"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.
Oblivion. Perhaps that was where she went. Removed from the lands, erasing herself from the memory of friend and foe alike, until all that remained of her modest legacy was a faint whisper on the wind of time that came to pass. Now, a familiar form materialized out of the frosted landscape, fat snowflakes falling heavy upon ground and horse alike, absorbing the crunching sound of hoof against ground. The air resonated with silence, small clouds drifting from the nostrils of the moving creature, freezing into tiny icicles upon encountering the cold air. Mane, coat, beard – the ice had engulfed her from nose to tail, but the warrioress soldiered on, sheltered mercifully by the impressive density of her shaggy fur. The rendezvous with Helovia evoked no grand emotion from the little wildling, at least not as of yet. Korra found little sentimental value in recounting her sacrifices and experiences within, but then again of course she rarely felt emotional about anything at all.
There was no thought in her mind to stop and admire the scenery; rather she plowed through the heavy snowdrifts with an expression of absolute indifference upon her scarred mug. And yet, the little garron felt a growing restlessness within her core, as if coming back to this weary place had pushed something inside her out of balance. Petite lobes flicked back and forth in turn, changing as rapidly as the sensations that pulsated through her insides; was this really the right decision? Would it not be better, easier to seek greener pastures beyond the horizon? That was her usual cure-all for any intricate situations. To just disappear and not cast a single glance over that gold-tainted shoulder of hers. Not this time, however. Perhaps these lands were different after all; maybe they had melted a small chip of that frozen heart and gained the dubious honor of becoming ‘home’. Whichever was the case, Korra pushed it aside and substituted the thinking with action, as she did best.
The surroundings were barely distinguishable under the thick duvet of white, so upon reaching a small inclination the russet mare came to a halt, letting brown gaze scavenge the land. The Threshold. Motionless, as if the whole realm was holding its breath, suffocating in the ringing silence that now filled the air. A silent grunt emitted the lips of the garron, antlered skull held high, decorated with glistening frost and icicles. From afar, her form may be difficult to discern, let alone recognize in her current state. It suited her just fine really. Let the slate be wiped clean, at least for a while, until her past could catch up with her nomadic ways.
thrilling to think, poor child of sin
- it was the dead who groaned within
06-01-2013, 05:52 PM (This post was last modified: 06-14-2013, 02:06 PM by Lena.)
Lena I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars
Winter: cold, harsh, unrelenting, beautiful, enigmatic, traces of days encased in memories and solidified in hopes until the next awe-inspiring renewal. Enriching, invigorating, polishing warm sentiments across the passing, passionate dawn, Lena treated the returned season like any other, as an old friend, as a loyal companion, as a plaited ritual from song to warble, from trill to ditty. It thrilled, intoxicated her senses, wild, free, arduous and glorious, ruffling the thick hair lacquered to her hide, joining the revolutionary breezes as they turned into swift, chaotic winds, chilled, glacial, frigid, but still delivering the mass of her coquette grace. The world is a delightful place, full of hopes, dreams and promises, and no matter the passing hours, the swindling graces of frost and rime, she cherished them like a sonnet, like a reverie, encased in the crusades, the journeys, the wanderlust and phoenix quandaries of another revolving slate. She found virtue and whim in the fleeting, transient hours, paused to grant them clemency, honor and merit, traveling across heaven and earth for the last piece of their gifts and bestowals. Even now, amidst the heavy snow, the deep pockets of frozen tundra, she danced, eager, ready, to offer and provide the distinction of joining the masses of their mighty Basin. A twirl, a whirl, a flip of feet, a scattering of movements and motions, puppet on strings, marionette dangling by divine hands, nymph cascading through the elements, laureled and crowned by the benediction of beneficence and arias. Imogen followed closely behind, mimicking her own bright motions, chirping in appraisal of the wonderful land, the sublime, the magnificent, the sketching of their artful designs. They followed the trail worn down by passing sword-ed beasts, driving minute to minute, hour to hour, across the waylaid path towards the Threshold, awaiting the moment that another welcoming would transpire, extending their invitations towards their flourishing sovereignty, their blooming monarchy, their distinguished, illustrious empire.
