"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 night breeze was intoxicating. With the moon overhead, and the stars shining like guiding beacons, the night was practically calling its watchers out. So the golden had answered. Up from the maze he had come, leaving the dark stag sleeping in the hedge. The deer had been his night nurse for over a week now and the gold had had enough of the constant attention and concern. He was the golden thief, he did not need the constant watch like some porcelain doll. Alright sure a few deep cuts still scored his hide a bit gruesomely from his spar with the tiger. Still, it did not call for twenty tone of bubble wrap.
Coming out from the maze, the slight northwestern breeze whispered in, softly caressing the nape of the golden’s neck, and playing like a tease with his long white locks. Shaking his head out of the intoxicating simplicity, he slipped into the night.
------
How he had ended up going this direction he was not sure. He perhaps could have blamed his inability to find a sense of direction from up here, but the coincidence was a bit much. You see the golden was no longer golden. He had taken to the skies as the bay Pegasus, and was gliding north. How splendid it had been at first. The gold had never really enjoyed the gift of flight, but tonight it was sensuous. Up here in the cold night air, the breeze running through each feather and hair, he was even more intoxicated by it all than upon the ground. That was till he realized where he was headed. Looming in through moonlight, rising like sentries of a stronghold stood the mountains. Perhaps to any other creature it wouldn’t have mattered, and his only requirement had been to escape Haldir’s watch. It wasn’t that he couldn’t go there unnoticed, about his body was wrapped the familiar and ever faithful invisibility cloak, so his flight was neither seen nor heard. Yet, still he could not go north. North….lay rosen shadows, and frozen creatures. No he didn’t want to end up there.
Turning off west the golden made to circle back. As he turned the wind blew from behind him. Wings wobbled and strained, trying to keep the flight manageable, yet he had been ages since he had truly tested this ability. A sudden gust ends it all as it throws him into a dive, and the recovery resulted in the sparsely healed wounds of the tiger reopening with a vengeful pain. That’s how he ended up here.
-----
World’s Edge. Wrapped in the fog of the coming dawn it practically glowed in the still strong moon. Several moons ago this would have been forbidden, those at his collar would have tightened it beyond measure to see him sneak so boldly in. But now. A wild grin had grown on his lips. Now he could walk where ever he choose (he said to himself). Now nothing held his hands back. It was an addicting adrenaline rush. All around him the scents of others marked the border, and yet he made no move to leave, even changing back into his golden coat. There was only one downside. A deep cut upon his shoulder had reopened, and the thin trail of red could be felt hot upon his leg. Each step was then tainted with a limp, and a small drop of red followed him where he walked. But he was not in a forgiving mood. The pain was easily sidetracked for his vanity and pride. Grounded though his body may now be, his spirit was anything but.
Besides how often do you sneak into another’s camp? He had to make the most of the occasion. Limping through the brush (his only surrender to the pain being a few hitched breaths and careful avoidance of anything touching the wound) came to the edge of the land, earth eyes looking over with command. Fog was rising up from the sea, causing the cliff to truly be the World’s Edge. Still a cold winter wind blows in from the north, brushing down his back, and sending a familiar chill down his spine. His harks pin back as he looks towards the offending mountains beyond, just breaking through the mists, and silhouetted by the moon. Bastards they were reminding him, even here, that he had been imprisoned within. Now he would show them. Even now see the red trailing down his leg. See the wounds the snapped metal, and ripped ropes left as he tore that collar off. Teeth reach back and pull from his body the precious cloak, storing it in the satchel at his side. His golden coat glimmers like dust into sight. Here, says he. Here he stands in the face of the mountains, boldly, irrationally, (stupidly?) where they would not have let him. His crowned head held high, and harks pinned back he snorts towards the snowcapped sentries. He was the golden son. He was the crowned thief. See even here the wounds he bore proudly from his escape of the damnable stronghold. See the wild and reckless thief unleashed into the night.
It was a strange display, with seemingly little purpose. Yet, perhaps not so strange if you knew that within those mountain walls rested a rosen figurine. The golden might not be separating the two, but the echoes her voice still rang in his head. He was not hers. He was not the mountains’. He stands here within sight of them, or even her, defiant in his rebellion. A pathetic attempt to deny what was clearly there. For had he been truly free of the rose, he would not have ended up north to begin with.
A low laughter rolls from his chest towards the mountains, vanishing any of these thoughts. The red stained leg, stomped into the ground (sending pain shooting up, but he weathers it like metal). How much chaos had been contained in those mountains, the world was about to find out.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: Open to all!
