"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.
09-14-2016, 09:13 AM (This post was last modified: 09-14-2016, 09:13 AM by Mathèo.)
Mathèo
I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing, roman cavalry choirs are singing.
Be my mirror, my sword and shield, my missionaries in a foreign field.
Thèo's young wings could still not support his growing body in flight. So if he wanted to leave the Throat, he had to use the magical bridge. However not wanting to be a burden to anyone, the boy usually waited until someone was already planning on crossing, simply followed along with them. The same would happen when he waited on the opposite side. He would wait for someone to return back to the Throat and cross with them.
Thèo had crossed over earlier this morning. The Heart was still new enough to him that he didn't feel the need to explore any further. Unlike his twin who seemed to merely take the world in stride, Thèo found it all fascinating. Especially the rooms of glowing crystal down in the caves below.
And so, tucking his pale ashen wings against his flanks, the boy descended down into the darkness.
The magic that accompanied him at all times grew fainter, but was still present. After hearing stories of his Father and Grandfather, Thèo liked to think that his magic, rather than being some magical artifact left over from his Father's blood, that the light that constantly shined upon him was actually his Father and his Grandfather watching him. Why else, even in the dim light of these caves, barred from the sun, would he still glisten as if he was standing outside on a cloudless day?
Thèo kept his leonine tail raised slightly so that the pale strands at the end would not be constantly dragged through the dust, as he moved along. His green eyes scanned the glistening walls with curiosity and enthusiasm.
The dark, dismal caves reflect the colt's mood as he descends from the autumn sun outside and into shadowy blackness. His wings are furled close to his sides and his proud bull-horned head hangs low as the weight of the world seems to rest on his young shoulders.
Not a day goes by when he doesn't think of his Ave. He misses the Wildfire terribly - as much as he loves his mother and sister, they just cannot compete with the role-model that his father was to him. There's so much that he hasn't learned, so much that the fallen Sultan had left to teach his son before his untimely demise. Of course, Arakh is under no delusions that he was ever a particularly special member of Gaucho's brood, that he was more entitled to his father's attention than any of his siblings. Quite the contrary - he is deeply jealous of the oldest ones, those that had many years of the Wildfire's company compared to a few precious short months. But he'd always assumed that father and son would bond through the years, that one day Gaucho would smile down at little Arakh and deem him worthy of carrying his blood.
But no more. Ave is ashes and dust, his carcass plundered by his own children, his exploits just a fond memory in the minds of his many admirers.
The events of his sire's passing are another cause of concern to the calf. It had been his first time meeting most of his siblings, and yet none of them apart from Verro had shown any interest towards him, or made any move to comfort him. Is this the close-knit band of brothers and sisters he'd pictured in his mind since his mother told him of his father's other offspring? Fighting between themselves, ignoring the blatant grief of one of their youngest members - hell, one of his oldest sisters had even conspired to try and traumatise him by using her magic to move Gaucho's dead skull towards him, consuming his soul in a fire of hope before it was doused in crushing realisation. Are these the siblings he is cursed with? He had thought they would come together, united by grief and a mutual love of the man who sired them. Instead, they were just a scattering of individuals, each lost in their own world.
Perhaps he shouldn't have expected support from them. Perhaps they resent him simply for existing, for lessening their uniqueness; perhaps they thought he had no right to grieve for their father, given how short a span of time he'd known him. Perhaps he should realise that Esinakh is the only sibling he can rely on, the only one he needs - she will never forsake him.
These events conspire to cast Arakh under a shadow of misery and uncertainty. He should be experiencing the happiest days of his life, long weeks and months of growing and exploring, but he can't find it in his heart to do anything but mope around the Edge. It took a lot of effort on his part to motivate himself to finally move from his herd this morning, to roam towards the sunken caves where he can be alone with his thoughts.
A pillar of faint light draws his attention; it casts an iridescent glow across the crystal-encrusted walls, and Arakh's curiosity - lost as it is beneath layers of sorrow - gets the better of him. Closer he wanders, until he sees another colt. Pale and radiant where Arakh is dark and wild, the other boy is...strangely alluring. He is bathed in a glow that has no discernable source, and the calf ambles closer towards him. "You shiny," he grunts, his voice tilting upwards with interest - a world away from the low, glum tones that have plagued him recently.
I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing, roman cavalry choirs are singing.
Be my mirror, my sword and shield, my missionaries in a foreign field.
[ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER I REPLY. SHIT. SORRY.]
Instantly Thèo spins on his cloven hooves, a look of genuine surprise in his pale eyes. The light around him intensifies with the increase of his heart beat, and for a moment, the motes of dust in the air around him are clearly visible. There is no fear there, however, for the boy's short life has given him no real reason to fear the unknown or the surprising. As his gaze finds another colt - one clearly older than he is - he visibly relaxes, a lopsided smile on his face. "Yeah." He agrees with a good-natured laugh. The light around him dims somewhat, back to the brightness that it was before he was disturbed.
"I am Mathèo" He offers with an easy smile. His voice sounds as though it has a hint of an accent, but of course, the accent that it resembles is not one that he can possibly have. It sounds almost italian, and yet from the guttural sands upon which he has grown up, developing such pronunciation is absurd. Yet here he is, with a decided space between some of his syllables, and with his t's sounding like soft d's. "I have never been here before. Do you live here?"
Thèo knows a little of geography. He knows that there are four main herd lands, but he also knows that there are many outcasts. Surely those outcasts have to live somewhere, and surely some of those outcasts are colts? There is nothing in all that he has learned thus far to suggest to him that his question is absurd. If anything, he wonders if he is perhaps intruding on the boy's bedroom.
The other colt seems relaxed, casual. That puts Arakh at ease, too, because even though he was the one to approach, that does not mean he wasn't wary about the possibility of danger. Despite his bravado and bolshy attitude, the calf does get afraid. Even moreso now he hasn't got his father around to fight away the nightmares, to crush the demons that maraud inside his mind. He knows how dark and miserable the world is; he knows that nothing is sacred, nothing is safe. If Death can take even the Wildfire, then it can certainly take lowly, powerless Arakh.
But he senses that he has nothing to fear from this colt. The other boy appears friendly, and offers his name freely. Mathèo. There's the hint of an accent in that voice, but an accent quite unlike the gruff Dothraki one that Arakh possesses. It is...soft, lilting, beautiful, not rough, harsh and guttural. "Arakh," he introduces in turn, giving a listless flick of his tail. Normally the announcement of his name would give him cause to parade an arrogant swagger - he is sword, he is the son of strength itself - but his mood is too low for him to summon any sort of ego. He simply says it, his voice a poor mask for the agony that rages inside.
Do you live here? The lad's eyes widen as he glances around, imagining what it would be like to live here. No grass, no light, no company - that's a recipe for even more depression than he's currently got! "No, Arakh live in World's Edge herd. Lots of trees and grass. No caves." He can't help yearning for the Throat, though, the deserts and dunes where his father taught him to fly. Everything about the Dragon's Throat reminds him of Gaucho, and he wants to be near as much of Gaucho as he possibly can. The Edge is beautiful in its own way, and his adored mother and sister are there, but they are the only ties Arakh has to the place. His heart, his soul, belong to the Throat.
He realises that his melancholy gaze has drifted sadly to the floor, and quickly lifts it again to look at the other colt. "Where Mathèo live?" If he was more alert, his senses not numbed by sorrow, perhaps Arakh would detect the beloved Throat-smell on Mathèo. As it is, he is blissfully unaware of the stranger's home.