"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 warmest wind he had yet felt rushed over his scarred hide. The salty brine felt refreshing rather than frigid, much to the giant’s relief. Though this past Frostfall had been temperate compared the previous year (and the plains-borne stallion was better prepared for the cold), he still met the end of the frozen season with cheer.
And so, it was with an easy, lopsided smile, that the Elephant King stood atop the cliffs. Down he looked, navy gaze studying the Endless Blue’s sandy shores that stretched out the west. Flared nostrils intermittently caught a faint whiff of the Secret Grove, between the gusts of sea breeze. He was at the southernmost border of the Edge’s Cliffs, calmly enjoying the warmth of the new season.
Though Birdsong meant many things, the most prominent in his mind was a stocky mare who had befriended not only Mauja, but also himself. The bold, unique woman had asked for shelter through Frostfall— but now that long season had come to an end. Thoughtful eyes roved the distant beaches; would she stay? His thoughts turned towards their last conversation on these cliffs. Had she settled her friendship (relations?) with the Frozen Light?
Ears tilted back for a moment, eyes clouding. If she had done so, then she was better off than he. A low, whining trumpet distracted him from such a train of thought— Mbwene’s trunk was twining and untwining around his foreleg, bright blue eyes searching for his own. With a nervousness that was uncharacteristic of her, the small elephant calf shifted on her four, round feet. She knew he was about to call for Roskuld, and with the Sparklight would come Chico…
She hadn’t seen the energetic rougarou since their time on the cliffs; and that had been tumultuous for the little elephant. She had pushed the furry, lively creature away, annoyed with his pomp and pride. But now… feeling of yearning and missing flowed from the calf to the stallion.
He understood. He would miss the brassy mare, when she left the Edge. If she left the Edge. His offer of residency still stood. He sighed, long and low, before turning to trumpet over the land, “Roskuld! Birdsong has come!” Quietly, he waited for the Sparklight.
05-15-2016, 02:24 PM (This post was last modified: 05-15-2016, 02:27 PM by Roskuld.)
Okay let’s redo this—
It was definitely spring now, it had to be goddammit. It had taken way too long to get here but here it was, all balmy and new, warm without being too warm, as though it were still deciding whether or not it wanted to be spring yet. And me and Chic were saying NO FUCK THAT you better turn your shit around, weather, or we were coming up there to wreck your shit. Yes. We were threatening to fight the weather. We would find a way.
But the birds kept chirping and the wind stayed balmy and there were little green shoots crawling up in places and yeah, I guess the spring was really trying to stay this time. Word. I donned Sparkmarrow again and we left our nesting spot again and it was basically like last time except for one, important twist.
“Roskuld! Birdsong has come!”
I wasn’t able to run away like I wanted to.
And for some reason knowing that—and hearing Temb’s booming voice calling for me—it…I dunno man. I smiled cuz there was something really big and warm rushing up and I was glad I had to face him. That there was nothing to stop me, nothing to convince me it was better to just disappear. I didn’t have to rustle up the strength for a meeting—I wasn’t faced with something disappointing. I’m not sure what I’m trying to explain, honestly, I’m just…I dunno. I was happy. And sad.
Unexpectedly, cripplingly sad.
Chico blasted forward, rushing passed me and blowing up on the scene way before I got there. He beat his wings, furiously flying forward until his target was sighted: the little elephant at Tembovu’s feet. He roared at her from the maw of a weird lion thing, zooming down to the ground and zpzk!ing into a fluffy ball of excitement and happy to see you. He rushed toward, little stubby legs taking him toward Mbwene (got her name right finally huh) for one last, gigantic cuddle.
I followed not long after—my face stretched in a really awkward, uncertain sort of grin as I spotted Tembovu. I stood a little ways away, Sparkmarrow glimmering conspicuously on my shoulder. I ain’t sure if he’s ever seen my piece before this moment. “Yo,” I called back to him in greeting. But then I fumbled after that, not really knowing what else to say. We both know why he called me, we both know why I was here.
“So uh…yeah,” I said with a (glittering) shrug. The words in my throat dried up into dust; I bit my lip.
talk
Like stars burning holes right through the dark
Flicking fire like saltwater into my eyes</style>
My thoughts are the cold kind,
I've got storm clouds brewing behind my eyes
She had been looking for work. An unusual pastime for a teenager, because everyone knew that teens of all species preferred to laze about, drag their feet and make a big deal of doing nothing. But, well, Erthë had to admit that she wasn't really average when compared to the rest of the young that littered about the Edge. For one, she was less than thrilled that birdsong finally had arrived in earnest. With the warm southern breeze came dry air, high blue skies and glaring sunlight, conditions that created excellent flight weather but left an ice-blooded girl suffering during the day. Heat did not become her, nor did the intense sunlight; her nose burned and flaked, her head felt heavy and no matter how often she bathed she had the unpleasant sensation of being sweaty.
