned with her forgotten empire.
And again Colt burdens herself with entering the threshold, eyeing each wandering soul with distaste because none were equine. She wanted to bellow in her rage, to throw a tantrum and curse herself for being unable to give up on her father's dream of building a powerful empire of equines. She wasted her time searching, chanting curses under her breath at each horn and wing she spotted, furrowing her brow and grinding together her worn teeth.
But today, unlike most, she was lucky. Her coal black ears caught the sound of fury, thigh quaking rage that shook her bones and made a smile creep across her brindled features. Whomever had let loose such a sound earned her respect, equine or no. She followed the sound, careful as her hooves danced over solid snow and disastrously placed roots. In her steel sights, the target was found.
A lone stallion, no horns, no wings, perfect. The smile plays out, as close to genuine as she can get as she advances. Her entry is nothing special, a few mere steps into his line of sight, dulled body swaying gently as she moved. "Hello there," she coos, a voice as kind as she can manage without grimacing for how sickeningly sweet it sounded. She asses the stranger quietly, eyes flicking up and down over his roaned frame. He was well built, but his bigger knees caught her eyes, kept her attention for more than it should have before she moved on. "How long have you been traveling?" She inquires, looking up at the eyes that matched her own, a smirk playing across her lips. What a coincidence that she's run upon another equine with eyes like hers, and a potential recruit nonetheless. "Aren't your eyes lovely," Colt jokes, hoping the stallion has already noticed this commonality, and the other most obvious one.
"TALK TALK TALK"
The sight of another pulls him up short. His heart still pounds, but he swallows the second cry creeping up his throat and takes a shuddering breath. Even so, he's disoriented enough that the only thing he blurts in response to her greeting is, "What?"
Starved for company and attention, he's become more suspicious than blindly welcoming. Whatever he may want, whatever he may need, he reflexively sees poison in it - reads irony in kindness, thinks humor comes at his expense. Normally, this doesn't warrant a reaction. The good opinion of others has never been a luxury he can afford. But here, pinned between weeks of solitude and the all-damned bird (gone now, maybe; he isn't about to provoke it by looking), he's entering this encounter with raw nerves.
So whatever her intentions are, whatever she's thinking when she runs her eyes over him in appraisal, he assumes the worst. He stares sullenly back, matching her look-for-look. Her equineness is not so remarkable to him. Horns and wings, though he has heard tell of them, belong to anomalies. He would never guess they'd banded together, made nations.
As for the bloody spatter on her forelimb, he hopes the color and pattern is a coincidence, not the mark of some prophecy or punishment. Not that bloodied hooves are so strange and terrible to him, but he doesn't like magic. More than that, he doesn't care for the thought of a land where horses wear legacies or destinies on their bodies. He knows very well how inescapable those things are. He doesn't need to carry a reminder on his skin.
The brindled mare asks how long he's been travelling and his gaze returns to her face. He knows the exact count - months, days, hours to the time he crossed into the stony seabed that bordered his old homeland. Somehow, the number seems private. He swallows, works his jaw. "A long time." Then, eyes darkening somewhat in suspicion, he adds, "Why? Why does it matter?"
Those same eyes dodge hers when she mentions them and he sidles a bit, more aware of scrutiny than the shared trait. "They're fine." There's a steely emphasis on the word fine, because he thinks there's something backhanded in her words. The joke escapes him entirely. In the rear of his mind, he's aware that she may simply be toying with him, and will leave as soon as she sees he's a poor playmate. It's something he ran into when roaming the nomadic lands.
"What are you looking at?" He asks, voice hardly more than a murmur but full of warm hostility. But of course, she's looking at him (hornless, wingless - well, what else should he be?). Tunguska abandons his fidgeting and takes a step towards her, more for the sake of posturing than anything, as though he can push her brazen assessment away simply by brandishing himself. "What do you want?"
T U N G U S K A
maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away
04-04-2016, 05:08 PM (This post was last modified: 04-04-2016, 05:12 PM by Dacianna.
Edit Reason: trying to get the tag to work -.-
)
If I told you about my favourite dream
[The one without you]
Would you spit fire at me?
As the sun rose higher to alight the earth below and warm the frozen ground, it also tickled the colour of Dacianna’s mane, turning it back to it’s normal varying tones from the stark white it had once been. The snow beneath her feet was wet and cold, her coat was thick from its battle with winter and her golden eyes squinted into the horizon where the Frostfall sun sat low in the sky. She didn’t much mind the cold weather, it had been cold in the mountains of her old home and the Rift was even colder (even if it wasn’t natural). Though sometimes she did miss the days where she could bask in summers heat, laze around in the warm haze whilst the grass grew long and green. As she looked to the slumbering expanse of the forest up ahead, she wondered when spring would arrive to once again add colour to the world that lay dormant and cold. The trees creaked against each other, naked and covered in snow that was beginning to slide off the branches; perhaps spring wasn’t all that far away after all.
