"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.
06-27-2016, 01:09 AM (This post was last modified: 06-27-2016, 01:11 AM by Pythia.)
the red on my lips isn't wine
of an entire kingdom he kneels only to me, calls me queen and calls me mercy
the two of you have been walking for what feels like years.
your father did more traveling than you; singing, laughing, gathering stories along the way. the only thing you've done is found lothario, this lonely stag - with a withered face full of gray hairs and a smile that outshines the sun. you glance at him for a moment, the thought on your tongue as you begin to tell him.
"do you remember helen, mi amore?" he grunts in response. "they say she was so beautiful that she made men go to war and die for her love." his antlers shake. "non sei helen." you feign a fake gasp, the intake of breath rattling your lungs as you laugh. "for shame, lothario! you break my tender heart."
the forest looms above you, just ahead, just out of reach. lothario nudges you forward, his antlers pressing against your flesh gently. like a caress, a woeful reminder, before your soft voice reaches out to soothe him. "i'm going, caro." he is met with a laugh, a soft giggle on your parched lips. "paroline dolci, mi promettono." the deer rumbles with a festering glare, and it only makes you laugh harder.
"i would want to be loved like helen," you hum absently, stepping forward through the threshold and venturing into the forests depths. trees loom above you, high and mighty, like sentinels to their great land. you thinks of heimdall, gatekeeper and warrior; sworn to protect his world from disaster and foes. "have you ever loved, tesoro?" you are met with an ushering silence.
you turn to look behind you, calling out "lothario?" as you do, only to find there is no one to call to. there aren't even footprints in his wake. and you cry out suddenly, the name dripping on your lips like blood. murder. blasphemy. "lothario!" he would never leave you, that much you are sure of, but he is nowhere to be found. panic ruptures in the rasp of your throat as you meekly murmur, "mi amore?"
you are frozen still, hoping that this is all some great prank that he would play on you. for some reason, you know that today was the last you've seen of him.
Gimme a home among the gum trees…
With lots of plum trees…”
Aside from the jovial melody bursting forth from the powerful lungs of the outlandish creature (surprisingly in-tune for a sound so loud), the old threshold forest was more or less at peace. Little did he know that the lull in warbling wildlife had been caused too by the wandering hooves of another, a stranger nearby, as well as himself - though he felt rather a part of the woodwork these days and was sure the birds thought him to be no threat at all.
Thick lashes were sealed tightly together around the gloss of his twin, leafy-green eyes; there was no chance of Banjo seeing her, no matter the number of trees between. The echo of his performance, lean barrel propped well back, high above the sturdy curve of his long muscular tail, filled the shadowy caverns of each long wobbly ear; there was no chance of him hearing the exotic nature of her eloquent tongue (so unlike his own).
“A sheep or two, or a kangaroo…”
But the sound of her final call, suddenly brighter and more demanding, did catch his notice, and mid-song the cheerful buck paused to listen. With his unusual face tilted a little to the left (ever the posture of intrigue), he strained against the heavy silence, waiting for something else - anything to betray her whereabouts.
“COOEE!” he called out minutes later, yet only the disgruntled skitter of paws or claws or something through litter, seemed to answer. “Who goes there!?” he posed, chuckling, mimicking the sound of those who he had so far met along his Helovian journey. But the question was probably to quiet, dulled deliberately for the sake of his entertainment alone, as leathery hands plopped down heavily to the earth.
Banjo walked (his special variation anyway), slowly between the vast labyrinth of trees and by some luck came upon the position of someone else. Whether or not it was the owner of the call he couldn’t have been certain, but as their silhouette grew into the elegant figure of a crimson-brown sheila, he smiled widely.
Any company was good company, right?
“G’day there!” he offered across the space remaining - softer than he would normally have, for the last time he approached someone they set a rack of tree-like antler down in a most unfriendly greeting. It was the first, and hopefully the last time he made that mistake. This time, the quirky horsaroo waited for the stranger to take the bait and invite him over!
Plots | The Unbound | Absences I run just like this!
Please tag me in openers and spars.
Feel free to flog n magic me, mild power play is also fine.
Text in the profile and posts reflects stereotypical ocker slang - don’t knock it mate!