For the second, she was unusually interested in the day to day management of the herd in general, and the machinations of ruling in particular. Watching and listening had made Erthë realize that there was more to a herd than gathering wayward souls in one place. Keeping that many wills and voices together and united in one general direction was, she discovered, not an easy feat. How Tembovu and Elsa managed this was a curious thing, as interesting a skill as Alune's mystic prayers and Evangeline's healing, as foreign to her as the glaziers ability to mold mist into glass.
Yet, she wished to learn. The ability to mold the hearts and souls of others, the skill to temper their anger and direct their energies to tasks in need of doing - she desired them all for herself, craved the kind of respect she saw in eyes and heard in voices and discovered within herself as she deferred to the rulers of the Edge. But in order to gain these skills, she would have to be in a position to watch and listen and mimic, and the easiest way to do this would no doubt be to run errands. Learn the structure of the daily life, the filly theorized, learn what is important and what can wait, learn of the souls that dwell within the homeland, and she might discover a clue to the ways of leading them.
She sought out Tembovu, and smiled as she found his towering form on the southern side of the cliffs. More often than not, she had discovered, their interactions took place near the sea, and if not there then along some other stretch of the border. If she was one to judge her friend was a good king, active and interested in who came and went, and while he was not exactly predictable Erthë thought it easy enough to find him when there was a need.
Spying him alone with little Mbwene, Erthë was nearly close enough to extend a greeting when the Elephant King called out himself, a summon meant for someone that wasn't her. Erthë hesitated, unsure whether she ought to withdraw or wait - but the person that appeared made her gape in surprise.
It was the black and white mare, that stocky stranger whom Erthë recognized but hadn't dared speak to before. The Sparklight, godslayer, hero of a battle that had burned itself into the pale child's memory so utterly that details remained vivid even after all this time.
Burning with curiosity the winged filly looked between Tembovu and this Roskuld person, loathe to approach but even less willing to leave. What was going on? What about it being Birdsong... and what was up with this stand-offish meeting between the two, as if they were on the brink of hugging or fighting or jumping off the cliff together?
Steeling herself, prepared to face harsh words and disapproval and worse, the girl inched closer. She wanted to hear what was being said, but she had no excuse for being there and nothing to hide behind. Eavesdropping was not an option - all she could hope for was to pick up snippets here and there until Tembovu tired of her presence or it grew apparent that it was not, in fact, a private conversation.
Sighing impatiently to herself Erthë wished for a way to become invisible. Life would be so much easier, so much more pleasant without all these roundabout considerations of feelings.
Erthë
And my heart will be blacker than your eyes
when I'm through with you
Ears fly forward as a sudden roaring, flapping, furry mass bursts onto the cliffs. Massive body tenses, hooves biting into the soil that loosely clung to the white precipices, preparing for an attack to accompany the commotion and noise— but none came. And, instead of hunkering down or retreating beneath his barrel, Mbwene was trumpeting and surging forward, towards the raucous thing.
Squiting, confused eyes just barely catch the zpzk! from winged lion to furry skunk. Mbwene’s trunk was already fisting in his black and white fur, stroking the softness, before yanking her Chico closer into a miniature elephantine hug. Her trunk ran all over him, ensuring he was still whole and intact (and entirely not searching for any ticklish areas).
The King grinned at the greeting, glad to see Mbwene’s uncharacteristic anxiety appeased. Though something else caught his eye. Something leggy, slender, and white. Heavy head swivels, navy eyes finding the yearling body of the ever-curious Erthe hovering nearby. His grin grew to a smile, head dipping to say hello to the filly he considered a daughter. It was strange how quickly the sadness in his chest was replaced with happiness; before being a father, sadness has clung to him. It had sunk her talons into his chest, gnashing hungry teeth alongside his demons as it awaited for night, loneliness, or any moment of weakness before pouncing.
But now, his grin came easy and his eyes grew light. At least, until a “Yo” broke the quiet breezes on the cliffs. His smile faded to a lopsided grin, “Hello, Ros,” his low rumble was returned her ever-unique greeting.