A scent was caught by the fairy’s nostrils – so distinct, so familiar, so discrete that she paused momentarily to contemplate the situation. Time had wilted and vanished, vanquished, since the last occasion she’d crossed the corridors with the well-recognized warrioress, and she can recall her fondly along snow, throwing, catching, distorting, or upon the battlefield, wreaking havoc as she fought for their world. A thousands questions piled into her mind, fueled and instigated by the invocations, the return, of a vital confidant. Where had she gone? What had she done? What worlds did she see, what journeys did she enact? What crusades, what odysseys had been laid before her, prevailing, arching, lofting and perilous? Was the sprite’s mind playing tricks on her, deceiving her into well-wishes, fancies and foibles, causing her to reach out for something that wasn’t there, that couldn’t yield her happiness? First with the painted mercenary’s homecoming, and now, the derisive, loyal soldier made of stone and stag. Could she wilt from such happiness? Was there deceit layered in the paradoxes, in the quandaries, of long-lost friends reviving before her eyes? And all at once, the minx does not care, reinstating her waltzing threads, Imogen tucked towards her side, a mixture of ardent designs, lacquered to the filaments of bond and yesteryear. When she came upon the sienna femme, just as lithe, just as sturdy, just as strong as she was once, the thrill of her heart rings in her chest, spills from her mouth in a valiant nicker, coasting and ghosting over hill, forest and snow to render her welcome home. “Korra!” She chased the picture of her ally, of her comrade, of antlers, brambles, thorns and sardonic, smug smirks, and wrapped them in the assemblage of her winsome smile. Upon her arrival, the grin blossomed, a blooming spectacle of radiance, resplendence and reverie, the image of bliss at having found a soul once believed to be lost, now found in the resurgence of opulence. Brilliant and beaming, her voice carried the depths of her song, trilling and tickling across her tongue in an array of splendor. “How wonderful to see you again!” The queries returned, fresh in her cranium, but she didn't ask, didn't pry, and waited for the new walls of Korra's soul to come wittling down.
Would she ever return to her former abode in the Basin? The garron weighed the thought for a moment, wondering how many familiar faces remained there. Very few of the ones recollected sparked any longing within her; they were not as pure in the cause anymore. A bitter taste spread in her mouth, for she remembered all too well the decline in standards that had characterized the herd the last time she had been there. Her harsh judgment softened slightly at the thought of her pale liege, wondering if he had reclaimed his rightful throne from the aggravating wench that had possessed it in his absence. Tiny nares flared widely against the icy wind, prickling with the scent of something oddly familiar, at first unable to identify its source. Had her arrival been discovered already? Hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, she thought to herself dryly, snorting grumpily.
That was when brown gaze settled upon the dancing form of a russet femme, moving closer through the masses of ice and snow. Lobes flicked, optics widened slightly in startled disbelief – what are the odds? She had hoped to encounter the kind-hearted minx at some point or another, but that Lena would be the first to welcome her back in the lands of Helovia was unexpected, to say the least. The corners of her lips betrayed her neutral exterior by pulling upwards almost unnoticeably, recognizing that really there were no one else she would rather see at this moment. Of course Lena was to be found here, putting her sweet face to work in recruiting fresh meat for the herd. The garron was sometimes unsettled by her, simply because someone so joyful and positive did not mix in well with the warrioress’ view of the world. They were infinitely different; one being a socially crippled racist with a mouth on her, the other being so sweet and outgoing you couldn’t help but love her.
Korra stood motionless, words of greeting captured by her fluffy lobes and returned with deep alto chords of her own, raw and rasping as she had of habit. “Lena, it has been too long,” were the words offered, not revealing further of her whereabouts up to this point. At least not yet. In due time, she might indulge the youthful belle in tales of murder and dust, but the time wasn’t now. Scarred face was turned upwards, exchanging a whiff of warm breath in friendly greeting with the taller mare, before attention was turned to a small canine in Lena’s wake. Sturdy figure was repositioned, fleeting suspicion drifting across rugged features. “Who do we have here?” was the simple question posed, the garron turning her antlered crania to glance at Lena once more.
thrilling to think, poor child of sin
- it was the dead who groaned within
Lena I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars
The mare before her appeared nearly unchanged, an image of time ceased, intervals halted, concluded, finished, perfection attained in the last bits of their alterations, no others transcribed. Her gentle eyes studied the soldier, diligently prospered the unchanged beast; Korra still maintained the air, the dignity, the strength of a warrior, lines prompted by ritual training, stalwart hearts, valorous crusades and perilous onslaughts. Her warm fixation melted and molded into more queries, more quandaries prompted and perplexed, but never voiced for fear of audacity, boldness and impudence. If she seemed so enduring, so abiding, so indestructible, why had she left them? Had they erred somehow? Had the Basin not provided enough for her? Was it the ice, the rime, the glacial intrigues that forced her elsewhere, displeased, peeved, nettled and needled by its transgressions, its secrets, its cold, silent gaze? And if that were the case, would she be willing to return to its Siberian grasp, held aloft in the chilling bravado of its dangers, its iniquities, its beauty and allure? What could they do differently that would keep Korra at their sides, no longer drifting, no longer wandering, wavering, over vast open plains until she wasn’t any in their sights? Despite these misgivings laced amongst her mind, the nymph maintained her smooth, dulcet features, the infinite grin shrouding the dark clouds brimming along her thoughts and sentiments. She disguised her weary, confused slate with the natural fondness for the mercenary, brewing, brimming and spilling in a serene, silken glow, resplendent and bright, ebullient and light. The other femme’s smile mixed with her own, put her at some ease, allowing her heart to gather the pinnacles of excitement again.