Summary: He lands as an invisible peg with a bleeding wound (so you're welcome to track that), and then goes to the cliffs, shifting into himself and taking off his invisibility cloak. There he stands for any to find, though I know @Alune and @Tembovu had mentioned they might be interested.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
Black nostrils flared in his light doze— metallic red dripped and twisted into the shadows of his dreams. Though, as of late, the shadows had receded from his slumber; they had been filled with irregular spots of his dam and the blue-tipped wings of his child. So it was strange that the familiar smell and color of his warring days filled his mind. He was so removed from those times…
Dark eyes slowly open, navy depths bleary as they probe the gloomy trunks around him. Black-rimmed ears swivel, the white funnels listening attentively even in his sleep-muddled state. The night was old (or was the morning young?), why was there a scent of blood wafting through it?
The connection of the scent to blood struck his mind awake— who was injured? His head flew up to its great height, ears tense and swiveling as his now clear eyes rake the darkness around him. His nostrils flared once again, loudly taking in the night’s bouquet.
Without thought, ebony and ivory legs are moving, heavy hooves crunching the snow he wove through the mists. Though the snow was old and stained with dirt and hooves, and the blood bloomed brown in the low lighting, the metallic smell was enough for the King to follow. It grew stronger as he quickly tread towards the trees towards the cliffs.
He paused, as another odor began to make itself known amid the blood— no longer swamped by the metallic smell as he neared the source. It was familiar— vaguely so, but he couldn't place it amid the focus his mind had for the possible injury of another.
His body halted abruptly as he broke the trees, ears twitched as a laughter shattered the calm silence of pre-dawn. The golden shapeshifter from the Flats stood before him, the one he had burned when discovering his magic for the first time. A man of many faces— and of many new scars and fragile skin littering his gilded hide. New skin surrounded the sluggishly bleeding wound on his shoulder— the source of the trail the Elephant had followed.
Unease uncoiled and rose, ready to strike as anger, in his gut. Mbwene stirred in her warm nest of dried leaves as the emotions began to leak into her dreams. “Thranduil,” the low rumble was calm, but had a hardened edge, “I admit, this is an… unique way to attempt to join us,” though his words offered an explanation for the gilded man to take, should he wish to explain his presence in the herdlands, the creasing and hardening of the King’s eyes belied the dangerous ground on which the Laurelin stood.
Now that doesn’t make much sense at all. I know you’re thinking it. A stallion proud of his stealth left a gumdrop red trail straight to him within an enemy camp. He could have cleaned it, wrapped it, or even a novel idea, not stopped here at all. Yet he hadn’t. Standing here on the cliff, boldly and unapologetically inviting himself in, it would seem he wanted to be found. He wanted to be caught…Now what kind of madman would want that?
The dark laughter dies into the night wind as the crunch of snow sounds behind him. Was he really been trying to stay hidden? A wide and most satisfied grin answered that question. Yes of course he wanted to be found. What fun was there in being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be if no one knew you were there?
Crowned head, high from its condemnation of the mountains beyond, turns tight back. The red stained gold coat flinching as it was pulled. The rush of aggression against the sentries beyond had been distracted, and the annoying needles of pain were a bit harder to ignore. Still, his ego was big enough to cover it from his face, especially as he saw who it was joining him.
Tembovu. The King of World’s Edge. Oh what an honor indeed. The vicious grin tamed itself in sarcasm, restraining itself to a glimmer of a smirk. It was hard to do though. For the first time he had met this mammoth it had been an especially wonderful treat. The day upon the Flats was a bit hot, but some of the best fun the gold could remember. Not that the same could probably be said for the Elephant King about that day. But then, that made it all the better for the gold.
The gold’s name cuts through cool night air, and it was answered with a nod. Yes, this was he. It had been that day on the Flats the golden had first dropped the titles and celebratory claims. The Laurelin. The Wolf of the North. It had been such a lovely slew of titles. Yet, standing here, turning to face the mammoth, with his back to the Stronghold of the North, he was glad they did not sully the King’s tongue. He was glad the world was already forgetting he had had such ties and collars. Glad his name would live larger than that. Truly his ego was off the charts this night.
“Tembovu. Glad to see that burn healed.” Came the reply, more cordial, but also with my sliding edge than the other’s. The massive ruler did not waste time. The statement though causes the gold to raise a brow. In all his travels he never had received a threat like that. It was a level of complexity which not many he encountered were able to muster. A golden ticket was offered, but to take would mean you didn’t board. To deny would mean you were thrown off board. Perhaps this creature was more than met the eye that day on the salt.
Perhaps the golden should have been a bit worried. Maybe he should have taken the hint. And in fact, had it not been offered, it indeed would have been a love card to play. Another strong blast from the north rolls across the sea, bristling the golden’s back. A reminder. Tasseled tail then begins to switch silently back and forth low. “Ah, I’m afraid you wouldn’t want me…” Head tilted, body twisted, and the dull scars, scratched deep in the winter coat, reveal themselves in the moonlight. “…Damaged goods and all.” Perhaps damaged in more ways than one. But he was trying to forget the rosen shadow of the north remember?
