"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.
For once, he wanted naught more than to escape the Basin. Despite the edges, the chills, the rough, calculated fringes of its glacial appeal, of its barbaric vitality resting in his blood, in his veins, in his bones, he’d never been more disappointed by its bitterness. The meeting had been a debacle, one more going down in the tomes as a testament of either his failures or his herd’s ever-resentful prestige, and it disillusioned the King, because he knew of their strength, of their abilities, of all that power and motion and wrath contained, and they could never work together to make anything of it. They spit and tore, writhed and clamored, became more than demons and monsters (like fighting, petulant youths, worse behaved than children quarreling over marked stoned and rocks), and it irked, irritated, annoyed him so grievously that he marched out of its confines and down into the rubble beyond. The Lord knew the effervescent, pink-hued thing, Johnny, followed, and that was enough to not turn around, not glance towards fallen, decrepit Sentinels or rising summits with no where to go and no where to turn except on each other. They’d become naught more than carnivores and cannibals.
So, instead of spreading his hate, his malice, his discontent, through the corridors of his home, kingdom and empire, the infidel, the cretin, set his sights upon fulfilling duties, embarking on commitments, promises, and convictions, even if no one else craved to do it. The beast hadn’t recognized his flaws, faults, and defects for nothing – he’d traversed, he’d carved, he’d pleaded their case so the world would have something to do with them again, so they could craft and enable and survive. If everyone else refused, if they couldn’t budge, if they were even more eroded and ridiculous than he, then the fiend would do everything himself. He’d bear the weight, for his shoulders were broad, for his chest was wide, and his determination was everlasting, eternal, and corrupt.
The Reaper chiseled his way through the lands, a savage, a belligerent piece of maneuvering, unwinding chaos, splitting through fields and meadows without delaying his process, without seguing his movements into other notions and sentiments. The beast was guided by his own boldness, by his own audacity, by the way in which they’d been forced to live, all monster, all demonic, all Mephistophelean; swaying towards nothing and no one. Deimos served his family, his kin, his patriots even when they couldn’t bother to listen, even when they couldn’t pull their heads out of their own backsides, even when they were starved for friction and annihilation. His head would turn every so often to ensure the Weaver kept his brutal, barbaric pace, and he offered naught but the droves, the harshness, of silence, too irritated, too annoyed with his own herd to face one of the cheerier ones (even if he’d done naught wrong, was not one of the morons spouting and shooting insults).
When they finally clambered and met sand, the bestial Lord stared deep into the regions of draconic land, remembering all the times he’d settled there – for war, for allegiances, for nothing. The terrain was so unlike his own – scorching and hot, maiming and smoldering, but he endured, for that was what he’d always done, all rock, all rubble, all stone and impassiveness. His head lifted, ushered one bellow, and then drew back into the hushed layers of his predacious, iniquitous stance; not here for torment, for terror, for tyranny, but to ensure he kept his oaths.
[Crafting trade times? ;D Please let Johnny post first. I also tagged both crafters, but feel free to bring in whomever. ^_^]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
So, that herd meeting had been a mess. I knew it, Deimos knew it, hell even Jellybean knew it and she can’t even talk! Everyone gets it. I started to talk to our Lord a little bit on the way, see if I could ease his mind a little bit - but it became pretty darn obvious that he didn’t want to chat it up. So alright, I’ll just hang back! Which really, wasn’t a choice at all. Have you seen the legs of our great Lord??? They go on for MILES! KILOMETERS! LEAGUES! In relation, my own legs were approximately the length of an ants.
You can understand why he had to keep looking back to see if I was there.
Each time, I offered a cheery - if exhausted and sweaty - smile. Thankfully as we travel south and as I start to sweat syrup, I’ve got this handy new magic trick that allows me to cool the air around me. It’s great for when I’m required to do exercise!
