"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.
07-23-2013, 02:29 PM (This post was last modified: 07-23-2013, 02:30 PM by Archibald.)
The statuesque brute’s molten eyes flicked down to rest on the figure of his companion, strong and proud next to him. Her red and white coat blended into the night, the white on her body melting into the snow and the reddened hairs mixing with the dark hues of the twilight. Feeling his eyes, Loretta looked up and emitted a small whine, her ears lowering as she stepped in closer to him. She was unsure of what was happening to the world—all she knew, and all Archibald knew, was that they held no power from the Earth or Time gods. It was gone, sucked from their very cores and from every fiber of their being. Despite the absence of the great gift, neither felt weak. They were powerful before the magic; they would remain powerful without it. Lowering his muzzle, the Dauntless touched the shoulder of his bondmate to comfort her with all he knew: We shall remain.
Lifting his head and taking in a deep breath, Archibald bellowed out a call for the mare he needed. Circe. Loretta tipped her head back and emitted the same call, her long yips and barks grasping the perpetual night air with chilling ferocity. The Dauntless had been gone for far too long, and even now he had chosen not to go directly to the herdland. He needed to see Circe alone, outside of their home, before he stepped back into her life like a traitor. He had been on his journey from the Basin longer that Ophelia had been, breaking free from the group that travelled to the hills to survey the north further. He had not spent much time there in his residence of Helovia, and he now understood why. It was barren and cold and desolate—much like his heart.
The land that he took refuge in now, however, he liked very much. It was an unclaimed rift between the World’s Edge, the Threshold, and his Foothills. He stood on the edge of the forest, the snow almost to his pristine white knees, but he could still smell the delicious cedar of the trees and the small morsels of life-bringing food that they hid. At the thought of it, his stomach rumbled uncomfortably, and the Dauntless snorted. You sound like Evers. Loretta mused, No starving like the blue stag. Nodding in the direction of his bitch, the Dauntless turned his hefty body to find a bite or two, tail flicking behind him. ”Watch for Circe.”
I see you lying next to me
With words I thought I'd never speak
[Awkward area between the Edge and the Foothills, open area with heavy snow near the mouth of the forest that connects to the Threshold. for Circe only.]
Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.
It had been dark for far too many days and nights; even now, with the return of the starlight and the pale glow of the moon, the world held a bitter chill disconnected from Frostfall, a pall that felt unhealthy, malnourished. It didn’t help the heaviness in Circe’s heart, or assist in the dying glow of the fireflies that kept vigil in her mane, on her croup, all around her in silent clusters of golden pricks of life-giving light. She welcomed them for their company—and it seemed they welcomed her in return. She would miss their companionship when the warmth of springtime came.
However, the shadowmere did not think about these things as she trudged away from her home, the mare’s destination not guided by the constellations but by the rumble of a call she didn’t know she had needed. So much thought and anguish had been given to her fallen young, to the ruined state of things and the death of the world’s vigor; the sorceress didn’t even consider that some part of her ached for the stallion that had sired her dear Callisto, didn’t even imagine that his voice might prove to be a tonic she had been desperate for. He had called her though, and Circe felt something much too warm and confused gush from underneath thick layers of resolve and forced forgetfulness; her gait was eager, her pace level even through the curtains of exhaustion she felt. Pushing herself day and night with assignments that weren’t even her responsibility, Circe left them all in a heartbeat, let them scatter behind her this one time, this one everlasting night. Her General needed her. He was home.
The height of the snow began to grow against her leg just as the forest began thinning, and Circe both scented and saw the malamute bitch she had known belonged to Archibald. Slowing her pace to a careful walk, Circe stopped in front of the red-hued companion, dipping her head in acknowledgment; a firefly broke from her mane, lazily drifting dangerously close the nose of the bitch. Circe lifted her gaze, looking to and fro for any sign of the hulking midnight frame, and called out in a mild tone of her rasping voice, “I am here, General. Why do you call so shrilly?”
The playful lilt was a completely unexpected and unintentional twist to her speech; Circe had no idea where it came from. In fact, the shadowmere had much difficulty in assessing how she felt; though Archibald had been gone for almost the entirety of a season, she did not feel betrayed, nor did she believe him to betray their family of warriors. No, there was just this overpowering need for him that Circe didn’t even know she had, this heart wrenching ache that had everything and nothing to do with the flesh she had left buried in the heart of her homeland. She was…glad, that he had chosen to meet her away from that place. There was too much there, hidden in the earth and rock of her land, that needled her with nightmares and a sickness that had never entirely abated.
Stray thoughts roamed in the pits of her mind as she awaited the Dauntless’s revelation of himself, worries of a trifling sort that nonetheless set her mind careening; would he notice the shagginess of her coat that sat heavier than it needed to in the season of frost? Would he notice the lump that had begun to grow in the center of her loins, the way her hips had shrunken somewhat? Would he see the weariness in her eyes, the heaviness in her face that even the firefly’s touch couldn’t mend? She built as a warrior still, even if she were a neglected one; with a surge of defiant inspiration, Circe decided she would remind him of this. Standing somewhat straighter, her gaze becoming much more resolute, Circe called out to Dauntless again with a tone that bespoke neutrality and duty. Whatever her girlish fancy for him, Circe was his Executioner. “You called for me, General?”
