"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.
This world has not taken enough from Cera, it seems. He is one of the last to be drawn to the crowd, the commotion and the crying. A dread settles in the caverns of his heart, a knowledge that he cannot escape. Something preternatural, inexplicable. But his hooves carry him listlessly forward, even as he knows that what he will find will surely only inflict more agony upon him. He has tackled every hurdle, crawled and clawed his way through the mire of suffering that had underscored his years. Cera would rather face whatever tragedy has befallen his herd than live in ignorance, even if it means he adds another scar to his battered soul.
The screaming, the yelling, the hoarse begging for fate to take back its decision...Cera knows this. He knows this acrid taste on the back of his tongue, like iron and grief. Merely glancing around those nearby, those crumpled and crying, those most distraught...his heart already knows who it is lying still on the sands. Verdant eyes shut tight against the overwhelming wave of grief, of loss, that he can already feel drowning him. But his hooves soldier on regardless, because he has to see. One last time. A final goodbye.
Whatever hateful words are spit amongst the group, Cera cannot hear them. They are simply a buzz in the background of his thoughts, white noise beneath the wailing agony of realization as he parts through the crowd and his eyes alight upon the fallen monument of a man. He does not speak, does not let loose the scream that seems to tear apart his throat. It is not for sake of pride or appearances, or any such nonsense. He simply...can't. He has lost almost everything the world has ever given him. For so long the Prince had thought he had nothing left to give except his own life, his immortal soul. But he had been wrong.
What sins did I commit to have to bear the death of two fathers?
For while Gaucho and he shared no blood, there had been an undeniable bond there. Even if they had not stopped to talk in far too long, even if their duties kept them separate. Cera hated himself for it, for not speaking. For not acting. Before this happened. That he cannot even recall the last words he had said to the man who had practically raised him after Midas abandoned them all. And he wants to cry but he bitterly holds them within, for surely he does not have the right to when Gaucho's real children are grieving right beside him.
His Lord's appearance is the only thing that is capable of breaking through the dim void of silence he has fallen into, and Cera turns lost, vacant eyes to the deity he has always trusted. The Lord need not ask him to trust now, not even with Gaucho gone and Cera's pillars of strength nearly depleted. Even when the rest of the world shook to dust beneath him, his faith would sustain him like bedrock. As Sikeax took upon herself the crown, well deserved, Cera's voice rang out in somber, monotone syllables.
"Long live the Dragon's Throat. Tempered by Wildfire. May we never shatter."
Gaucho had taken their granules of sand, and with the force and might of his fires, made them glass. Made them whole. A cohesive unit. A family. Cera would die before allowing Gaucho's efforts to dissolve into nothingness with his passing. He turns, unable to handle this crowd of squabbling, grieving souls. Wanders away like a ghost, aimless and silent, too defeated by all those he has lost to break down crying like the rest of them. Simply another tally on the mortal board, another hatchmark that will fade with time until the associated name and face are forgotten as well. Ilaria, forgotten as Cera trails away, scurries to grab a bundle of Gaucho's feathers, knowing her Prince would not bring himself to desecrate the body himself. But aware that he would want one last memento of this great, inspiring man.
09-05-2016, 12:23 PM (This post was last modified: 09-05-2016, 12:24 PM by Zèklè.)
ours is a generation of violence;
we die in fire and we're born in blood z è k l è
You go.
How could you not? It's your Da there, lying prone in a sea of grief, his body so very dim and cold. You know it before you see him, know it because of the sheer mass of people, the overpowering certainty of their love and remorse weighing over the somber scene like a cloud. Children speak in whispers, mares cry; and you, the Cripple, limp toward it all with a vacant stare in your sunbeam eyes, your body bent but not broken, and that is thanks to him. Death is not unfamiliar to you- you've seen it before, smelled it. You've reached out to touch it where it smiled at you, cool and open. You thought you almost died, once, and then you did die-
And both times, Gaucho pulled you back. But you can't return the favor for him.
You draw closer, your scars still fresh, a limp still marking your steps, but at least you are alive. You do not feel alive, though. You don't feel anything. Maybe it is the ache of your body, or the recent encounter with Mesec the wolf, but this new tragedy evokes little by way of grief, or anything else for that matter. It's interesting: you certainly expected to feel something, maybe a bright ache of grief, or anger, or denial. You certainly gained a lot of feelings when Ma was gone. Dimly you wonder what's wrong with you. Your feelings about Gaucho were always complicated, maybe too complicated for you to really understand. Did you hate Gaucho? Are you glad he's gone? But you don't feel relief, either, or gratitude.
If anything you feel... empty. There is a pronounced absence, somewhere around your heart, as though someone came in with a scalpel and surgically removed an organ. You never thought about it when it was there, but now that it's gone the absence is pronounced you feel uncomfortable, foreign.