So—uhm. There was that thing about the Threshold. And not just how it seemed a lot of vagabonds had some kind of internal compass pointing unerringly at Helovia (heck, he'd done the same thing). That was, in some backwards sense, normal. Like, who wouldn't want to live here, and have their heart torn out and spat upon? Because that was what happened in Helovia, sooner or later.
Then again, some came from worse, and Mauja wouldn't blame anyone for taking second chances, or trying to start over. Rebuild in the ashes, in the ruins of their past, to overcome.
No. The strangest thing about the Threshold was how it seemed to exacerbate everything, almost as if the very air itself contained some kind of magical amplifier. Everything just ended up getting fucked up in one way or another. Nice people were nicer than usual. Fake people faked better. Cheeky people were cheekier. Flirtatious people turned into whores. And sad people?
Sad people cried.
And still, in the selfish quest for new blood, for swelling the ranks of their herds with untested, un-trialed newcomers, they flocked like vultures to a carcass, pecking and hoping to pick them up before another herd. Perhaps it was flattering to be contested for in such a manner, but coupled with that amplification of traits? And the difference in backstories? It could make for very, very strange encounters.
Like, having some distant soul blare out an unfamiliar song. Mauja's ears flickered uncertainly upon his head. He didn't know how he felt about that. It was—uhm, anything that wasn't smooth and streamlined like soft serve ice cream had a tendency to disturb him. And lately, he didn't know if he was truly irritated with anyone who dared make some noise, or if he was just envious.
"Lothario!" someone screamed, and the song got cut off like someone had stepped on his artery. Those black-rimmed flickering ears glued themselves in the direction of the scream, and before he had contemplated what he was doing he was trotting through the forest, wiggling his way down well-traveled, sometimes narrow, paths. And he couldn't help but think of Myrrine, and Katerina, both of who had come here through portals, forever stripped of their ability to go home—
And the Rifts opened, and the lost souls spilling out into the mayhem and chaos of battle—
But what he found was a mare, an achingly familiar shade of blood red bay, not-quite-a-skull mask of white upon her face, and slim legs painted in the same shade. His eyes rolled over her, lungs heaving as he sampled the air; no blood. And, there, there was—uh, right, what was that? It stood on four legs, it had a head like a horse, a neck like a horse, a body like a horse, proportions like a horse, and the unnaturally big ears were the least crazy thing about it. The thing's legs were all wrong, and his tail looked like his ass had tried to grow a second neck but then either failed or thought better of it.
Still—who was he to judge? No one, no one. Disparaging as his mental commentary's word choice had been, he felt no actual dislike towards the not-quite-horse creature, just a mild bewilderment, for he didn't even understand what the not-horse parts resembled. Politely, his ears swept forward, blue eyes displaying little but openness and curiosity as he dipped his head in greeting to Hlutur (it somehow sounded nicer if it was in another language, even if it was all in his head) and the mare, whom he assumed was the source of the distressed call. "Greetings," he said, softly, gently, as if he tried to rope the sunlight into his words and dispel the shadows. "Welcome to Helovia. I am Mauja."
[ @Pythia | Just a friendly reminder we're not allowed to change font color of a post without having a set background color, too. :D ]
there is a darkness in the forest that just feels so lonely. what took you here, you think? what compelled you to walk through these gates and lose the only friend you truly loved? there is a heaviness in the air like its about to rain, and you think dismally that it would be appropriate: nothing could really get worse.
except, well, it could.
there is a jovial sound that bounces off the trees and surrounds you, a lone figure trapped in stranger territory. "a sheep or two, or a kangaroo.." you shy away at first, determined to hide yourself from any manner of danger that could possibly come at you. "cooeee... who goes there?!?" there is a cringe you didn't know would pass across your features, but you look in the direction of the voice anyway.
what is that?
the animal before you is tall, saturated from head to toe in a tawny coat. it's face and body resemble that of a horse, but the legs are wrong.. all wrong, and you guffaw at it's claws. "h-hello." you stutter fitfully, and for once you are actually scared. where have you stumbled on, that creatures mutate and shift like they know no boundaries of biology? "i don't mean to be rude, sir, but what are you?"
"greetings... welcome to helovia. i am mauja." your attention shifts to the direction of the second voice, the softness of his words distracting you from your momentary curiosity. there is a thought that crosses your mind briefly, as you stare wide eyed, that perhaps you look ridiculous to them: plain, blood red. you have no horn on your brow, or outstanding features. but this mythical creatures (fairytales you had thought, just books or tales spun over time). but everything had some ounce of truth, you would guess. "i am pythia." you offer them both your name. as if they wouldn't accept it for truth, and you would be stranded at the mercy of their care. "what is this place?" it has to be more than just a name.
