"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.
You were all snuggled up. Warm. Cozy. In a bed of grass that smelled like you and Ma. There were dreams about insects and about elephants, strangely 'nough. And slowly (but surely) the happy dreams faded away and you were clawing your way up through the blanket of sleep to wake up.
Real life, you decided, was not near as interesting as your dream world. You closed your eyes; you tried to remember what you'd been dreaming about. There had been delicate wings... and elephants... maybe the elephants had butterfly wings? Or the butterflies had elephant trunks? You sneezed (the pollen was tickling your nose, 'cause allergy season) and blinked again, slowly but surely honing into reality. An amused smile curled across your lips as you imagined Mbwene with fawning wings. They'd probably be red, you decided. A nice, soft red and russet... with black edges... you shake your head. Mbwene wouldn't want wings. That'd be undignified. With another joyous sneeze, you clamber up onto all fours. Bits of grass and leaf go tumbling, leaving only a few remaining pieces snagged in your feathers. With a final shiver, you decide to go exploring.
You're not sure which way to go at first. The Edge is your home, but you're hopeless with directions and the directions become meaningless when everything is the same. You didn't sleep in the same spot every night. You didn't have a particular place you enjoyed hanging out in. You wandered, saying clumsy hellos to members you passed by, and enjoyed the sun on your back. (It's too bad there wasn't more sun; the Edge was so often wet and cloudy.)
The first thing you find is the glass dragon. With sparkling sunlight diffusing through its solid body and dark, brooding amethyst eyes it strikes an impressive picture. With typical, childish curiosity, you go wobbling up to it, sniffing (first delicately, than carelessly) at its shining wings.
Then (because, don't forget, you are only a foal) you carefully bite down on it. It is unappetizing and your teeth slide off it. A bit of slime dribbles down its wing from where you bit it, but you didn't leave any mark behind. With a slight scowl, you bite it again. Then, with more vigour, you yank at the dragon wing.
The mists that so loved to hug the cliffs were being burned away by the sun that rose and warmed the body of Dacianna, who was leaning on a tree, dozing. The added heat didn’t help for mobilising the young scholar who made an appreciative noise and rested into the tree more, snorting in satisfaction. There was nothing quite like drifting off in a warm cuddle of blissful sun rays. Pity, really, that she couldn’t linger there longer, but time would not dawdle for her and wasting days aggrieved the roan who preferred to spend them at least trying to be productive. So with great reluctance she left the affection of the solid bark and the tempting pull of sleep to go do something with herself. Still, she made her way towards the clearing; not wanting to retreat into the shade, instead her desires lay on the cliff tops and their inspiring views. It was on her way there that another, who appeared to be inspecting an intricate glass dragon, distracted her from her intentions.
“Careful, it might bite back” she called over to the youngster with a playful smile.
He was quite the creature to look at, a golden coat that stuttered into patches with sprouting wings and curling horns, Dacianna thought he would be a fine thing when he grew up. However, if he went around biting dragons he might find one a little less agreeable than the glass statue. “I would not offend a dragon” her bright voice advised when she got a little closer. The Edge seemed to be full of the odd glass features and she wondered if it had anything to do with the Goddess or perhaps it was simply the culture here. Or both. They were pretty to see and especially when the brightness of the sun shone through it.
For a moment she looked around, trying to spot a parent or a guardian, but upon seeing none she turned back to the colt with a gentle grin. The world was huge in the eyes of the young, at least that's what she remembered from being a child and staying by the side of a parent all the time was not always fun. Besides, one often learnt quicker by ones self rather than constantly having a guiding hand. She spared him the chiding; her eyes would watch him for now.
"Who are you, little hero?" she asked with great curiosity as her golden eyes sought his striking blue.
The Elephant rose early, if he slept at all (although, as of late, peaceful slumber had found more often than usual). And, this morning, after dozing parts of the night away while standing watch over his Queen and their son (but not too close of a watch, Elsa did not enjoy his restlessness), he had awoken long before the the sun and slipped into the thick mist on roving legs. He had walked along the border, mentally noting the ares of glass and the areas free from shards. He wove along deer paths, taking heed of where they were. These were mindless tasks, serving merely to pass the time until the rest of the Edge awoke.
