"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.
Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
I’d snapped once before, and that was right after Big Toto had died. I remember--it felt like I had risen out of my body, like my whole soul had been slapped out my bones, like I was a ghost with a corpse that could still walk and talk even if I wasn’t the one walking and talking.
I was losing it again--right here, right now, but it was a different kind of freak out. The one before was like...a suffocation, anything and everything throwing itself down my throat too quick for me to swallow, so that I lost my breathing and then I lost my mind. But this was different--I was too old to be overwhelmed like that anymore; I knew how to chew my food. This right here felt like a bar I’d been holding onto had finally slipped from my fingers--after spending so much of my life gripping it (because my life depended on it, cuz it was the stake my life had bid on--) it was finally yanked from me, or maybe it was disintegrated, I dunno (demigod, General, protector of this realm from all that would harm it-- poof poof poof, clouds of ashes--) I don’t really fucking care about semantics about it. All I knew was that it was all gone and I--
--shit--
“Hey, Cheek,” I said, my voice watery and neon-bright, thick rivers of tears streaming down my cheeks, a chuckle woven throughout my voice, “Hey Cheek, hey. Hey, Cheek. Check this out.”
I’d never actually tried to activate the defenses before--even after all the members had did their lil’ monkey-dance for their patron Goddess who killed a whole bunch o’ folk but don’t worry about it cuz she also protects the herd and grants her willing and devoted subjects safety and boons for their devoted services--a doubled over for a sec, overcome by laughter or tears, I wasn’t sure but whatever it was was leaving me breathless--but I’d never tried it out for myself. I had the power to do it-- I was the General, wasn’t I? (WASN’T I?)
I reared up with a shrill giggle, stomping down hard against the loamy ground. There was a bit of a rumble (it stroked my ego a bit--) but then a huge glass spike, dazzling in the moonlight, emerged off to my right side, a lot more quieter than I expected. I watched it ascend; it was clear the bastard was huge with a thick base, cuz several seconds passed and you could tell it wasn’t quite done raising up. “Hey, yo, watch--” I didn’t wait for it to finish rising; I cocked my horn and aimed for the tip.
pkPA!!
The whole thing didn’t shatter, but just enough of the tip of the spike did to soothe whatever thing I was trying to make happen, happen. An explosion of shimmering glass shards rained down, and I twirled and laughed at it and the tears rolled down my face and I stumbled to the ground and Chico didn’t know what to do, he was stuck watching it all, torn between his delight at the destruction and the horror of my unraveling--he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know--so he darted forward, grabbing a longish-shard of glass, wielding it in his mouth like it was a sword, charging me so that I’d have to draw Sparkmarrow--zpkA!!-- and happily engage him in a fevered sword dance even as the world was tumbling around us like so many shards of glass.
He didn't have much. His soul read something like, caution, slippery when wet, and after half a year in the sea, he felt soaked through his bones. If he lost his mind enough in the long nights and slow mornings, he was sure he could hear it slosh around in there...
No. He couldn't. He hadn't gone that far, but he found his mind wandering in uncomfortable ways. It wasn't just the usual problems of almost killing himself—it was everything else, as well.
It seemed he'd washed up on shore—not that the Marsh was a shore, he'd gone up against it like driftwood, another bloated corpse—at either a great time, or a terrible time. Either it was a coincidence, or there was a reason.
You know, Mauja, Champion of the Moon, here to save the world.
Except he couldn't save anything. He was weaker than a newborn kitten with a cold, only his sneezes weren't even half as cute. He moved like someone twice his age, joints thick with arthrithis and inflammation, when his were only tired because he didn't have the good sense to either die, or at the very least, remain still. No, he paced like a ghost, along the crumbling limestone edge of his fucking cliffs. And it made his joints ache. It made his muscles ache. His steps were halting. The hoof had to be solidly on ground before he moved the next, and if you were close enough, you could hear the pained exhalation each time his weight shifted against his aching bones.
He wondered if he'd grow old in this manner—spend the rest of his immortal days slowly hauling his inflamed self around the world, and accomplishing pretty much nothing, because even some half-done yearling could knock him over and bust his ribcage when he was like this.
The lesson to learn?
Don't fucking die. And later, don't be fucking immortal.
But for some reason, it wasn't the edge he paced then—it was the border, sort of. He wasn't on the border like a border patrol, because he wouldn't be very useful if somebody thought to wreak havoc now that their god was gone, but what was the point of committing this land to memory, if he only walked part of it..?
