"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.
My demons are blocking out the light
And my mind is about to lose the fight
The weight of loneliness weighs heavily upon his mind and he clings to his loneliness tightly. It draws him even deeper inside the recesses of his mind. Libertad is a wraith, hollowed out by the knowledge his other half lay somewhere beyond his side. The rose needs d’Arcy, he needs his twin just as desperately as a flower needed sunlight. Still, he keeps the angst disguised behind a face of calm. It is a mask he swiftly learned to wear on the outskirts of Helovia. Letting your enemy see the distress is only giving them an upper hand. So he buries his grief beneath the surface and hardens himself, chilly and frigidly beautiful. His tail twitches as he finds himself somewhere all too familiar. Memories flicker through his mind of when he was but a child playing. Both ears pin against his skull as he remembers how quick others had been to condemn a simple game. A game of life and death and he had been the reaper of an amphibian’s demise. There is more than just amphibian blood on his head now. He is still a green soldier with relative inexperience but he has seen death, felt his horn pierce flesh and watch life seep from another. It was in those moments he grasped what had caused so many to flinch at his roses.
Libertad watches as red bursts and stains the ground around him. Beautiful in the most morbid and macabre sort of way… He watches as he takes another step and a new flower buds and blooms. A shame the beauty fades away so quickly. He takes a step and finds his way to the water’s edge. He slowly lowers his head to take a slow, long drink. He is still all too aware of his surroundings and after a moment he lifts his head.
“A simple hello might work better than skulking in the shadows.” Libertad says with neutral tones. “Your musk gives you away.” He turns his body with a slow step and keeps his eyes moving about to find the stranger.
Rose stems, shriveled and broken and bloody piece together a curious trail through the Secret Grove. They seem to have sprung from the hoofprints of some stranger, leaving the snow outside of those round imprints untouched but for the occasional splatter of red pigment, so bright against the clear and white around it. The old stallion follows in these tracks, nose tracing the places where the blooms have rooted and burst, inhaling their faint fragrance of petals and iron.
At first the stems and the stains are all that he finds, but gradually, as he continues to move forward on the path of flowers, the little clusters begin showing more life. An unsullied petal hangs here and there, not yet dissolved into vital fluids, and then he finds a full blossom, delicate and shimmering. Gently he touches the rim of a nostril to its softness, and immediately the flower pops. He jerks back, but not quickly enough to avoid the droplets of crimson from staining his muzzle. He snorts in mixed surprise and distaste, unsure what debilitating diseases might come from bleeding roses, but then a voice splits his attention, pulling his eyes up and farther ahead, right to the source of the roses. He flicks an ear toward the stranger, brows furrowed.
"Musk is an awfully polite way of putting it. Rot and damnation and stench are more apt." 'Stink.' The python at his maneless poll chips in, caught in a rare moment of non-hibernation this mild morning. That too, he silently agrees, more pleased than he cares to admit that the serpent is voluntarily engaging with him again.
"Do you do this?" He asks the grey, glancing between the red of the flowers and the corresponding red of the strangers hind hoof and horn. He notes a certain youthfulness about the grey, a kind of softness, though the black bars around his eyes have a concealing effect on his facial features and expression.
12-07-2016, 09:10 PM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2016, 09:10 PM by Libertad.)
My demons are blocking out the light
And my mind is about to lose the fight
Libertad stares down the older male, his eyes roving over him quickly and mentally takes notes. Then his eyes fixate on the red staining his face. Amusement flickers in his eyes and he can only guess he tasted of his roses. For the moment the man doesn’t appear to be a threat but he still doesn’t let his guard down. His tail twitches and he listens to the stallion and the self detriment that pours from his mouth. For a long moment he maintains his neutral expression before he shakes his head.
“I’d save such strong adjectives for a corpse,” Libertad speaks finally after a prolonged pause. “Though you do exude a certain type of odor that I will not deny.” He almost coos as he lets his eyes wander again over the stallion. That insatiable appetite he’s felt since adolescence stirs for a moment. No.. He hisses internally. Don’t soil yourself.. Not with such aged rabble. There is a reason for his maintained maidenhood, he is far too picky for his own good. Though how can he not be picky? He entered the world beside perfection and he will never settle for less.
A question breaks the air and then Libertad tilts his head down towards his roses. “Not at will,” he says. “They simply bloom and die wherever I tread.” A smirk passes over his features and then he gestures at the older creature with his head. “I see that you have been blessed with their kiss.” He says with almost some teasing and then lifts his hoof and more roses burst into red but once he places his hoof down more bloom in their place. “Now… I gave you an answer so you must return the favor.” He states with such a tone that won’t permit argument. “Who are you?” He then catches a better scent from the stallion and familiarity washes over him as he remembers a stallion of red from the north.. His father.. “Though I can already smell the Basin on you,” he says. “My father once was a warrior there.” Whether the stallion lingers or not remains unknown to him and he doesn’t particularly care. Déodat had always been an absent figure in his life, scarce much like his mother the latter end of his youth.