Jellybean is starting to get too big to fit into the bag I carry around with crafting supplies, but she still likes to sit in there anyway - especially when we’re on the move. She’s curled in and settled among the soft materials - her pink-crowned head sticking out as she looked around curiously at the world. Somewhere during the journey, we started to sing softly to each other. Or, I was singing softly - entertaining Jellybean with ridiculous ballads - while the griffin squawked along cheerfully. I had taught her how to wolf-whistle, which she happily did every time we paused for a rest.
I pointed out to Deimos that it was my companion, not me, giving him the compliment but I don’t think he believed me.
Anyway, all shenanigans aside, we eventually make it to the Throat. Er, well, kind of anyway. We’re standing on a beach, looking across some water to where the Throat actually is. “Are we supposed to swim?!” I ask, feeling a little lightheaded at the idea, bringing my cool air with me as I come to stand beside Deimos. I figured I’d be jogging to keep up with him anyway but swimming was a physical activity I did not sign up for.
If the task had to be given an official label, she could say she was on patrol, and giving it that name helped Meg feel better about it. The term conjured up visions on long hours and grueling drills—tasks that Meg, in her dedication, had never once complained about or shirked—but a casual walk along the beach with one of her best friends was a far cry from the intense patrolling she was used to.
She and Cera walked together along the sands of the Heart-side of the southern strait. It had been a rather sedate stroll so far, and Meg was staring to wonder if Einarr had put her friend up to it. Though she loved him dearly, Einarr had become almost insufferable from the time she first began to show signs of her second pregnancy. Even now her sides had only just started to swell, but from the way the overbearing, primitive brute had been acting she might as well have been fragile as an eggshell. Even if her husband had orchestrated it, it was hard for Meg to feel annoyed about any time spent in Cera's company and so she let the suspicion roll off her shoulders and simply enjoyed herself.
A bellow pulled Megaera's attention from her friend to the stretch of sand ahead of them. At the sight of strangers on the beach ahead of them her relaxed form snapped to attention and she paused to survey the sight. Both figures ahead were unicorns, and neither had she seen before. Their focus seemed set upon the island out to sea, and that was enough to put her guard up. Perhaps she was too sensitive about threats to her home--these two posed no obvious threat--but at least today she could blame in on the maternal hormones. "An odd couple..." She observed, glancing at Cera with a conspiratorial smirk, "Let's see what they want." She stepped forward and out of her relaxed posture; lengthening her stride and picking up a bold trot to approach the unicorns. Her head swung low, ears back, in a snaking motion for a brief second; not enough to pose a threat but merely to demand attention from the studs on her shores. She exuded confidence, and why not, it may not be the Throat proper, but she was still on her turf. Her head raised again with neck arched, the feathers of her folded wings twitched to catch the light. This is my home boys, be on your best behavior
Her expression as she approached was not unfriendly, though she surveyed the pair with a pair of bold black eyes. They truly were an odd match, the pony all white and rosey while the grey cut a cold and domineering figure. Upon closer inspection Meg though she might have a guess as to who the taller might be. She'd had the brief description and the name from Gaucho and the Sultana was not sure she was entirely please to have anyone known as 'the Reaper' on her doorstep. "I wouldn't reccomend trying the swim, you'd drown far sooner that you'd touch sand." The little pink-tipped stallion might have been joing but she certainly was not; she didn't want Basin bodies washing up on her shores either. Bark eyes moved back to the cobaly blue of the taller figure. "You are Diemos, are you not?" The Sultana drew to a halt, placing herself almost symbolically between the stallions and the water. "I am Megaera, Sultana of the Throat. What is it that you and your friend seek on our shores?"
Strung and stung together by silence, by apathy, by corruption and barbarity, his savage instincts largely ignored his traveling companions. By all accounts and purposes, he would’ve rather gone the entire journey alone, sulking, brooding, decaying with no one else attempting discourse, songs, ridiculous sonnets, and discordant ditties (which made his ears flick back against his skull more than once). If the candied beast and his companion hadn’t been useful or the suitable rank, he would have left them all behind, gone about his duty with nothing on the horizon except desolation (and sometimes it was difficult to remember that he was trying to be a part of his brethren’s lives; some days he wanted complete, utter isolation, and other moments were spent wondering how and why no one knew who he truly was).