As the sound of the forest surrounding began to resume, paused long enough only to study the creature who called so peculiarly trough their midst, the female with the pelt of almost crimson glanced his way; naturally, and like many before her, she stared - first and foremost. There wasn’t the slightest hint of relief on her dainty-like features, bold-white which stuck out from the rest of her like a shag on a rock. In fact, when she spoke (or stuttered, in truth), the sound quickly proved his theory surrounding her apprehension. Banjo sighed heavily. It wasn’t like horses with wings or the same with spikes - or both, were any less strange, intimidating… Nevertheless, that was the reaction she’d rewarded his friendly, polite gesture, and after a moment of bother, the quirky buck shed his dismay.
First and foremost, “The names Banj, matey…” The tone was always pleasant, cheerful, though he took a long breath after and waited on the spot initially arrived upon - despite the very best intentions (and perhaps over expectation?), the pretty lady had failed to invited him forward. “…a horsaroo. It’s a long story.” And apparently one that hadn't the time to be told any time soon. While he lingered on, awkwardly, from a distance, a second horse appeared.
The new bloke was as white as her face (save for a few homely stains) and spotty like the colours of the night sky in reverse. He snatched her attention instantly, and really, Banjo was more than grateful for the distraction - it prompted his wilting smile to strengthen suddenly, obviously. Rather more amicably than the first, the stallion offered greeting and the bronze buck gave the same in return. So tender seemed the voice that escaped Spotty’s lips afterwards, that the unsuspecting horsaroo nearly vomited; the other looked burly, big, and the sharp blue stick his brow wielded only served to compliment that image.
It seemed though that he wasn’t quite her cup of tea either.
Her eyes opened so wide upon him that Banjo wondered silently, nervously, if they might come loose in that moment and fall plop, plop! to the ground. It would save her the same reaction repeating endlessly as she wandered this wilderness anyway… Both gave their names, which was nice, productive, and the buck followed suit, offering his again should Mauja have missed it the first time. “Banjo.” Switching focus back to their feminine company, he continued with some empathy, “You’re standin in the threshold, a forest on the brink of Helovia.” It was actually the first time he’d been given the chance to run that line (it had been used by ‘veterans’ in almost every other meet and greet he’d been involved in here, so far; consequently he shifted eyes by the other male, even the tiniest glint of pride playing through his expression.
But they was all he could remember of that introductory spiel, so he handed the microphone over graciously.
Plots | The Unbound | Absences I run just like this!
Please tag me in openers and spars.
Feel free to flog n magic me, mild power play is also fine.
Text in the profile and posts reflects stereotypical ocker slang - don’t knock it mate!
He couldn't help but be the way he was, though making others vomit certainly wasn't on his agenda—so perhaps it was fortunate for his easily confused mind that the horsaroo kept the contents of his stomach to himself.
Blissfully unaware of the contrasting image he was presenting in Hlutur's mind (Banjo, you idiot, Banjo—) he let most of his attention linger on Pythia. Once, he would have chided himself for such a thing, for so blatantly narrowing the scope of his world to such slimness.
But some days, these days, he simply didn't have the energy to care about everything. He listened, he thought, he watched, he saw, but after a mere few hours of patrolling the Threshold his mind turned sluggish and even the most simple logic eluded him unless he thought really hard about it. Just because his gaze lingered on Pythia didn't mean he wanted to shut the rest of his company out; he was just trying to save his own sanity. He couldn't be who he had been anymore.
He had to.. well, make do with what he had. Be who he could be, without breaking under the pressure of the world .. under the pressure of himself.
Banjo answered her question, though what kind of question it was—and what kind of answer—he didn't really know. What is this place—what place? And is this just the threshold, or is it something more? Was it what she wanted to know? His gaze had drifted onto the quirky horsaroo, and, absent-mindedly, he nodded. "Helovia is.. a vast, magical land, split into four kingdoms, with wild lands in between. I represent the World's Edge. The others are the Aurora Basin, the Hidden Falls, and the Dragon's Throat." He shrugged slightly, white tail flicking once. "What brings you here, Pythia?"
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