Before going out on assignment, her first order as a priest, Dacianna thought she might stop by the Threshold first to look for any misplaced wayfarers and the like.
Her rhythmic footsteps carried her through the quiescent woodland, her eyes darted here and there following natures movement. Having grown up in the rugged environment of a mountain range, forests always made her slightly on edge, she didn’t like the fact she couldn’t see everything around her. The rhythm of her walk soon broke as she ambled into more of a jog, looking for signs of travellers or lost souls that might need a little help, whilst half praying that there weren’t any so she could just turn back.
Today, however, the sound of voices caught in her fluff riddled ears and Dacianna grimaced; time to go fishing in the forest again.
She comes across two equines in conversation, one was much smaller than the other with a marking much like a bloodstain and her body was patched in brindles. The male was plainer looking, but his voice was full of colourful hostility.
Not quite sure what she was walking into, Dacianna delicately coughed to make herself known before appearing from out the darkened wood, her golden trinket clattering against her antler as if it was trying to accentuate her entrance.
“Perhaps she was just being kind” the roan firmly interjected, offering the posturing stallion a steely gaze as she watched him walk up to the mare. She had never met the other girl before, nor did she know if her interference would be appreciated or met with more hostility. The male had a silver accented coat and appeared to be built quite sturdily “you are in Helovia Sir” she nodded to their surroundings before eyeing him cautiously “what do you want?” the Philosopher countered. Her voice had become softer as she offered him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he was stressed or perhaps there was more going on here than it first appeared and Dacianna had interrupted something. Again.
Her ears swivelled whilst her eyes drifted from one equine to the other and she wondered once more what situation she had dragged herself into this time.
The company is none too pleasant, Colt's eyes drifting over the grullo with a bitter taste on her tongue. There was no hello back, no kind nod of the head or smile in her direction. There was a distasteful demand, an arrogant what in response to her hello. How rude. But Colt holds her expression, calm and cautious in the way she approaches the touchy target.
She'll have to tread lightly if she's to get anywhere.
Colt shrugs her dun shoulders, uncaring and not wishing to poke around for answers and irritate the guest further. "I just wanted to know," she says nonchalantly, giving the stallion a once over. Perhaps he was tired, his long and weary travels had drained the energy from him. Would he not like to rest? Was his tongue always this sharp? Colt wanted to crack a grin, knowing well this temper could be put to use under her guidance. "I have a place you may rest, if you're tired." She adds, less kind than her first exchange of words. The time was up and her false kindness was slipping away. She still kept herself firmly planted, even as the stallion's storm grey eyes dripped suspicion. She could not blame him.
Their moment was up, and a horned mongrel entered the scene. To Colt's displeasure, the woman spoke in softer, kinder tones. More inviting. She does not give away her discontent, simply assessing the blue woman with indifferent eyes. Inside, she seethed and brewed with anger, frustration consuming her. How dare she be interrupted, and by a unicorn. So she fakes a smile, ears perked and eyes gleaming with a faux innocence.
"TALK TALK TALK"
04-07-2016, 04:27 PM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2016, 05:25 PM by Knox.)
He is tall and broad. He is a monster, lurking in the shadows. His cloak of magic is a protective shroud, one that lets him watch longer than any others are aware. On any other day, on any other visit to the threshold, he might not reveal himself.
But there's something about watching another stallion express such rage at the hopeless vices of nature that just intrigues Knox so much.
When the hunter reveals himself it is subtly, as if he is merely entering from the trees a few moments later than the rest, and not shedding a skin of shadow. He wears the face of one of his younger ancestors--a grandfather of sorts. Janos is certainly not the most impressive pick, but Knox imagines he can rely on the boy's rage to ignite a similar fire in this newcomer.
He doesn't care about the mares, choosing to settle himself away from them. Let this stranger see that they are not together--their attitudes not all necessarily so blunt.
"Perhaps you just want to have an end to the questions, hm?" Knox says to the stallion with a flash-like whip of Janos' ragged gray tail and a snort towards the roan mare. Janos whispers words into Knox's ears with confidence, coaching everything.
"We all have a place to rest," the vengeful says quickly, stopping the equine before she can continue. He doesn't care to hear whatever spiel she is about to offer. She smells like an outcast, but he isn't sure enough to make another snide remark.
"I'm Janos," he says with a shrug and an unfaltering, perhaps rudely immature gaze that must be taken right out of Zsoka's book.
{Janos:}Isn't it beautiful when we all just...
{Zekiah, Zsoka, Huric:}blend?
"I hail from the Hidden Falls. Welcome to Helovia, stranger."
Welcome to Helovia Gallivant! Looking forward to writing with you and your boy. :)
Just to clarify, because Knox is confusing, he is currently shapeshifted into the form of his ancestor Janos, you can find a description of him on Knox's profile.
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![[Image: 5518a658038f0]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5518a658038f0)