Empty.
You push closer, squeezing in beside Grusha and Tae, reaching out to brush a gentle muzzle against their shoulders- an unwelcome offer, perhaps. They're likely angry at you, but you cannot bring yourself to care. Ma's there, too, but you don't look at her. It's not that you don't want to- you do, desperately. You want to run and tuck yourself beneath her wing and cry and demand she turn back time, put everything to how it was when it was right and you weren't hurt and she wasn't gone and your father wasn't dead. Why, you want to ask her, Why would the Gods let these things happen? Don't they love us? Don't they care?
You do not look at your Ma. The part of you that cries for her is young, and small, and weak, and you cling too tightly to your emptiness to let anything else raise its head.
That is, until she starts yelling.
In a way you understand it. You feel the same pain, the same anger, the same desire to place the blame on someone, anyone else- but how dare she, when she's the one who upped and left you all behind?! Your teeth grind and your ears flip back as Ampere shouts, a sudden fury rising in your chest as that blame you're so desperate to pin sinks its teeth firmly into her, as your pain and grief and loss battles with the emptiness and anger, resulting in something steel and foreign that you'd find desperately ugly in the light of day. "Stop it, Ma," you whisper at first, your voice a low growl between gritted teeth as your mother faces down the newly crowned queen- and then, when she turns her attention to the corpse, you can take no more and you step forward, anger loud in your boyish voice.
"Ma, STOP! HE'S FUCKING DEAD, OKAY?! HE'S NOT COMING BACK!"
Wow, kid. Way to finally grow a spine.
Your body trembles; your sides heave. The lightning on your back seems to flicker and arc, but it's really just the angry spasms of your muscle, the ugliness of your emotions rising to full force. You glare at your mother, so many other things on the tip of your tongue, but then a voice hisses behind you and your attention spins around to glare at the source, fury still contorting your face (How dare someone attack your Ma!, you hypocritically demand), and bring yourself to the filly's level.
"Oh, you think you know everything because you were born damaged, huh? Lemme tell you something. You don't know shit. You're not special because you're crippled. You're just a baby. Grow up."
Cruel. This is what cruelty tastes like, and it's a foreign taste on your tongue, and you immediately hate yourself for it. You have never been cruel before, and it feels icky, gooey, unpleasant. Awful. You draw back from the filly, draw away from them all- and you turn, suddenly ashamed, a feeling of failure hot on your cheeks. Gaucho would not be proud.
"I'mma make him a golem," you mumble at the ground. "So he'll always be guarding the Dragon's Throat. I think he'd like that."
Then you turn to hobble away.
(You would run, but due to your injuries you can do little more than limp hurriedly. So maybe not the effect you wanted, but it's something.)
09-05-2016, 10:35 PM (This post was last modified: 09-05-2016, 10:40 PM by Misael.)
Misael&&Lazarus
Strength does not come from the capacity, it comes from the indomitable will
It was a weird kind of silence that washed over him in the seconds of his patrolling around the border, it's a sinking feeling, dragging his heart down with heavy weights. His ears perk forward as he turns to gaze upon the throat, his home, his people, his everything. Lazarus looks at him with curiosity, sniffing the air at his bonded's inquiries. It is light that Miseal see then, blinding and bright, piercing through the day like diamond through stone. He doesn't realize it, but he's running, a barreling mass of man and muscle, pounding through the shifting sands that he'd learn to master, laz keeping up in a blur of black and a swish of his tail, going faster and faster until he stops in a mess of tangled hair and heavy breaths, his eyes settling upon a scene that shook him to his core. There laid the brilliant man of flame, cold and still like the coals of the fire that had once been something beautiful. Gaucho burned no more.
He isn't sure what encompasses him next, a sadness for a fallen brother, a fellow herdsmen, and a damn good leader. He wonders why, shocked, surprised, never expecting the warrior to fall so soon. His head drops low as he passes his respect to the burned out corpse, his heart swelling as the sobs of children filled his ears. Lazarus doesn't understand death, but the cat mimics his master, dropping his great head, any friend to Miseal was a friend to Lazarus. No child should see their father's death, not so young, never. The wildfire had meant so much to so many, may his impact live on and his work never be forgotten. The throat had lost a champion.
The air is thick with grief, but when the sorrows turned to anger, chaos broke loose in a rage of words, the pain of Gaucho's death unleashing like an unchained beast. Miseal quickly jumps into the mess of mare's and their children, tall, massive frame glaring at those involved. “This is no time for separation and anger!" He bellowed, gentle but assertive in his tone. Children had lost their father, friends had lost a friend, and hearts were broken, fighting would only make the situation worse. We must gather together in this stage of grief and honor our fallen leader, this was no one's fault. Rest in peace, dear friend.” He spoke, only trying his best to keep the raging emotions at bay, this wasn't going to be something that would be taken lightly, Miseal at least hoped for the memory to be filled of gratitude of Gaucho and his legacy, not that of harsh words. Long Live Gaucho.