Before answering the striped comrade, because Deimos didn’t actually have a response for him – he’d always met Gaucho amidst the sands and borderline, before great walls and chunks of rock and rubble, and during wars, campaigns, they’d never bothered to knock (it’d just been blood and heresy, biting, snatching, clawing, destroying. The Reaper presumed someone, at some point, would hear his bellow, would see their outlines, and fly, flicker, or growl their way towards them. There would be no need to see about swimming into the abyss, no need to chisel and sculpt their way into the heated madness; they’d either be welcomed or refused. He appreciated the simplicity.
But the winter King’s head turned towards a voice, a Pegasus femme caked in browns and blacks, a beast he’d never seen before. He’d expected Gaucho. They dealt well together (shockingly), either due to respect, war-laden figures, or because they were remarkably similar. Blunt honesty, curt, keen phrases, and antagonistic upheaval seemed to go a long way between former adversaries, but he didn’t know what to make of the approaching mare.
She seemed to know who he was, however.
You are Deimos, are you not? Here, he nodded, folded his head a little deeper in a respectable nod, as if years on the throne had finally worn him down to surprises and odd revelations. “Yes. Deimos, Lord of the Basin.” He arched his brow once at Johnny, expecting him to introduce himself, before swiveling an ear back to the mare, who’d polished her own set of preambles and preludes – Megaera, Sultana of the Throat, Gaucho’s equal. Intrigued, the piercing slate of his eyes scrutinized her briefly, but didn’t coil in a predacious, overwhelming, bestial manner; this was to be a civil meeting, not a negotiation contorted in immersed savagery. His features were riddled with nonchalance and control, a blank slate of careful, cool composure, a chilling physique carved straight from the mountains. “Our Weaver and I are here to discuss possible crafting trades.” The demon paused, pondering just how much Gaucho had informed her of the tenuous truce between the dunes and the snow, then proceeded onward, presuming himself capable of clearing things up if the subject was foreign to her. “We require metal to finish several projects within the Basin. Do you have any needs of our materials?” Long before, Ulrik had made them things; but what they yearned or wanted now was vastly unknown.
[Just trying to move this along. Feel free to pop in when you have time, Brit!]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
So far, the Basin seemed like a verifiable funhouse compared to this first impression of the Throat. Obviously I was (mostly) joking about swimming - really I was just afraid that I would have to - there was no need to bring up drowning. If she was trying to intimidate me right away she was definitely doing a great job. I shrink a little bit - instinctively moving closer to Deimos for protection and comfort but I catch myself after the first step and return to where I was standing before. I know he wouldn’t really like to have my sugar-self pressed up against him, even if I was chilling the air around me slightly in a way that would remind him of home.
I’m aware of the fact that Jellybean and I are a strange pair to be accompanying the Reaper on his journeys but I’m also hoping that Deimos will at least give me a chance. We’ve barely spoken! I thought we’d have the chance on this trip but nooo. We literally travelled from one tip of Helovia to the other and I’m pretty sure the only words that had been spoken were all from me… beyond the grunt that passed for an invitation back in the Basin.
The enigma that was my Lord would have to wait because we were meeting the Sultana. I loved it! So much better than Lord and Lady!! At the quirk of an eyebrow that I took to be my cue, I offered a warm smile to our strange welcoming party. “I’m Johnny, the Weaver. It’s nice to meet you, Megaera!” I manage to get in before falling quiet - Deimos had the rest under control, I didn’t really need to parrot him. He just wanted me here for my body weaving skills anyway.
Speaking of parrots, Jellybean trilled (read: shrieked) a greeting as well - though I was quick to hush her. The pink and orange crown on her head slowly unfolded in… interest? Rebellion? Her dark eyes were focused on the pegasus standing in front of us and I knew she was sensing a fellow creature of the air. I just hope that she stays too lazy to climb out of the bag and get the desire to go over and say hello!
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