"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.
07-27-2013, 02:17 PM (This post was last modified: 07-27-2013, 02:17 PM by Gaucho.)
WENT THE DISTANCE, NOW I'M NOT GONNA STOP.
JUST A MAN AND HIS WILL TO SURVIVE.
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Become the General? (Stay a warrior) Challenge Levi? (Don't challenge Levi) Attend the herd meeting? (Guard the borders) Protect the herd? (Gather lost souls). Casual encounters (Long term responsibilities) Does she love me? (She loves you not).
You've got to know, that this is way too much for poor Gaucho to take in. He is far too simple to understand the complexities of love or to read between the lines, of what Soh could possibly expect - or, more simply, just want - from him. Too literal of a creature, he was finding it more and more difficult to distinguish his orders: Gaucho patrol, or Gaucho retrieve? Gaucho to herd meeting, or Gaucho in skies? He was a creature unable to prioritize on his own, and was painfully lost in this shuffle of darkness that had enveloped the land.
But that in itself, was also alright. With his simplemindedness, of course came frustration, but surely not the sort that you or I experience. Gaucho does not spend his afternoons sorting through what he should, or should not do - he simply acts. So while it is apparent there is frustration - a high-energy pent up snap in his strides - there is no inner turmoil or doubt, clouding his stormy gaze. In that, he is perhaps the luckiest of us all.
The large bay stallion lands in the middle of Thistle Meadow. There is lamp light cast by the odd trees which had sprung up when first Helovia went dark, but now the Moonlight from above seemed to bath the world in an ethereal shine. Had the moon always been this bright? Or had their eyes grown so accustomed to the darkness, that any light seemed to be supernaturally blazing? Of course these aren't things that Gaucho troubles himself with, as his large hooves slam into the freezing ground - dislodging the undisturbed snow. The snow has a hard frigid layer of ice over top - making it feel as though the dark skin covering his cannon bones is being sliced each time he drags his legs through. Thus, the large bay energetically seems to prance through the snow, as if pulling some imaginary sleigh on Christmas eve. Black wings are held tightly to his sides, retaining the warmth that his body is releasing - as he lets himself adjust to this temperature. In the Throat, the temperature never dips this low, nor is the sandy terrain ever dusted with this much snow. It is a terrain that he is unfamiliar in, though as he moves, he understands that snow gives about as much resistance as the sand of his homeland does - perhaps even slightly less, for it packs well underneath his hooves, giving him traction as he canters about.
It isn't long before this warmup is complete, and Gaucho grows tired of merely ruining the pristine white blanket upon the meadow. With a loud battle cry, Gaucho lifts himself onto his hind legs with the aid of his wings, comically tossing his antlered brow, as his strikingly white teeth snap at the frigid air. Exhaling, he watches as his breath lingers in the air, and, finding this amusing, continues to snort as he once again picks up a canter.
"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNN" He bellows again, coming to an abrupt halt and flinging snow about with his sudden movement. His stormy gaze is ablaze with amusement and want, to feel a body collide against his own - to feel teeth tearing into his flesh. To feel something he can understand, and to speak in the only language he is truly fluent in: battle language.
07-27-2013, 03:56 PM (This post was last modified: 07-27-2013, 04:16 PM by Confutatis.)
It hurts less now, the ugly burn across her left shoulder. Still raw and pink and fleshy, it stings and scorches with a pain of its own; but Lady Death does not back out from her fights, no matter the price she pays, and so she limps silently and with an eerie dignity, that of an ancient silver ghost floating down the abandoned manor halls, once a fine lady and now only another of the lost dead forgotten by society. Everything about her murmurs that she is not one to be forgotten- that her very being shows she has some greater destiny waiting to be fulfilled before her, that she is bred of ancient warlords and conquerors, and plans to continue her line.
Confutatis lifts her head, amber eye hard and flat and emotionless, the wolf listening for sounds of its prey. There is an echoing challenge chilling the bleak, dark air. It rings with an unmistakable frustration, the bear that has been locked in a cage too small, a full-grown male grizzly full of hormones and pheromones.
Despite the pain that burns in her shoulder, the ugly gaping edges so easily prone to infection in the dirty wilderness, Lady Death will not flee the beckoning call. In the open meadow, the footing will be even and flat, perhaps with only a touch of mud around the banks of the wide rivers whispering and chattering detestable songs. As she breaks away from the tree line, moonlight washes the lithe mare trotting languidly, as if she has not a fear in the world. Silver kisses her muzzle and paints her in creams and whites, a sharp contrast to the ebony of her charcoal hairs; it is this pearl light that illuminates the second spine along her back, hard bone white against black. With a detectable sense of lazy detachment, the mare lets her yellow eye travel over the powerful shoulders and haunches declaring him of a dancing breed, the wings furled at his flanks, the deliciously primitive markings gracing his dark bay bodice. He is collared like a dog, and that is what her eye picks out first.