It feels as though there's a literal weight in Misael's chest. It makes walking difficult, as his knees constantly want to bend and collapse. Speaking in full sentences is difficult due to shortness of breath.
i'm like the end of a hitchcock movie; a little dark and a lot deceiving
Was it only because Ampere was back after her prolonged absence that Tae suddenly felt a prickling all along her spine, as if invisible hackles there were raising? Certainly the two massive canines at her sides reflected this feeling for her. But the ghostly girl couldn't quite place where this defensiveness was coming from. Was it merely her Father's hard-inbred sense of loyalty to her family? Whatever it was, the girl could feel ire raising in her veins.
Without needing to, but doing it anyways, Tae leaned against Grusha just briefly. She knew full well that her twin would have noticed the change in the girl's stance, and that she would always be there to back her play, but uncharacteristically Tae needed to touch her larger twin. To know that she was still there, maybe.
Tae wanted to look to the other side of her, to see Nizho. To apologize? To say goodbye? To wink mischievously? She didn't know, but winging it, when it came to her feelings for the colt and the odd pitter-patter that his presence inspired in her, had never been her strong suit.
So, Tae quickly departed back down the sand dune and towards the assembled gathering.
Her pale eyes were locked upon the grievous smear of life currently addressing her mother. Tae's magic had fully taken over her body, and as the larger filly neared the smaller one, she appeared 99% ghost and only 1% girl. She looked as though a strong breeze might blow her away in wisps of nothingness, but her pale eyes blazed even sharper now. At her side, the two large black canines snarled, snapping their teeth angrily. They enjoyed feeling this sense of blood lust from their bonded and were happy to allow her emotions to wash over them.
"Who do you think you are?" Tae breathed, her voice bizarrely steady and low. It was unsettling. "You're a nobody, a child who was contributed nothing to this herd, and you would speak so to our former Sultana and Gladiator? Do you know so little?" Tae advanced forward with both Mal and Hel matching her step. "Magic is literally the one thing that could keep death away," she continued, ears flat against her ghostly skull. She expected the girl to spout of some nonsense about not needing to know who Ampere was. What the fuck was it with this generation, that made them think they were invulnerable to consequences? If she had no respect for Ampere's political pull in this herd, the magic that literally sparked from her body should have been evidence enough that perhaps a more respectful tone would have been appropriate.
"This is my Father's death bed now, you pitiful shit." She snarled, mocking the girl's early use of the phrase. "And you will leave." Magic wafted around the girl - a large eagle seemingly composed of the same phantasmal body as Tae currently had. It hovered by her shoulder, easily the size of one of the wolves, with its piercing eyes and talons fixed upon Val. At her left side, the Hellhound's fire markings began to deepen. With a word, he would rain hellfire down upon this pathetic child. Mal however added his own magic to the fray, conjuring up a _______ [*it's terrorize, so insert Val's greatest fear here], to set up the indignant child.
"Now."
@Amara because Tae is addressing/attacking Val ;-; The only real attack is from Mal, who uses terrorize. The other magic is just threats at this point.
Strength does not come from the capacity, it comes from the indomitable will
Creeping slowly into his chest, he does not notice the pain till it grips him with a might of iron. The words, sobs, and bickers drown out around him as his mind slips into an all too familiar agony. He wanted to be angry, wanted to hate the Moon Goddess for putting him through such hell, but instead he was forced to focus on keeping his stature. His legs begun to shake, the weight in his chest so strong that not even the hard, corded muscle of his limbs could keep him from wobbling like a fool.
Wild, pained eyes squint hard as he tries to move, only wishing to evade the scene of Gaucho's passing and those who could see the strangeness that had come over Miseal. He didn't want the effects of his situation to cause more problems when already stress and tension laced the winds around the throat. With great effort, the chromed manages to reach the edge of the meeting. His pelt shined with sweat, it beaded down his aching, crying muscles from the heavy gravitational pull to the ground. His lungs burned out of starvation, begging for freedom from the crushing pull of the Moon Goodess' magic.
Through eyes pinched nearly closed Miseal caught Lazarus' strikingly golden eyes which were full of encouragement, the black cub knowing all too well that this was just another phase and soon, Miseal would be okay. Miseal flashed a quick, small smile and allowed his knee's to collapse from underneath him as he tumbled to the ground. He laid his head low and closed his eyes as he waited for the pressure on his chest to rise along with the hold that the lilac goddess held over him.
