"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.
Paladin the Valiant was uncertain about his new position in the herd, but he was determined to do his best. The stallion held tales from the beginning of Helovia to the present as well as from the dawn of Anarore to its falling. Some of the details were hazy. Names hung on his mind like ill defined spider's webs, tangling in his thoughts. However, the meaning behind the actions remained, and he was able to relate to the young ones the important, moral lessons that he was not granted as a child. Perhaps this would be his redemption. The stallion had atoned for his crimes against the other species by leading an open herd, and now, he would atone for his sins as a murderer by teaching children lessons.
Well, not that what he had to say was only suited for children, and not that he would not listen. Everyone had tales of importance. He would serve to facilitate these stories so that the history of this herd would be known. Paladin knew how to read and write a language of his father's making, but after Zar'roc's confusion with his lettering so long ago, the black dun held no hope for anyone else. If he were to find a way to record history into stone, he would have to teach the others his language. That would be an interesting project, but one he would speak to Jackal about first.
The Birdsong air was crisp and warm, and rolling, white clouds drifted lazily through the blue sky. A gentle breeze turned the tall, green grasses into languid waves, and Paladin marveled at the beauty of this land as he stood beneath a familiar tree. When he was beaten and bloodied after his battle with Gossamer, he had leaned against its bark, trying to regain his strength. Now, he stood, comfortable and at peace. The undertone of darkness that constantly plagued his slightly paranoid mind was even calm for once. Absently, he wondered if any would come to ask him about stories. Quite honestly, he had little idea of what his job would entail.
But for now, he would do what he thought was best. He would remember and impart.
.arborun lignea .. .mare. ..23 years. .. .16.3 hands.
"Do you even remember what it is to smile, dear Valiant?"
A calm voice slips through the leaves providing him shelter as Willow emerges from around the hillside speckled with boulders and vegetation. She proffers him a small crack of her lips, as if to remind him what she even speaks of. Though her own grin is not carefree today, her mind weighted with the heaviness of the most recent events among the herd. She has been dwelling on them too often as of late however, and pushes them away forcefully, resolved to enjoy this meeting with Paladin for so long as it lasts. She can only hope he will not pull her down into the depths of his own convoluted thoughts - Lignea are not the best swimmers.
Willow hums gently to herself as she pulls alongside the black dun, her tree offering some small amount of shade as well, though the day is pleasant. The sunshine feels good as it costs along her rump; her leaves eat at it eagerly.
"What different roles we find ourselves in. Life is such an interesting creature," she begins as way of conversation, laughing softly at the end of her words to ease the seriousness of the topic otherwise. She glances at him from the edge of chocolate cheeks, her veridian gaze gentle and warm as it settles on the blood red of his eyes. Such terrible eyes they could be she considers, and she wonders why he isn't more the monster it seems he could be.
"I am surprised at your interest in Storyteller, although you always seemed to hold it close to your heart, even before," she mused moreso to herself, remembering how grateful Paladin had seemed that she'd been intrigued by the role. She regretted that she had not been more fitting, and hoped he would forgive her that failure. It was never a fitting place for her to begin with, although she had plenty tales of her homeland to share, they did seem the kind of tales to be told to children of Helovia. "I wonder, do you have a story to tell Paladin? I have much yet to learn, as we all do."
02-05-2013, 07:22 PM (This post was last modified: 02-05-2013, 07:23 PM by Aaron.)
Aaron Stallion.3 Years Old.Ages in TallSun
The Storyteller and the Earth Medic were not the only ones out enjoying the warmth of BirdSong. Aaron had only just rejoined the Foothills herd, but it seemed like it had truly been the best choice for him. It had not been long after he had been named the Mason. With such a title, came much more responsibility than the young draft expected to have. Not only that, but he had been blessed with an egg to look after. At the moment the egg was tucked safety away while Aaron was on a run. He may be mason, but he still needed to keep up his strength just in case his fighting talents were needed. It felt good to be back in the Foothills, making him all the more sure he had made the right choice after all. World's Edge was nice, and he missed the closeness and the family feeling of the Qian but it was better this way. Here he did not have to worry about always being on his hooves about who was coming and going. Well, not that he wouldn't be worried still. There would always be a part of him that would still be. but his main focus now would be the herd and their needs.
It was then the pair caught his eye. Strange pair that they were it made Aaron want to see more. As he grew closer one frame was very familiar. The stallion reminded him of Ophelia. His pace slowed, causing him to wince as it jarred his left side. The gashes in his pelt from the blood bay stallion's glass horns had left a nasty mark, and it was taking it's sweet time to heal. He nodded his head respectfully to them both before introducing himself. "I am Aaron.. The new mason." Brown eyes looked from one to another, feeling very awkward as the last time his had seen the Valiant he had been standing beside Kimber as she spoke up at the herd meeting.