This stallion is controlled; he is not able to live his destiny by free will. It is symbolic to her, and for this his sculptured muscle-bound handsome body is forgotten. Weak. He is irrefutably weak despite his strength. It is difficult to make out much more of him, for the light is dim and the hard, slick layer of ice crusted over powder hides much of his lower legs, even as the fresh white snow drifts down from his sudden halt.
For a moment her chest flutters as she inhales the frigid air, ears twitching and listening, the constant pain in her shoulder forgotten.
The mare so hideously scarred narrows her eyes ever so slightly, breaking into a clearly asymmetrical trot- she allows her left foreleg to drag slightly, avoiding putting weight onto it. Blood does not weep from the burn, but she pretends it bothers her much more than she does. Carefully, she breaks into a lazy sort of canter, not going out all the way, not pushing herself too hard. It is a façade, this slowness and pain, and she hopes the dog will fall for it. Perhaps he’ll even be distracted by the swing of her battered hips.
She feints toward her left, snapping out at his right shoulder half-heartedly, before surging to her right, kicking up high at his face. Her shoulder gives a miserable twinge as she loads it up with the weight of her twelve hundred pound body- but she ignores this. With her hind legs, she aims at his dark face, towards his left eye and ears. Every day since her own eye was destroyed, she had dreamed of returning the favor to someone else. Will this be the day? She hopes in doing so, this will also deter him from biting at her- hopefully he will be too concerned about protecting his face to use his teeth.
Confutatis lands, the snow scraping unpleasantly at her legs, and aligns herself closer to him, face facing towards his tail, biting at his left hindquarter while lashing out with her hind legs at his left knee. It twists her neck at an uncomfortable angle, but nevertheless she wills it to work in her favor.
Since she has entered the comforting darkness of Helovia, she has not fought another equine, especially not one of this size, and judging from his scars, of this experience. In fact, she cannot remember handling her own dirty work for quite a few weeks, even months.
She is determined to rise victorious, to put this bitch in his place. He will not defeat her- not her, Lady Death, the leading bitch of them all.
1/3 + 0/1 Closing Defense Word Count: 800 Summary: Coming face-on! Feints towards his right shoulder, pretending to bite at it, then turns to put her hindquarters in his face and kicks up, hoping to hit around his left eye/ears. Turns to put herself parallel to him (facing his butt), bites at his left hindquarter while kicking out at the joint of his left leg. OOC: Hope it's okay I attacked first!
WENT THE DISTANCE, NOW I'M NOT GONNA STOP.
JUST A MAN AND HIS WILL TO SURVIVE.
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His opponent is one that he does not readily recognize, and as his almost lazy canter bridges the distance between them he notes many things about her: her seemingly nondescript bloodlines, and the impressive array of scarring that mars her hide. It is for this reason, that he ignores the faux limp in her stride: were those truly wounds received outside of battle, she would not be running headlong into a tussle with one such as him. And while her being an overly confident, but poor fighter also could account for her wounds, his primitive mind chooses to reject this scenario as being unlikely, given the armor that she also wears.
He will treat her with a professional respect, of one warrior to another.
But that does not mean he shall go easy.
As their bodies near, his stormy gaze takes note of the subtle shift of weight, from a centered gait, to leaning slightly to the left. He anticipates, more or less correctly, that she will try to take a run at his right shoulder as she passes. He is ever thankful for the spiked collar he wears around his shoulders, for precisely this reason. It is a good reminder for those careless enough to throw themselves at him headlong, of the consequences of recklessness. As she feigns to the left, Gaucho's assumption is that she will continue on this course - obviously acting on impulse, and not realizing that it is a bluff. As her head tilts halfheartedly towards his right shoulder, Gaucho takes the opportunity to surge forward, meaning to charge into her - wounding her right shoulder and chest with his spikes. However as she pivots, Gaucho feels what he believes to be her left flank come before him, as she turns and bucks up into the air. Given his charge forward, while she was still in the process of feinting to the left, they were now more or less perpendicular to each other - her buck missing him entirely. Still propelled by his original intent, Gaucho tries to continue to charge forward into her left side, to gauge her with his spikes.