He straightens, but the move of shifting his weight agitates it all, and red stained knee buckles slightly as he moves. The weakness is ignored by him of course. “Still, I must say, your security is a bit lacking my friend.” The crowned head tilts slightly, feigning sincerity. Your majesty might have gone over a bit better, but the gold was loathe to call many that. That was a bit unfair though, considering the golden hadn’t done exactly an honest job of getting here. So the stab was more a cheat. Still, the Tembovu didn’t know that.
Did he know how dangerous a game he played? Did he know there was only three feet behind him to cliff edge? Could he not see just how many hands taller the Elephant King was? Well of course he could. The golden had practically invited the threat to him had he not? But, though his heart pulsed tighter and hotter, it was flooded with the intoxicating adrenaline, ego, and testosterone. And it helped that in his hand, or rather his satchel, he held a trump card. Perhaps ending up here had not been his original intention, but golden was rarely caught unawares.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: I'm sorry its so long...my muse has just been running away with me of late.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
04-15-2016, 08:56 PM (This post was last modified: 04-15-2016, 09:07 PM by Arah.)
Arah
"Join us?" Despite the butterflies at seeing Thranduil again, the startled blinks and the immediate suspicion that flooded her system, her voice was calm and steady. Her King's words had burned their way through her ears, almost causing the fuel in the pit of her stomach to be lit. A cool gaze looks over the golden stallion's body with distrust and contempt. The word that circled in her head did not reflect well upon the stallion, traitor. He'd accepted a position as King of The Basin, he'd chosen to lead them and accepted that responsibility. So what the hell was he doing here? Why wasn't he being a patron of the Basin? Leading them to glory throughout the winter, the winter that he'd assured her he would survive. Though it appeared that finally the realisation that what she'd told him, accused him of, assured him of; was true.
Some leader.
Some King.
With a shake of her head she moved beside Tembovu, as she realised it was intimately his decision The doe's words had little weight here, she'd only offer her opinion should Tembovu ask for it. Until that moment she'd simply remain quiet, the one who'd welcomed the golden shadow into the lands of Helovia. Was it ironic? She'd set into motion the events of betrayal and he'd been the trigger?
Or was he not relevant at all, merely the one who'd received her blame? Her hatred. Perhaps he'd been the one, yet who was allowing him to continue having a say in her head? Stirring the pot of her doubt, failures and fury. She was. Arah was the one allowing his poison to continue ruling her head and emotions. Overtime the weed, the poisons black weed that she'd allowed to sprout in her head and soul. That was what poisoned her now, it was not actually Thranduil. He'd stopped having a place in her life so long ago, it was her who'd allowed the weed to continue poisoning her. It was within herself. Blinking she realised that it was her who watered, feed and nurtured the weed. Only she could kill it.
As the realisation hit her she allowed a slight smile to part her chops and she exhaled the poison from her body. There didn't need to be a large, painful and lengthy recovery. Instead as she exhaled the large breath, the silver doe just let it go.
The doe had come here looking for a fresh start, who was she to deny it to him? No matter their past he should be allowed to pledge his case to their King and receive his judgment.
Like she had done.
[[Saw an opportunity for Arah to grow a little, hope you don't mind me jumping in!]]
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
Navy eyes, already hard, tightened at the smirk that played across the golden’s dark lips. It was tempered, but it was visible, and set the King on edge— there was something about this man that made his easy-going manner scarce. Perhaps it was because so much about him reminded the Elephant of those in the Makutano: filled with words of double meaning and and no conviction. Though, at least the stallion’s greeting was cordial. His lips parted to reply—
“Join us?”
A black-rimmed, tautly straining forward, swept to the side, followed by his great skull. Though one of his ears remained trained on the gilded stallion. Surprise smooths some of the tight lines around his eyes and mouth at the appearance of Arah, her words, and the shake of her head. Gaze followed the lovely, graceful steps that bring the ice-crowned woman alongside him. “You know this man?” His low voice rumbled quietly, inquiring after the cold looks she had given Thranduil, once her slender heat had stilled alongside his own. His hide rippled once at her nearness, the rough scars seeking to smooth themselves against the pale, silken coat— but the Laurelin was speaking again.
Dark gaze followed his head twist, looking at the damage he was referring to. “I’m sure you could be repackaged,” he paused, eyes glancing over the sluggishly bleeding wound before returning to the golden’s face, “As I recall, you’re skilled at changing faces.” In any other circumstance, such words from the Elephant would have been laced with amusement. Now they were calm and inflectionless.
Sharply, the King watched the knee buckle as the interloper shifts his weight. Though his stiff body stayed still, rigidly becoming the general he once had been, ignoring the plight of another in the face of intrusion. Though he could not help but feel the slight impulse deep in his chest that wanted to call for Alysanne or Tilney— a Moon Doctor to heal this man.