When Korra addressed the kitsune at her side, the honeyed gaze floated to her ivory companion, wonderful Imogen, chirping and trilling, bouncing amongst the corridors of snow, rarely impacted by the idleness surrounding her. A blessing encompassed by a wily, cunning fox, ensuring the sylph that she’d never be lonely again, never be strayed and torn from others, never left to the dimmest hollows, forever bound. Her croon passed over wind and air, warming the raw, bitter tones with cordial, amiable song. “Imogen.” She said nothing more, perhaps because her love, her compassion, for the beast, for the world, for the companions brought back to her was enough to convey the utmost benevolence nestled in her chest, beating, fluttering, wild and untamed, ferocity kindled by kindness. There was a brief pause, where her regal head swiveled and shifted back to the beloved, antlered pariah, and she simply beamed, a restless nymph full of questions and hardly any answers. So she merely asked the most important. “Do you wish to return home?”
In the absence of her king, she had faltered. What is a soldier without a commander? Korra understood now that she might have done more good, staying in the same place instead of giving in to her restless ways. On numerous past occasions, the garron herself had preached loyalty of the herd, the importance of protecting it's members from the dangers that lurked all around - Korra squirmed slightly at the thought now, knowing how hollow that must look in the light of her latest escapades. She was fairly certain that Lena would not hold it against her, the russet femme was one of the only Basiners that she respected, and she hoped the feeling would be mutual still. Hazel gaze drifted to the canine again, now with a name to go with the effervescent attitude. Imogen. A curt nod was given, about all the manners the mercenary ever displayed, and her attention turned swiftly back to her old friend.
It was not the cold climate that had scared her off; the frost and cold of the Basin suited the hardy creature quite well, built for the mountains and the hollow winters that existed there. Even as the wind howled past the two figures in this moment, Korra merely flicked her tail, sheltered well by her thick fur. As a matter of fact, the Basin was probably a lot more her thing than their old home within the Edge; yet that didn't stop the barbarian from feeling bitter at the thought of wars lost. Truth be told, nothing could probably ever tie her down to the same place; she would remain a wandering spirit, probably up until and past the point where her physical form would turn to dust. Yet when Lena inquired to her intentions regarding her old home, Korra felt not a shed of doubt in her heart. The shaggy warrioress had to return, to see to the state of things, maybe even discover the return of her long lost leader. When she looked upong the russet dove, her crooked smirk had returned to her rough features, voice slipping hoarsely across chapped kissers. "Home?" She paused, realizing that that was exaxctly what it was. Then, she nodded. "Aye, I would like nothing more."
thrilling to think, poor child of sin
- it was the dead who groaned within
Lena I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars
Forgiveness, altruism, humanity and mercy were aspects collected, intertwined and spread into Lena’s essence. Tiny, minute flickers of gold, ambrosia and honey, pulled together into a tender nuance of cordial harmony, lined with threads of satin, silk and mellifluous croons, soft bells and stalwart hymns. A dove’s grand gestures of kindness, a swan’s bold endeavors and a devoted and dedicated heart was aligned into her spirit, her flesh, her honed bone and sinew. She was not treated to bitter runes, she didn’t taste or yield the rancorous fruit of their labors and she refused to rot in the decadence of their spiraling sins, their entrenched memories and cast iron resolve. Her syllables wouldn’t threaten, wouldn’t malign, wouldn’t assail, wouldn’t curse or flail at the lost whims of the precious soldier. So it was no great wonder that she’d bestow her beneficence, her fancies, her gathered shards of generosity and ungrudging affection towards Korra, a fellow entity longing to help their kingdom, snatched and snagged from them so long ago. Her stimulating smile stretched beyond the means of pardon and absolution, for they’d already been decreed, laid upon the soldier the moment the sylph came across her wanderings – their world was her world again, fostered by rime, by ash, by failure and conquest. Perhaps she would not have to drift any longer, their strong blaze of stag and horn, maybe the lands would occupy her mind once more, carve glacial attributes across her stony heart again, christen and anoint something for her to cherish, something for her to love. Imogen chattered in agreement of the unspoken sentiment, twirled rapidly in the powdered snow, tails dancing in the luster of winter, in all the whimsical tides it brought, even amongst the danger, the perils, the hazards, Lena had discovered an individual forever worth her weight in gold, in amber, in starlight and valor. She bowed her head in a patriotic swing towards her brethren, trust and unwavering clarity brimming past the edges of her movements, the clear, honeyed gaze steadfast and poignant upon Korra. The shaggy, the silent and the stern, but always a wonderful creature the nymph was content to call a friend. Her words dabbled across the scenery, a vivid hum, sparking, igniting and inciting the bellow, the roar, of an icy homeland waiting for its amazon to reappear. “The Basin awaits your return.” She laughed and turned into the wilderness, spun grandeur into the mysterious boughs of the Threshold, and pursued the opulence of the Aurora once more, eager to share it with the garron again.
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