"blah blah blah."
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In Nomine Patris Et Filii
Et Spiritus Sancti
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Please Tag Aaron in All Posts
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Aaron at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
He had not seen any dragons, and that was truly disappointing. Argetlam had been looking forward to seeing dragons again, with their bright eyes and glittering, flashing scales, but mostly, he had been in excitement for their breath, their red and gold flame, flickering flame that curls and twists and is even more magnificent than their fierce faces. Every day he expanded his radius of exploration, just a little, until he had circumvented the whole of the Foothills territory without one single glimpse of a flashing fang or a flicker of a wing. It broke his heart, his big beating heart, especially for he had heard that the leader of the herd had a bronze companion. The stallion sighed softly as he moved in his rambling, shambling sort of way, continuing his fruitless search.
Despite the shortness of his stay at the Tides, he missed the sugar-white sand that appeared to be crumbled silver under the moon's soft exhale; earth was his home, his element if anything, but he found himself thinking that warm, packed dusted earth beneath his feet did not compare to white sands, even if there was plenty of sweet green shoots to nibble at. How strange it was, the ways things worked. On the shambler went, whisking his straw-like tail to keep the buzzing flies away, shaking his head on occasion- he didn't like hurting things, nor conflict, yet it bothered him, to have the pesky things all around, even though winter's embrace had only just left them.
Perhaps he had missed the ticking of the clock, but time had passed and he had found his path moving right along by a cluster of horses; one, two, three- a unicorn, a tree-horse, and a horse. How interesting, he thought, watching the leaves smile in the wind. Does she control the leaves upon her back? Perhaps he could ask the mare how exactly she had communed with it, or maybe if she controlled the movement of it. Or would that be rude? To think... maybe the earthy mare could help him understand how to make his inventions come alive, something he had strived for for many days and weeks and hours.
Argetlam is pulled out of his imagination of metal creations when the paint speaks about him being a mason. If he is a mason, he doesn't seem to know what he's doing. Then again, the broad, tall stallion usually doesn't know what he''s doing either. They could help each other! They could talk about the properties of metal- as Argetlam's leader, surely Aaron knew how to make metal inventions come alive? It must be some internal property that makes creations move and walk. Not talk, maybe, that would be a bit of overachieving- but who knows?! One day, perhaps.
"Aaron! It's good to meet the mason! I am your apprentice, I believe." Well, Argetlam didn't sound quite like that. He mumbled, rather, and his eyes were pinned somewhere on the ground, and he had a bit of waffling in between, those bits of breaths that don't quite fit anywhere.
02-17-2013, 02:47 AM (This post was last modified: 02-17-2013, 04:04 AM by Tamme.)
The sound of rustling mixed with heavy steps could only be made by one such unique creature, and the scarred stallion turned to nod politely to Willow. She was such an astounding creation, a glorious mixture of their amazing race and nature, and he found himself staring at her more often than not, though he tried to be polite. When she spoke to him about smiling, he raised a brow and snorted a little, cracking a small grin. "I have little to smile about except my beautiful family and these even more beautiful hills," he replied honestly, a heaving sigh following his words. "Life has been unkind, but in many ways, I am blessed."
The symbiotic appendage provides some shade from the bright, warm rays, and he listens to her words, musing that she is right. "Indeed, we find each other in the other's hooves. I find the transition comfortable however, do you?" he asked her curiously, looking into her deep green eyes with curiosity, his crimson orbs able to be kind when you look past the brutality. Beneath his hard exterior, scarred body and violent eyes lay a beautiful soul, a kind one who had worked harder than most to rise up against the darkness.
"I come from another land and therefore know little about the gods here. You, I believe, are still more fit for this position, Willow, being so in harmony with the Earth." He smiled. "But I shall do my best not to wane in the light of your work." The stallion knew that Willow had done an excellent job as Storyteller before; she was capable, intelligent and gentle. When he had been broken, bleeding and injured from battle, she had gone against the judgement of others to heal him, and he would never forget that kindness.
Two charcoal ears flipped back, and he smiled jovially when the pinto approached. "Aaron!" he greeted happily. "I am glad that you are in the Foothills again. You are such a noble warrior, but I am sure you will be equally as astounding as a mason. Have you met Willow?" he asked, introducing the two. "She is the new healer, and a skilled one, I am sure."
