"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.
I got bored and found this background while surfing some pictures on flickr.
Since I don't really think it fits Zya or Ryouta, whoever wants it can have. First come first serve - I'll add a name/quote for the first person who claims it.
The air quickly turns into something far more playful than it had been in the Threshold. Likely, the removal of the giant chip from my shoulder had everything to do with this turn of events. Ashamin himself seemed like a kind soul, willing to put up with and aid someone as callous and brutish as myself. Instead of thanking him directly, my praise comes in the form of a shift in attitude.
After all, being around too many people tends to make me anxious like a caged animal. It had been that way for many years now, and normally the anxiety made me lash out at undeserving folks.
Well, some of them surely had been deserving.
"A comedian, I see," is my response to his description of our journey here. The tone isn't hostile, but strangely flat in the rather lighthearted air. Maybe I am just tired from my wound; maybe I am just tired of life.
His next monologue would have driven someone else to attempt to comfort the painted brute, probably. Instead, I watch him with mismatched eyes and a blank expression. The words seemed strangely downtrodden for a soul like this painted man. Even though I had just met Ashamin, he seemed unlikely to fall prey to self-loathing and doubt. Whatever happened in his past, I could not see, but had I been able to, I would relate well to the imagery of blood. Even standing here, in front of a large river of ruby painted water, made me feel this whole situation was ironic. I am not stranger to bloodshed. I have never shed a tear for the wounds I inflicted, the lives I took. I never felt anything except a strange version of relief.
Now, looking into the pool which reminds me of my past, I feel a little queasy about my past life. Maybe I really have died, and instead of heaven, I have arrived at some bizarre intermission.
I certainly don't feel like myself.
"I wouldn't dwell on it so much," I offer, though I make no attempt to clarify why.
Like I said, I'm not trying to comfort him.
When the painted stallion's face returns to a stoic calm, I sense that my healer is coming. Whatever connection Ashamin had to his companions, as he called them, it must be strong, for he draws back up into himself, leaving none of the painful expressions on his features. Something stirs in me then, like I feel strangely connected to this stallion who doesn't even know my fucking name. Maybe my anonymity offered him a stage to air his inner thoughts, or maybe my devil may care attitude. Whatever it is, I am confused.
I don't want people relying on me. I cannot be relied on. I am a failure, more than he would ever guess.
From the shadows of the trees arrives another stallion, long and angled strangely. His limbs flow much like Ashamin's awkward tail, and I find myself wanting to laugh at the odd appearance and amble of his gait. I do not, maybe because I am tired, but an amused smile does flash across my lips for the briefest of moments.
A bundle of herbs falls near my hooves, and I feel relieved the white stallion does not ask me to chew his wood, like Lyanna had.
"Ryouta," my name extends in return for the healer's - Seanan, and though I am speaking to the tall skeletal man, my eyes focus primarily on Ashamin. Perhaps, I am trying to make up for my terrible attitude later, but I felt that I owed the Clovenheart my name, at least. "Yes, feel free to do whatever you need. Arigatou."
I extend my wing back to reveal the jagged line sweeping from my shoulder to my barrel, my eyes turning back toward the pool of blood. "Let me know if you need me to move or do anything to make it easier."
The air quickly turns into something far more playful than it had been in the Threshold. Likely, the removal of the giant chip from my shoulder had everything to do with this turn of events. Ashamin himself seemed like a kind soul, willing to put up with and aid someone as callous and brutish as myself. Instead of thanking him directly, my praise comes in the form of a shift in attitude.
After all, being around too many people tends to make me anxious like a caged animal. It had been that way for many years now, and normally the anxiety made me lash out at undeserving folks.
Well, some of them surely had been deserving.
"A comedian, I see," is my response to his description of our journey here. The tone isn't hostile, but strangely flat in the rather lighthearted air. Maybe I am just tired from my wound; maybe I am just tired of life.
His next monologue would have driven someone else to attempt to comfort the painted brute, probably. Instead, I watch him with mismatched eyes and a blank expression. The words seemed strangely downtrodden for a soul like this painted man. Even though I had just met Ashamin, he seemed unlikely to fall prey to self-loathing and doubt. Whatever happened in his past, I could not see, but had I been able to, I would relate well to the imagery of blood. Even standing here, in front of a large river of ruby painted water, made me feel this whole situation was ironic. I am not stranger to bloodshed. I have never shed a tear for the wounds I inflicted, the lives I took. I never felt anything except a strange version of relief.
Now, looking into the pool which reminds me of my past, I feel a little queasy about my past life. Maybe I really have died, and instead of heaven, I have arrived at some bizarre intermission.
I certainly don't feel like myself.
"I wouldn't dwell on it so much," I offer, though I make no attempt to clarify why.
Like I said, I'm not trying to comfort him.
When the painted stallion's face returns to a stoic calm, I sense that my healer is coming. Whatever connection Ashamin had to his companions, as he called them, it must be strong, for he draws back up into himself, leaving none of the painful expressions on his features. Something stirs in me then, like I feel strangely connected to this stallion who doesn't even know my fucking name. Maybe my anonymity offered him a stage to air his inner thoughts, or maybe my devil may care attitude. Whatever it is, I am confused.