The sound of glass shattering reached his ears, and, sluggishly, they poked forward. Now that was interesting, because there wasn't much left of the wall to shatter, so.. had to be something else. Like, a defense spike, because he was pretty sure they had them, even though he wasn't very up to date on the state of affairs the past year or two.
What he found, took his breath away.
Stopped his heart for a bit.
One of the spikes loomed broken, and there was, well, Elding, wielding her sword and prancing about with what he assumed was Chicken.
He didn't know what they were doing. Or why. It might seem like a dance, like play, but—there was something. Some kind of underlaying darkness, a desperation of sorts, just.. just something that made it off.
He seized on to the only thing he could. It smacked up from the ground, nowhere near in danger of spearing either Roskuld nor her friend, but it punched towards the sky with alarming speed—it glittered in the moonlight, its edges crisp and cold and sharp. The ice spear stood silent—fog forming like breath around it.
If she wanted things to break, he had an endless supply of them.
Schwing, schwing--damn, we shoulda done this more often. I ain’t never known Chico to be much of a sword fighter but damn, he was giving me a run for my money. Using his heavy wings to bat at me and give him leverage as he angled that sharp, poignant crystal shard in my direction, at my face and eyes and chest, and he caught me once in the shoulder blade and I giggled at it and kept swinging Sparkmarrow, making him titter back on his feet.
I could feel the glass beneath my feet--I could feel a prick here or there, and all that did was remind me I was alive.
Then there was a flash behind me: a flicker of movement, of brilliant icy blue, and I was moving before I registered entirely what it was. Sparkmarrow whistled in the air, bristling and crackling with sparkshit, and it turned out to be another spike rising up from my command, delayed and stupid and it didn’t fucking matter anyway cuz--crASH-- Sparkmarrow shattered it just the same, except this time it was even more satisfying, an even larger, more explosive cloud of glass shimmering around me again, the most violent disco ever. The shards shimmering and cold--so much like ice.
My attention was pulled from Cheek, so I didn’t notice the way he paused, his mouth gripping his sparkling blade, tawny amber eyes boring into the white spectre that had joined us. It was the careful stare of a cornered animal, when it doesn’t know if it should feel fear yet--when he’s not sure if you’re here to steal his kill. What? Chico stood square and still as he watched Lee, even as Lee was giving me more things to shatter, more poetic irony to douse myself in and give me some kind of feeling, even if it was something self-righteous and dumb and lost.
His breath pooled, white and cold. He felt the spike break, a tremor in the flimsy magical connection; he felt it, and he saw it, a rain of frosted blue shards. It fell around Roskuld, hard bits of ice, but not as sharp as glass. Exhaling softly, he released his grip on it, and what was left of the spike fell apart around a thin, foot-high cracked spire.
He wasn't sure he had ever seen her wield her sword before. He.. he wasn't sure he even know who she really was; the child of Ophelia and the Spark God, but what else? What more? Who had she become, in the past few years? She had helped find him in the glacier. Mesec had helped, too.
It somehow felt ironic, that the children of the Gods came to his rescue.
And I should be grateful, he thought, blinking away something that stung like shame and pride, for having such friends. The uncomfortable feeling swelled inside his thin chest, behind the jutting point of his breast. He couldn't label it, didn't even want to, but he didn't know what to do with it without labeling it either. It got stuck in his throat, stuck in the display of ice shards flying as the sword dove through it.
Got stuck in the sharp, amber eyes levered at him. He didn't freeze like a deer in the headlights, but he couldn't move either, pinned by the gaze—his breath pooled, its rapid pace a telltale sign of his state, if the hollows around his ribs and flanks didn't already give it away. He wasn't sure he wanted to move, either; Elding's back was turned. She didn't know that he was there. It was just her and Chico and the shattering ice.
He almost preferred it that way. He almost wanted to be nothing but a ghost, a broken bit of memory, come to offer some kind of relief and then melting back into shadows—there and gone like nothing more than a breath of air. He shifted, slightly, and his bones groaned in protest.
Something strained in his soul.
He'd reached his limit.
When the last spike shattered—and there hadn't been that many of them to begin with—no other rose. It was just them and the ice dust settling slowly. His pulse roared through his veins, and hammered in his head. His sides heaved.
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