Mbwene, however, enjoyed her rest. The small elephant stayed in her nest of dried leaves whenever her bonded went wandering; though she had not yet made movements to rest along with Hawezi and Elsa— because that seemed like leaving her big bonded. So she stayed, alone, curled as a wrinkled ball on crinkled leaves. Alone— just as her Elephant was wandering.
But time passed fluidly and quickly, as it does in mindless solitude, and the sun rose in the sky. Black-rimmed ears perk forward as the sound of crunching snow sinks into their funnels. A gaze cast around him, realizing that he was close to the dragon who watched over the stockpile of shattered glass. Two-toned legs begin to move, he should probably warn whoever was near about the razor-sharp pile he, Anzanie, and Alysanne had stockpiled ages ago.
Navy eyes alight on not one, but two equines— and, truly, he has sights only for the small colt mouthing (biting?) the glass dragon. The colt, his son. An ear flicked towards the gray mare, a glance flashed in her direction, before sweeping to full attention towards the youth. His sharp, brief inspection yielded no bloody, jagged tracks torn by the stockpile of glass.
And so, a grin upon his muzzle, he turned his attention towards the decorated, Riftian mare— though his hooves still carried him closer to the glass dragon and his child. “Dacianna, it is good to see you,” his low voice rumbles in greeting as his head drops, dipping towards Hawezi. He caught the view of slobber upon the wing, “I’m sure your mother isn’t starving you, my son,” his deep roll vibrated with amusement, muzzle reaching to bump his colt’s neck.
04-21-2016, 11:12 AM (This post was last modified: 04-21-2016, 11:13 AM by Orithia.)
ORITHIA
It would be a lie to say that she had gotten any sleep last night.
She had stood between trees, a glowing wraith made of mist and moonlight, watching over the Child Prince as he slept. The pale mare could not say what sort of subconscious urge had caused her to take up this role as guardian, but she was sure that part of her reasoning was due to the newest plainswalker that had joined the World's Edge. She could not trust the mammoth figure, not around desert women, not around the herd youth, and most definitely not around the Child Prince.
So she left her sleep to the day and guarded the slim colt in the night.
As she followed the child about - it was a sort of self-selected protocol for the winged lass to anonymously accompany the prince until a parent or healer discovered him - Orithia noted the birdsong and what seemed to be the gradual lightening of Frostfall. With a sigh, the ivory lass sent a thankful prayer to whatever gods may have been listening; she had never been one for the cold.
While the patterned child bit - or was it an attempt at suckling? - at a glass figurine, Orithia let her head lower and her eyelids droop. It would be another lie to say that she had gotten any sleep within the past two days and as loath as she was to admit it, the mare was becoming slightly delirious from exhaustion. Glancing back at herself, the blushed warrior noted the wilted flowers, the matted lengths of hair, the dinginess of her coat, and pushed out another sigh.
If this was motherhood, the maiden would gladly opt out.
A voice broke the silence, then, decidedly female and decidedly kind. Turning her attention back toward her charge, Orithia's pastel gaze rested upon a relatively familiar figure awash in varying shades of grey. The stranger had been present at herd meetings and her scent was clearly that of the Edge, though Orithia had yet to learn the woman's name. Cocking her head to the side, the Pegasus watched the nameless woman talk to her Child Prince, her demeanor easily recognized as nonthreatening. With a small curl of her lips and a tired nod, the blushed dove relinquished her responsibility from her unknowing charge and turned to leave.
Yet fate seemed to have been hell-bent on keeping her from sleep and hygiene.
Tembovu emerged from the trees and mist, his bulging physique as massive and imposing as ever, yet the light that danced in his cerulean eyes was something that Orithia had yet to see. Beneath her gaze, the Elephant King doted on his child, the warmth and love that so clearly expressed themselves on his primitive features not lost on the mare. With a huff, she stepped clear of her hiding spot, well aware of her bedraggled state but holding her chin high.
"The Prince slept well enough through the night, though with all of his dream-twitching, I would assume he's hungry."
If you guys have any issue with how this panned out (ori being a stalker and all that) let me know and I'll change the post<333 I just couldn't think of any other premise XD
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
It wasn't surprising. You were, in many ways, utterly oblivious. You had little experience with the world you were born into; to you, the entire world was the Edge. There were no deserts, no beaches, no jungles, no summer or spring; there was only the rain and the snow, the mist that rolled in around the trees in the evening, the dragons that slept in branches and the owls that soared in the night. Your life was overwhelmed by your mother, your father, your family, and the warm feeling of safety that came with never having experienced hardship. In other words, you didn't notice Orithia because you didn't need to.