The buckling of his knees. Those knees that had always been sure and strong, holding up her father's weight. Her quiet gasp as his body dropped into the sands, her mouth forming the silent pleas.The ever faithful companions of her father fall as well, a tremor runs down her spine. They rest lifelessly in his antlers. Until they end, intertwined, together.
Last there is a final rush of fire, an explosion of magical energy. The last of her father's debts, the final repayment to the Sun God. Returning the blessings that had protected him and his family throughout the Sultan's life.
A pillar of fire, circled by three flaming eagles.
And then, when the fire dissipates, it finally happens. The sight she never thought she'd see.
The Wildfire stops burning.
Aelin the Dreamwalker's eyes pool with salty tears that do not fall. She knows what this is, yet every inch of her refuses to accept it. She does not approach when the crowds gather. Does not seek her mother's comforting embrace, instead she watches from afar. Arguments might erupt, tears will be spilt and hearts will break. It felt as if her soul had shattered. This was not how her life was supposed to happen. Both of her parents were supposed to be with her for many more years to come. None of what she was seeing made any sense.
"Kishi asqoyi. . . . . . " The oath they had given each other. He swearing that he would never leave her. The promise that he would always be around to protect her and their family. She in turn had sworn quietly to herself that she'd always keep an eye on her father and make sure he was okay.
Why...did he promise too much?
Why was he leaving her now?
How could she have failed him so badly?
Aelin had not felt her feet moving her closer to her father's broken corpse. Did not hear the voices or the conversation. Would not have heard her own name being called, did not see her mother's beautiful body. All she was was his crippled body. Gently as if he were a child she pressed her muzzle to his, touching their noses one last time. Rubbed her check against his shoulder and inhaled that scent one last time. Something awoke in her, an anger. A boiling cauldron of fiery rage that she immediately hated those idiots who offered stupid and meaningless words. Only those who loved him, who were his family had the right to be her. With a few quick blinks her vision cleared and she saw them arguing, pulling...no...stealing feathers from her father. They had no right. They had absolutely no claim on any part of her father's body. "You have no right to those feathers." She wanted to scream at them all at once as her gaze darted between them. Thieves. All of them. Instead she returned her eyes to his body. "Gaucho was my father." Not just a leader or a herd member. "My flesh and blood." How could they think it was okay to crowd him and steal from his still warm corpse? With a shake of her head she gently stroked his shoulder again. "Only his family has rights to his belongings. Feathers included." Yet her voice was so quiet it was unlikely anyone heard her.
Two feathers had come loose, no doubt with the other's pillaging the Sultan's body. Delicately she leant forwards and took these ones for herself. "Ave, yeri mithrat ajjin." She whispered to him. There was nothing else to do or say. Stepping away from the body she surveyed the scene, eyes landing finally on her mother. She is numb, empty inside. "Mai." She called softly to her mother, wondering if her mother could help her understand what had happened. "Mai, ave's driv."
"Mai."
Mother. Help me.
There is no such thing as reality. There is just you and me.
I guess jealousy's the curse that the struggle inspires.
☀ Force and magic permitted. ☀
☀ No fatal or permanent damage. ☀
☀ Please only tag in opening posts. ☀
It was because of the burning pain inside my chest and under my feet, I found paradise.
This was her first time seeing death, the natural end to all. Every year they outran their fate but eventually it caught them all. Including the powerful and unlovable Gaucho. Her father.
It was not something the girl had ever thought she'd experience. In a way she'd believed her parents would be around for her life. True, little did she know of her father but he was still family. Still the other half of her life equation. Huffing angrily she shoved her way through the gathered crowds and looked down at the body. She'd never know him, never play with him. Never understand why he had to die in her early life. That upset her. The sadness she felt was more for the father she would never had rather than the stallion who had been. Peering down at the corpse she watched others take feathers as keepsakes for the stallion that had lead them for so long. It seemed the right thing to do. So the youngster took three feather's from her father's wing, hoping to be reminded of how strong the stag had been. Also, that she did have a father. It may have only been for a short while but they were family.
Turning on her small hooves the young girl began to flee. The death was too confronting to linger in front of. Too infuriating to remain standing with the other mourners. Already her tongue wanted to lash out at them, tell them to just leave him be. If they mourned him that meant that his passing was real.
Pausing a fair distance away from the body of her father she looked back. Saw only parts of her father through the gathered legs. "Arrekaan sille kashi." There might not be a next time, they may never meet in the Sun God's domain but she believed that if he could, Gaucho would not move on without his family. Her and Verro included. "Ave." Her speech was rough and broken but for her father, one last time, she spoke directly to him.
Not wishing to remain and see who would be named in her father's place the girl set off to find what remained of her family. Verro.
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[O] Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. [death]
![[Image: shadowmare098_by_ehrendi-da6sr2s.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/be07/f/2016/170/4/a/shadowmare098_by_ehrendi-da6sr2s.png)