Another stallion approached then, and Paladin dipped his head in greeting. "Hello, young apprentice. I am Paladin, the Storyteller, and Willow, our dear healer, is also a servant of the Foothills." The black dun then turned back to Willow, his spirits lifted. "Hm, a story. I have many, but it all depends on what you want to hear. I can tell about Gossamer's rise, the Tides of Isilme, the exodus to Helovia..." he trailed, thinking through his past. Conveniently he left out his own history. Dorngarrow deserved to be forgotten.
Nayati knows him, but not well. She has never met him after all. But yes, she knows of him, and he is a bit of an idol for her. He was leader before Svetlana was instated, but he had returned and taken a position in the herd once more. It was pure luck she had discovered the meeting he had apparently drawn, though it seemingly wasn’t important if there was no outward announcement or call. At first glance she wanted to turn and run, simply because there were so many people. So many people…so many opportunities to hurt her, to see her. Being spotted was still a fear of hers, having been hidden away since birth by Mother. Yet from the group two stand out to her, though the mare…tree…woman is rather obvious too. Aaron was there when Romani had reappeared in the foothills, and Argetlam had been the one to give her the necklace that still rested on her breast, the flower in full view. She does not know Aaron very well, but she greatly enjoys Argetlam’s company. This urges her on, the hesitance that stopped her having create yet another larger group of flowers. It no longer bothered her, and she had nearly forgotten about them most of the time.
Stepping forward, she kept herself small and unnoticeable as she made her way with delicate steps towards the crafter. The soft words tell her that Paladin is a storyteller, that Aaron is a mason and new at that, and that Argetlam is his apprentice. Nayati does not speak, she listens. She is unlike many other foals, watching the world both with shy curiosity and fear. Paladin is speaking then and again she listens, storing away information. Little ones always know the most, for they are unseen and overlooked, underestimated. Willow is the healer, Aaron was not always a part of the Foothills, but was once a warrior. Nayati by then has made it to Argetlam’s side, and she brushes up against him, the only sign of her presence beside him. He is familiar, he is comfort. Cascading locks of snow hide her from view, though her albino eyes watch the group warily. She is becoming more and more thankful for her hair that grows like it’s going out of style, as if it’s determined to make it to the ground before she’s even a year old. It hides her away and she likes it, but now she is watching Paladin, tucked close to Argetlam. He has promise of a story on his tongue, and Nayati knows that knowledge is all that she has to her name, beneath her belt. She knows not where she’s headed in the future, and so she gathers. She listens. She watches. It is easier to overcome her fears when she has something to focus on, to stave off her panic attacks, and so she watches the old leader, and she waits, hoping that nobody else has seen her.
the rose shadows said that they loved the sun, but they also loved the dark,
where their roots grew through the lightless mystery of the earth. the roses said: you do not have to choose.
.arborun lignea .. .mare. ..23 years. .. .16.3 hands.
The stallion is a curious mixture of dark sorrows and brilliant joys. She wonders if that is why his pelt is such a monochromatic reflection, expressing his internal turmoils of grief and happiness as easily as his lips curving up or down are wont to do. It makes her heart ache to know he is so troubled, as it does for anyone that suffers needlessly, yet she knows that oftentimes it is our greatest suffering that enables us to experience our greatest bliss. Such is the balance of life, unjust as it may sometimes appear.
She is relieved to hear he does not begrudge her change in position, but she cannot help but shake her head firmly in his assumption she is best for the role still. She supposes that she knows a good many tales of lands far beyond here, and that in many ways she understand the gods, her gods, which she supposes must be the same as these gods in different forms, but her heart has always been set on healing. She knows she can focus better with her mind kept busy staunching wounds - with storytelling she is only ever reminded of the terrors of other places and different times. In many ways healing is itself a terrible thing, constantly patching up soldiers so they can fling themselves back into war, but she would rather ease those scars that she can see than try to mend the torn flesh of a society gone awry. All she can do for that is learn and remember and hope to fight against ever succumbing to their wreckage.
It's why she realizes as Paladin asks what she'd like to hear, that as much as she'd want to beg for a happy tale, that such will never teach her or the others anything. With a sad sort of line on her lips and a brief gaze to all who have gathered, Willow lifts her head to respond. "You seem to have traveled as much as I, and though there are many tales to be told of this place I am sure, I am curious to know of your origins. If they are anything like mind, there is a reason you are here now and not there. It is from our roots that we draw the greatest nutrients, and from them must we often turn to for strength when we feel so weak."
He wishes to forget, but that goes against the very purpose of his role. We must never forget, else history is doomed to repeat itself.
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Unknown history is doomed to repeat [Foothills!]