Navy eyes watch her, taking in her weapon as it glittered to draw his attention to her awkward shrug. He didn’t recall seeing it before, and at seeing her teeth worry her dark lip, he motioned his thick horn towards it, “I don’t remember seeing your sword before. It is an impressive weapon,” his words, like the grin that accompanied them, were genuine.
He sighed, then, releasing the tension that had banded his withers at Chico’s approach. His navy eyes flicked once to Erthe, wondering what the growing, audacious filly would think of this before continuing, “Ros, the end of Frostfall brings the end of your refuge in the Edge,” he began, his eyes darkening, “But, I’ve been glad to see you in my herd— our herd. I cannot speak for everyone,” his inflection hinted at one person in particular: Mauja, “But I know that I will miss you, as will many within the Edge, if you choose to leave us.”
His gaze drops to the entwined companions— so odd a pair. But blissfully happy in their embrace, “And I do not think Mbwene will forgive you,” his grin grew to a chuckle as he spoke, motioning towards the elephant calf in question.
Had they found peace, the Elephant King and the Frozen Light? Had they made amends? Had whatever fragile bond which had begun to pull them together again lasted? Mauja knew that he hadn't been easy—he had never been easy, always a trial to be near him—and that he had, once again, become a ghost. Hours had turned to days had turned to weeks and still he had lingered in the fog like the frost-wraith he had once been. Once had he run across Tembovu since the end of that meeting (—and thinking about it is like a stab going through his heart, a cold lurch, dark claws and guilt, guilt, guilt), and ...
It was something best left untold. Unthought of. He only needed the point of it: it had been a long, long time since that day, and a long, long time since the cursed words had slipped unbidden out of Mauja's mouth, and he was tired now. Tired of running. Tired of barely existing beyond the flighty beat of his heart. Tired of being scared.
But even coming to that point left him more exhausted than he had been when it began; the world was blurry in the sunlight, his pulse a rapid, shallow thing fluttering beneath his skin. No more, he whispered in his mind, no more, but even as he stumbled a little he knew that it was far too late. He should've made amends before it went this far. He didn't care anymore, but it wasn't true—he just didn't have the energy to feel it any more.
Still, it was somewhat of a relief, respite from the towering, black tide threatening to crash down upon him and sweep him away. He took his blessings with his curses and stumbled on.
“Roskuld! Birdsong has come!”
Oh, yeah, because, you know—while you were busy begging for death and going out of your mind, Elding came here, and she's still here, and you don't know why. Idiot. You're not even supposed to know her name, but you do, because her Ma told you, while threatening you to keep yourself to yourself.
For a moment Ophelia shone in his mind, as she had been so long ago—pristine, her white coat cold to look at, her red fringes like a spatter of blood, also cold. Her voice had been cold, too, her judgment icy and pure and as rational as the sharp edge of a knife. And as Mauja pressed his blue eyes shut his heart ached for what had been, and what could've been, a future (and a love) he had bled out over his chest as he cut his own throat.
It was an old pain. Decisions had been made, for better or for worse, and hearts had been hurt. He swallowed. He couldn't turn back time, go back to that point and pick up where they'd left off—they had both changed, irrevocably, and what they had become...
No point thinking about it.
But it had been a long, long time since he had.
The crystal staff was slung over his back, as usual, and the owls went on ahead to listen in as Mauja picked up his pace, knees and thighs aching with exhaustion, and answered a summons which was not his. But it was important all the same, because—
Because he had no idea—
So he ran, a fleet-footed ghost sweeping through thin spring mist and sometimes making the most irrational of choices, like breaking out from the trees by ruining his rather graceful leap over a stand of bushes by stumbling in the landing. Rugged, ragged, still thin, he caught his balance before he had the opportunity to somersault. He blinked sluggishly, drank in the scene as he kept moving at a dogged trot. There was Erthë, all a-glitter in the sunlight, and there was Tembovu, looking rather happy (shitshitshit) and there was Roskuld Elding, and the elephant cuddling some skunk he knew was Chico, and—
—and there was Mauja, slowing to a walk, sides heaving more than they should've, and his black nostrils were wide as he carelessly heaved his heavy head across Elding's back and whispered, "Stay,".
[ look at this piece of shit table, it's so old it's actually a *table* and not a div XD Though this image is still like, *the* Mauja image to me... @Roskuld@Tembovu ]
stone cold, man or machine, the end of our dreams.
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