Nobody, not even the horses following you, would cause you harm.
Your teeth click and slide over glass not out of hunger or unmet needs but out of simple (and well-nurtured) curiosity. You tug and pull at what cannot be moved out of boredom—you test and sample the limits of your sad strength. Sunlight glistened and gleamed on your haunches, soft and diffuse rays warmed you down to your bones; the futile tugging was a pleasant way to pass time, you decide, and you continue to work away at the statue.
It was only a few minutes before you were interrupted. Careful, it might bite back!
You whirl, alarmed; when it is only the Philosopher (you don't know her name) you glance back over your shoulder to the statue, giving it a wary and nervous glance. Then, after another moment of thought, you sidle farther away from it. (Just in case, right? She was probably pulling your leg but... on the off-chance she wasn't...)
The blue-gray unicorn drifted closer. You didn't notice she was pretty (you were, after all, just a kid) but you did notice she had a nice sort of a smile, one that put you at ease right away. When she glances around (almost furtively) you lean forward eagerly—hoping for a story, or a secret. Instead she asks you who you are.
You're about to answer when your hero appears. Prompt forgetting Dacianna, you eagerly turn towards Tembovu, a huge grin lighting up your face. You prance towards him, butt wiggling like a dog wagging its tail, reaching out to brush your nose against his. "Dad," you proclaim eagerly; "I have new friend." You turn back towards Dacianna.
"'I 'wezi" you tell her politely. "Hawezi. And you are Daci?"
Then lastly Orithia steps out, her soft white wings folded. You glance between the three of them, still situated by Tembovu's head; you want to touch them all, rub your head against theirs and press up against their bodies in warm hugs, but you don't really know who to go to first. So instead you linger by Tembovu, unwilling to move away just yet.
She laughed as the young hero whirled around to her voice; it was light and full of mirth as he glanced back to the frozen dragon with a little more caution. Perhaps her teasing had put a doubt in his mind, but maybe one day he might come across a real dragon who might not appreciate being nibbled on. The scholar was waiting for the colt to reply when a familiar scent alerted her attention to the approaching mammoth that was Tembovu. She catches his brief glance with a gentle dip of her head, though he appeared more intent on the boy before he, the monarch, returned his attention to his Philospher who smiled as he carried on closer to the dragon nibbler.
“You too, Tembovu” she greeted the King with kind sincerity.
It was then that the simple puzzle fell together as one answered dad and the other, my son; not a hero, but a Prince. She could see a little of the resemblance now she could compare the two, the horn and the odd colouring. Dacianna wondered if the King had other offspring or whether this, ’Wezi, was his sole heir. Did that mean his mother was the Queen?
“Mmhmm,” she nods to the colts name query before continuing “I should have known only a Prince would battle a dragon” she smiled.
Another entered their conversation then, one Dacianna had not seen lingering in the backround despite how beautifully her long legs carried her pretty pastel body. Flowers were adorned in long mane that was braided in places and she was, like most it seemed, taller than the stocky blue roan who paled in her beauty. Dacianna thought she looked like one of those pretty Princesses she had heard about in fairy stories, despite her looking rather bedraggled. Dacianna had never seen her to look closely at, only recognising her from the previous meeting where there were so many different horses to see and try remember. The roan hadn’t quite realised just how big the Edge was in terms of population.
Catching herself staring, the scholar quickly greeted the girl with a grin “do you watch him regulary?” she asked. Perhaps she was his guardian of some sort.
A small, lopsided smile crossed the father’s muzzle as his son’s maw brushed against his own. A short inhale— breathing in the scent of foal and his son, so miraculously alive— before his attention shifted to the gold-draped roan, amusement dancing through his plains-marked face as she addressed this as a ’Prince’ for fighting the dragon.