I don't want people relying on me. I cannot be relied on. I am a failure, more than he would ever guess.
From the shadows of the trees arrives another stallion, long and angled strangely. His limbs flow much like Ashamin's awkward tail, and I find myself wanting to laugh at the odd appearance and amble of his gait. I do not, maybe because I am tired, but an amused smile does flash across my lips for the briefest of moments.
A bundle of herbs falls near my hooves, and I feel relieved the white stallion does not ask me to chew his wood, like Lyanna had.
"Ryouta," my name extends in return for the healer's - Seanan, and though I am speaking to the tall skeletal man, my eyes focus primarily on Ashamin. Perhaps, I am trying to make up for my terrible attitude later, but I felt that I owed the Clovenheart my name, at least. "Yes, feel free to do whatever you need. Arigatou."
I extend my wing back to reveal the jagged line sweeping from my shoulder to my barrel, my eyes turning back toward the pool of blood. "Let me know if you need me to move or do anything to make it easier."
<center><link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Great+Vibes' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><div style="width: 750px; height: 605px; background-image: url('http://i.imgur.com/3VQN565.jpg?2'); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding: 90px 0px 0px 5px; margin-bottom: -80px;"><div style="width: 500px; height: 20px; font-family: 'Great Vibes', cursive; color: #4E493D; font-size: 60px; line-height: 0px; padding-right: 250px;">Ahvelyn</div><div style="width: 470px; height: 325px; font: normal 12px times, serif; color: #000000; overflow-y: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 10px;">The air quickly turns into something far more <i>playful</i> than it had been in the Threshold. Likely, the removal of the giant chip from my shoulder had everything to do with this turn of events. Ashamin himself seemed like a kind soul, willing to put up with and aid someone as callous and brutish as myself. Instead of thanking him directly, my praise comes in the form of a shift in attitude.
After all, being around too many people tends to make me anxious like a caged animal. It had been that way for many years now, and normally the anxiety made me lash out at undeserving folks.
Well, some of them surely had been deserving.
"<font color=#50483D>A comedian, I see,</font>" is my response to his description of our journey here. The tone isn't hostile, but strangely flat in the rather lighthearted air. Maybe I am just tired from my wound; maybe I am just tired of life.
His next monologue would have driven someone else to attempt to comfort the painted brute, probably. Instead, I watch him with mismatched eyes and a blank expression. The words seemed strangely downtrodden for a soul like this painted man. Even though I had just met Ashamin, he seemed unlikely to fall prey to self-loathing and doubt. Whatever happened in his past, I could not see, but had I been able to, I would relate well to the imagery of <i>blood</i>. Even standing here, in front of a large river of ruby painted water, made me feel this whole situation was ironic. I am not stranger to bloodshed. I have never shed a tear for the wounds I inflicted, the lives I took. I never felt anything except a strange version of relief.
Now, looking into the pool which reminds me of my past, I feel a little queasy about my past life. Maybe I really have died, and instead of heaven, I have arrived at some bizarre intermission.
I certainly don't feel like myself.
"<font color=#50483D>I wouldn't dwell on it so much,</font>" I offer, though I make no attempt to clarify why.
Like I said, I'm not trying to comfort him.
When the painted stallion's face returns to a stoic calm, I sense that my <i>healer</i> is coming. Whatever connection Ashamin had to his companions, as he called them, it must be strong, for he draws back up into himself, leaving none of the painful expressions on his features. Something stirs in me then, like I feel strangely connected to this stallion who doesn't even know my fucking name. Maybe my anonymity offered him a stage to air his inner thoughts, or maybe my devil may care attitude. Whatever it is, I am confused.
I don't want people relying on me. I cannot be relied on. I am a failure, more than he would ever guess.
From the shadows of the trees arrives another stallion, long and angled strangely. His limbs flow much like Ashamin's awkward tail, and I find myself wanting to laugh at the odd appearance and amble of his gait. I do not, maybe because I am tired, but an amused smile does flash across my lips for the briefest of moments.
A bundle of herbs falls near my hooves, and I feel relieved the white stallion does not ask me to chew his wood, like Lyanna had.
"<font color=#50483D>Ryouta,</font>" my name extends in return for the healer's - Seanan, and though I am speaking to the tall skeletal man, my eyes focus primarily on Ashamin. Perhaps, I am trying to make up for my terrible attitude later, but I felt that I owed the Clovenheart my name, at least. "<font color=#50483D>Yes, feel free to do whatever you need. Arigatou.</font>"
I extend my wing back to reveal the jagged line sweeping from my shoulder to my barrel, my eyes turning back toward the pool of blood. "<font color=#50483D>Let me know if you need me to move or do anything to make it easier.</font>"
</div><div style="width: 500px; height: 30px; align: right; font: normal 10px georgia, serif; color: #000; line-height: 10px; padding-top: 15px; margin-right: 70px; text-align: right;">QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE
QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE QUOTE</div></div><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/27805557@N08/">background image credit to Angela Wolf at flickr.com</a></center>
K WELL I FAILED TO THINK OF A QUOTE BUT I ADDED THE SPOT FOR IT.