But the next words cured him entirely of that notion. Only now do his eyes narrow at the outright ruse of sincerity. The Laurelin had guised everything thus far quite well; but these words, this sham, could not be swept aside. “You call it lacking, yet you are backed against sheer cliffs,” the ominous undercurrent in his voice was no longer hidden as he took a half-step towards the man, hulking body a wall between Thranduil and the Edge, “You’ve overstayed your welcome, my friend,” the term was spoken dangerously, “I’ll see you to our borders.”
The scene was escalating, the tension growing to a familiar point for the gold. Oh how he missed that. How he liked to feel the danger rush through its steps, to where chests puff and hips shift with the coming threats. Glutton for punishment perhaps, but more or less he was carried on through the rush of the cool night air’s refreshing breath, and the adrenaline high brought by finally living up to his name. Golden harks hung waiting for some reply, but the fun of the moment was quickly cut short.
A sweet low voice cuts in and the earth eyes shut away for a moment in the flare of irritation. He knew the voice without seeing her step forward. Arah. Their past encounters rushed back to him. But as he readied in those split seconds to feel the hot fires lick his insides are her appearance here, they never rose. To be sure his coat bristled with a little irritation, but no overwhelming blinding ire at her prior humiliations of him came boiling forth. And it made his grin grow all the larger. This was proof, proof he had overcome all the ties that damned his soul and held him back (or so he lied to himself). His smile and earth eyes at last turned to her. “Arah.” He hissed, but then he froze for a moment more.
He takes a step back, and the smile fades. He had never noticed- Did her eyes always glow gold- Tembovu speaks, the gold continues his outward flaunty manner, but it was tainted slightly. Arrested. His mind was now no longer lost in the wilds of a free Helovia, but carried very far away, and very far back. The way the white hairs danced among the tines, and the moonlight danced off the pure body of the swan. It was not Arah he saw when he looked to her.
Tembovu steps forward, and for a moment the trance like thoughts were broken by his instincts screaming with threat. The smile of the gold returns (though faked this time), and he backs again a step, but this time finds no cliff. Now it seems he has been caught in his own ruse. His own words calling any bluff, and his position risking all death. Yet he smiles on.
“Just enjoying the view.” He hissed back innocently, as if there were no danger in walking tightropes. But the elephant king was no longer in the mood to play along. An escort though was never really the gold’s style though. “Ah friend you may know my tricks, but not quite my style.” His eyes glance to Arah, caught in the moment to say some feigned farewell, but her gold gaze breaks his mask again. He turns away without speaking. He looks to Temobvu one last time, already calling forth the deeper secrets within. “Thanks for the offer though.” And he stepped back and was gone.
Well not exactly. He was falling, but he was in bigger trouble than that. Calling forth his own secondary form again, the magic strained every nerve and muscle while he was falling to his death. It wasn’t as easy as it had sounded in his head. Teeth grinded as he pulled with all his might to hurry the transformation as dark shapes below began to appear through the thick mists. His breath hissed as the rushing air screamed in his ears, “Shiii” The it burst forth, dark wings leaping from his sides. It was only just in time, and reality decided to teach the gold that gravity was not to be considered so light. Cloven hooves still clashed onto a rock, and though pounding wings held him off of the reaper’s scythe, his knees still scrapped and then stung with salt water.
Wings picked up the rushing air up the cliffs, and he sailed west till some solid ground at last appeared from the mist and waves. All illusion that he was in control and strong disappeared with the landing as he literally crashed onto the surface of small stones. The bay illusion broke and washed away with more hissed breaths, and his sides heaved with the effort and the still ringing threats of death. But it wasn’t his newly shaved knees that pained him most. Dark earth eyes back east and up the misted cliffs, and a shiver runs down his spine.
You see dear friends, Arah’s appearance had awoken the image of a ghost long held tight behind bars in the dark. Her white coat and crown, and especially those deep gold eyes spoke of a creature long forgotten. Or so the gold had thought. Had he not looked upon Arah even his first moment in this land without a thought to the past? Why now had it awoken again? Shaking his head, the gold moves to rise slowly. Could it be that the walls between the past which he had so carefully tended were being weakened. So much so that ghosts now were allowed to walk alive in front of his eyes? What in gods names had changed it so? Harks fell back in the ill thoughts, but then another cold blast from the north roared down on the bottom of the cliffs. Some fearful thought leapt into the golden’s chest, causing him to look to the mountains again. Hard gaze leveled the mountain peaks, and he turned west again, and limped on in resentment. As his body protested the movements he groaned with another ill thought. He’d never hear the end of it from Haldir.
"talk talk talk"
OOC:: I'm really sorry guys. Really really sorry... I rewrote this so many times and I still don't quite like it...We can call it ended here, but I just wanted to post so its all wrapped up.
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
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