As her body is somewhat smaller, he feels her easily pivot in the snow, moving down his left side. Instinctively, as she has no horn with which to spear him, he spreads his massage wings defensively, throwing his weight specifically left, so that he might hit her in the face, or neck, for her efforts. With a grunt, he feels a few feathers being torn from his left wing, though the pain recedes quickly. Just as he is about to buck out at her, he feels a sharp pain on the back of his front left leg. Her kick finds his leg easily, but hits higher, in the muscle above his knee. Feeling the muscle contract painful and begin to buckle, Gaucho snarls his frustration, snapping his long and thick tail to try and hit any part of her still remaining behind him, to deter another attack.
Wings already outspread, the beast leaps into the air, doing so rather awkwardly as his left leg continues to refuse to bear any weight. In his antlers, Mara hisses her anger at the mare below, though is unable to aid her companion, due to the frigid temperatures. Still, she hisses reassuringly, biting gently on his ear to release a single drop of blood: all this is required to enable his magic. Circling in the frigid air, Gaucho beats his wings as there are no thermals upon which to easily drift. Making a wide arc, he angles himself to descend upon her head on.
With a loud cry, his breath releasing a puff of frost, three dog-sized spirit-eagles pour from his antlers, their talons already outstretched as Gaucho's large wings attempt to quickly cover the distance between himself and his opponent. The eagles separate, flying in a triangle, so as to try to attack Confutatis from the front, and both sides. As Gaucho nears, hoping that the mare is preoccupied by the eagles, he quickly banks to the left, raising his wings straight in the air and turning so that he might descend nearly on top of her, facing the same direction. Hindlegs lower than his front, he tries to kick out at her rump as he flies overhead, his front hooves poised to retaliate, should she try to rear and attack him.
A word to the unwise: One should never attack a pegasus' legs, if they are being gracious enough to fight you on the ground.
How she loathes herself- getting out of shape, out of practice- and the great ugly stallion coming quick to meet her. As Confutatis pivots to his left, her own left side is raked viciously by the spikes upon his collar. Due to the difference in size, the too-tight collar around his bloody fat neck cuts up the point of her hip, stripping away flesh to leave it hanging down, fresh laundry out to dry on the clothesline. Pain sings it's hard melody, blood already beginning to weep from the fresh wound on her oily black body. In some, this might be a turn-off; a warning to leave now, refuse battle, and pull out. Not for her, not for this bitch who will fight the dog with bared fangs, who hunts boars and bears and cougars. Relentless, ambitious, determined; it is pride that fuels her, and anger stirring as her kick delivers it's strength to nothing but empty air.
Having her head and shoulders set farther from his hips as she maneuvered ungracefully about his bulk, his massive wings buffet her in the rib-cage, but her teeth find purchase and tear free a few of the slick obsidian feathers. For some, this might be a small victory; for her, disappointment. She does not fight to say she walked away from a veteran without too many injuries; she fights to say she won.
As far as Confutatis is concerned, so far she is not winning.
Her hooves smack the hard flesh of his upper leg. Vaguely cheered by this, she circles away, the stinging lash of his tail whipping only at thin air, missing her haunches by a few inches. The stallion takes to the sky. Blessedly, the hard crust on top of the soft powder prevents too much snow from being stirred in the night, which might cloud the visibility, which is already poor. Unease circulates through her body- this boy is no coward who flees. Lifting her head, she searches from his form in the star-studded night. Nothing is visible- his dark bay pelt blends in well. And yet... there! The stars are obliterated by a great flying form. What else could it be but the oversized stallion?
Clouds of silver swirl from the shadows, glistening and shining, forming up into the shapes of three sparkling eagles. They glow with an unearthly light, of ghosts and other things, and immediately a tingling sense of fear is instilled within her withered heart. She does not stand still. Lady Death, queen of dead and bumps-in-the-night in her own conceited eyes, backs away swiftly, amber eye glittering. Her eye catches a dark silhouette- a tree, cracked and broken from the long winter. The birds are drawing nearer, and terror breaks over her heart. Instead of whirling about and fleeing (as she dearly wishes to) she continues to back towards the tree, only a few paces away, setting her haunches to it stubbornly, protecting her back, the sharp branches protecting her from Gaucho above. There is no way she will let the idiot drop from above onto her fragile spine- even if reinforced with another spine.
Out of the eagles, only the right one has touched her skin. For a moment, the warmth is leeched from her skin, and she stands frozen, chilled, feeling as if the snow has melted onto her in pools of freezing water. Fear, unlike that she has ever felt before, bursts in a torrent within her. Every shadow has something evil hidden in it, some malignant monster worse than her, and they are streeeetchhhhhing towards her. So close. Coming closer. See their teeth. No!
They're gone now, the ghosts.
She can see Gaucho, flapping about the field, but she stays under the tree. He can come to her.
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Radio loud, or Radio lower? [Spar, Confutatis]