Approval flashed in his dark blue eyes as his son introduced himself, though he can see him waver towards the woman despite remaining alongside the Elephant. Before the King can urge his son forward, another materialized from the mists. Surprise flings his head up— how had he missed another when so close to his son? He supposed his attention had wholly been absorbed by inspecting his son for injuries…
Brows raise at the haggard appearance of Orithia. Gaze finds her wilted flowers, matted mane, and lines of exhaustion on her usually proud frame. His great head cocked slightly, ears swinging forward to hear report of his son’s sleeping. A mild concern and confusion drew a crease in his brow, “Though you did not sleep well, njiwa?” His name for the desert’s dove slipped easily from his lips, eyes watching the warrior’s worn face.
Slowly, his head swung to Dacianna as the lovely roan asked after Orithia’s report. Indeed, the King had seen flashes of blushed cream hovering around his child whenever he was near. And though most might find such watchful devotion unnerving, the Elephant found a peace of mind in knowing that his son would be protected.
Finding a dead child altered perceptions and priorities.
So he merely waiting for the dove to answer the question, introductions slipping his mind, as he dropped his head once again to nudge Hawezi towards the scholar, “You may say go to her, Wezi,” he rumbled quietly.
Beautiful as cherry blossoms, strong as iron, sharp as folded steel. There was no gown of scarlet gracing her features, but the rusted stain of dried blood and the cooling carrion scent of her victories would cause her soul to blush with truth. The woman was a warrior and a maker of widows, all sharp edges and luscious curves coupled with the promise of sleep eternal. Within her a monster lived, ancient as the earth and immortal as the skies, and with each breath the lines between the mare and that beast blurred evermore, giving life to the notion that she was becoming less of herself.
There was fear there, too; yet another creature living inside of her, wriggling out a home at the base of the lass' skull and placing horrors heavy as stones upon her heart. In the night, in the twilight moments that existed between the planes of sleeping and waking, it whispered truths too massive to bear. "Maybe," it cooed into her dreams, "Maybe it is not that you are becoming less of yourself and more of a monster." She would feel it's grin as it brought her nightmares to life with a voice like a thousand serpents, "Maybe it is that you truly are a monster and are finally succumbing to your calling."
So the birth of the Boy Prince had been a blessing, an excuse to refuse sleep in the name of something purposeful.
And toward the child she had felt gratitude.
Yet as the nights stretched on, multiplied and stacked upon one another in blurred stream, Orithia's gratitude had transformed into something different. Something more.
Pastel eyes, hooded and heavy from exhaustion, softened as they rested upon the lanky Princeling - as she continued to deny herself and her heart. To watch the child grow and develop day after day, viewing the world through eyes glowing with the wonder of curiosity; so like his father, so like his mother, so like the joyous infant she had once been. It was nearly blasphemy, wasn't it? To adore the son of another as if he was her own? To feel the stirrings of happiness in her belly each time the boy discovered something new? To refuse sleep, food, hygiene, anything and everything, if only to witness the beauty that he bled into the world with every beat of that golden heart?
To love this child with a devotion borne upon the tides of a motherhood that was not hers to have.
A step was taken toward the boy, the babe she yearned to touch, to hold and comfort and let bloom beneath the sunshine of her smile, but the reverie was broken by the voice of another. Blinking rapidly, the mare jerked her head toward the roaned form of Dacianna, the echoes of her question taking a moment to pierce the thick veil of inattention. A tiny, hesitant smile sprung to Orithia's lips at the kindly priestesses' query, "Yes, every moment I can spare I guard him," voice even, the pale mare found her eyes wandering back toward the Child Prince, words tinged with the slightest emotion as she continued, "I have seen what this land does to it's youth and I want him to have a chance it his innocence. I want to let him experience the world through eyes filled with wonder, not pain." Never Pain.
The pastel lass would have said more, would have asked the stormcloud mare if she could teach her some stories to tell their young heir, but the comforting baritone of Tembovu drew her away. Invisible brows raised, Orithia noted the crease of concern and the faintest echo of worry gracing the behemoth's features. Licking her lips and rolling her shoulders in a poor semblance of a shrug, the blushed dove gave her reply in the form of a noncommittal mumble and a pointed lack of eye contact. She knew that for better or for worse, the towering King of World's Edge would notice the way her eyelids drooped and how her steps dragged, but for her Elephant, her sovereign, her dearest friend in all the world, she refused to acknowledge it.
She refused to be yet another item on his list of things to worry about.
Turning to attention back toward the tiny ball of laughter and light that had given the battered, ugly heart within her chest meaning, the ivory lass gave a grin.
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