“Blessed with a kiss.” He repeats, cocking an ear forward, intrigued by a hint of – well, something - in the boys tone, though he can’t quite decide if it’s teasing or ridicule. He arches a brow at the greys blind assumption of his cooperation, not something anyone familiar with him would do, but the confidence in those words and the whisper of something still as yet unspoken - something in the mention of favors, perhaps - piques his curiosity.
“Yes.” He starts simply. “Though the north harbors no love for me, nor anyone really.” The way he says it, he could be suggesting that the north doesn’t love him or that no one does. He doesn’t bother to specify, since both are true. He’s not even sure why he stays there, aside from the typical geriatric-opposing-change trope. The Basin is cold, a cardinal sin in his eyes, empty more often than not, and judging by the past year of activity – or inactivity – it’s the place where herds come to die long, drawn out deaths.
Still, the hot springs are what drew him in in the first place and what continue to comfort him through the long months of Frostfall. He’s also seen promise in the young Reapers son as General and both the Valkyrie and the Swagger-Ass, when they choose to grace the valley with their presence, make an enjoyable view of the barren slopes. He scoffs. “Everyone there is a warrior it seems.”
"And you? Do you have a herd? A rank? Master of floristry, perhaps?" He moves forward some, brushing a hoof through the remnants of roses. "A bit telling for a spy. Crafter maybe? You don't seem the fighting type." Overstepping boundaries is one of the blacks great talents, and so he doesn't stem the flow of thought seeping through his lips, only watches the grey, his emerald eyes following the lines of his body for reaction.
Drop the dagger
lather the blood on your hands, Romeo
Libertad watches the other man thoughtfully. He listens to the repetition of his own words and offers no further comment on the matter. It is when he mentions further of the Basin that he’s drawn back into the conversation. All he has ever known of the place are the few stories spoken to him by his father on the few occasions he had bothered to show his face. He spoke of the colors that painted the sky that had left him awestruck as a boy. The novelty of a snowy mountain lost its appeal long before he grew. Why anyone by choice would reside a land that is an artic wasteland is beyond him. A comfortable life is far preferable over snuffling about in the snow for meager scraps that the frost hasn’t reached. Libertad doesn’t spend much time contemplating the context of the “love” the elder mentions, truly it doesn’t seem particularly interesting, just the rambling of a bitter old man.
He retreats into the quiet of his thoughts for a long moment. It isn’t until there is a strewn of questions thrown at him that he returns to himself. Libertad takes them all in and is mildly surprised at the boldness of it all. Quite a nosy fucker, he thinks to himself. There is long moment of simply thinking and deciding whether it will be worth his time to answer.. “No,” Libertad says finally, allowing the man to interpret his answer as he pleases though it encompasses the list of invasive questions. “You didn’t answer my previous question. Who are you?” He says with a bit more of a demand to his tone.
Disappointingly, the grey seems unperturbed by the elders onslaught of questions and assumptions, almost bored as he quietly blinks in return. The older stallion watches for any hint of emotion, any trace of character in the adolescents features, but nothing recognizable passes through the black rimmed blue of his eyes and no reply crosses his lips. Instead he seems to ponder, or maybe just ignore his pestering company altogether, the silence stretching between them until the black assumes that there simply won’t be an answer and reaches down to snatch up a mouthful of the Groves luscious grasses, the original reason for his being here.
The word ‘No,’ stops his chewing, though he keeps his nose happily buried in the growth of the meadow. He swallows slowly, mentally assessing the audible edge to the boys question, wondering if he’s becoming irritated by the nonlinear track of their conversation or simply offended that his question had been brushed aside. The pretty ones don’t usually take well to rejection – he muses - even in its slightest forms. A smirk begins to tug at the corners of his mouth, his repugnant nature finding traction at last.
“I didn’t.” He answers mildly, rounding his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just an old man that the Reaper never had an opportunity to chase off his land.” Though partially joking, he says this solemnly, as if it really is a tragedy, and then, because he doesn’t truly want to send the grey stomping off to more civil pastures, he adds, “But I go by Albrecht.” His voice lightens then, teasing the grey with his sudden adherence to decorum. "And you?"
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Libertad I’m so sorry this thread always seems to take me forever! In celebration of Albys #200 post (and your unbelievable patience) I’m planning to do a little sketch of Libertad for you! <3
image by mar!
Rated M, R, NC-17, AO, 18+, NSFW Tag dat azz! @Albrecht Violence & Magic okay. Wish - Away - OOC
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![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