Archibald was not waiting long before Loretta alerted him to the approach of the mare he had bellowed for. Lifting his massive head, the Dauntless turned to search for her dark figure in the opposing darkness. There were very few lamp-trees here in this region he had chosen, but a faint flicker in the distance pinpointed her location. Why did Circe have flickering lights following her? Archibald was not aware of her possessing any light or fire magic, and he doubted it would work in the absence of the God from Helovia. With a confused furrow to his brow, Archibald dismissed his questions and took a few steps to meet her. As the distance closed between them the Dauntless found it easier to see her, and when a small splash of light filtered over her face something inside of the dark beast twisted.
What the hell was that? Archibald stopped his forward movement, stunned by his own reaction to seeing the shadowed mare. He had called for her because something inside of him, be it duty or lust, told him that he missed her--but what was this turning inside of his stomach that made his heart beat faster? It was true, the Dauntless had claimed the mare for his own after the conception of their daughter, and he felt a protectiveness and debt to her that he had never offered another, but did he have feelings for her more than that?
”How have you fared?”
As the words slipped from his mouth, Loretta bound to meet the pair. Loretta, usually a brash and cruel creature, was feeding off of the difference in emotion within her bonded's heart and welcomed Circe's presence. Looks sick. The bitch commented, tilting her head slightly. The charcoal nose on the end of her muzzle twitched as the malamute stepped closer to the mare, sniffing for any sign of sickness or disease. "She is concerned for you." As am I. He added mentally, not willing to admit it out loud quite yet--although, as mares were usually much more intuitive creatures than stallions, he was sure she knew.
I see you lying next to me
With words I thought I'd never speak
07-31-2013, 02:18 PM (This post was last modified: 07-31-2013, 02:22 PM by Circe.)
Circe
Archibald’s shadowy bulk loomed from the darkness, fast approaching; Circe watched him with a growing sense of giddiness that had no logical place in her midriff. He was just as large as she remembered him, appeared just as heavy as he moved in the dense curtain of dark; the shagginess to his coat and the frost that clung all about them left the impression of cold, the idea of icicles having clung to his hide at one point in this unforgiving winter season. Her eyes roved once upon the entirety of his form, and the shadowmere murmured under her breath as she did, “….trying to make a mountaineer out of yourself.”
The Dauntless asked how she fared—well, there was no question as to that. As the inquiry escaped his lips, Circe averted her eyes from him, reluctant to tell the truth of the matter; it was no pleasant Welcome-Home present. However, neither would she hide from it like a spineless knave and insult Archibald’s intelligence in the doing. It was what it was. “Terribly,” she answered bluntly, a dark humor in the lilt of her voice; she supposed militant decorum was discarded in this private meeting between them, away from their homeland. Little by little, the shadowmere contemplated baring herself to him in full—and realized the thought in bits and pieces. “It’s nothing time cannot heal. It won’t destroy me; I’m stronger than that.” Destroy her no, but it certainly ruined her to an extent. She looked forward to the day where she was no longer broken.
*"She is concerned for you."*
Circe cast her eyes upon Loretta, a soft, smiling, knowing light coming upon her gaze as she looked upon the fawn-red bitch. “Oh?” She inclined her head slightly as yet another firefly untangled itself from her mane, fluttering down to the malamute before veering off and disappearing into the bitter night frost. “I am healing,” she said to Loretta, “but I don’t imagine I’m an easy sight to behold, hmm? I will endure, though. It’s not my job to be pretty, in any case.” As she spoke, her eyes slid from the bitch in front of her upwards into the golden pools of Archibald, her words for both him and his companion. Whatever rational she made in her mind, the girlish giddiness only seemed to swell as she comprehended his worry for her. There was no need for this silly satisfaction; she was his warrior; it was only right he should be concerned for her health and well-being. However, it didn’t stop her from the sudden burst of happiness that ballooned in her chest. It was fool-hardy, but the toxin was in her veins and there was no pulling away from it.
It was this giddiness that propelled her forward a step, and urged a tentative inquiry to escape her lips. “And you? Archibald, how’ve you been...you and Loretta?” She hadn’t set eyes on him since that broken day of early snow, where she gazed upon the behemoth finally brought to defeat; the memory of it caused her gut to twist. “If you don’t mind my asking…Where have you been this past season? I—“ Missed you, the shadowmere ached to finish. She stopped herself, however, suddenly afraid she overstepped some hidden boundary between whatever twisted interrelationship they might have and total insubordination. “….I wondered,” she whispered, finishing the broken thought, her voice growing somewhat small under his scrutiny. Regardless of her revision, it felt like a confession of something deep and dark—something Circe wasn’t even completely sure of herself.
Oh, he was no mountaineer. A giant, a leviathan, a monster turned warlord and General. The inklike draft could be a mountaineer, a creature doomed to dwell the heights of the world and face the fears of the cowardly. Though, it was on a daily turnabout that the stately brute faced the fears of the cowardly. He was a fighter, a machine, a champion—a king among warriors, as he had been referred to before. The Dauntless was a gladiator, in the rawest sense, a slave of Mandrake to fight for her own entertainment—but he had changed that, hadn’t he? Or was he still a slave, fighting for the enjoyment of others? Oh, questions immeasurable. Archibald did not have time for them, no, he only had time for her in this moment, face to face with what would shape to be a life-long battle of lust and relationship.
She answered his question with the bluntness of a warrior. Despite the fact that Archibald could undoubtedly see the answer, painted over her sulking frame and dropped eyes, the words still hit him like the kick of many a foe. Archibald, generally so glacial and distant, took a step towards his Executioner with his head lowered. Tipping his muzzle forward, his golden eyes flicked to meet Circe’s, before he touched the point of her left shoulder. It was such a simple gesture, gentle in nature and meant to comfort. The warrior had never been one to speak everything he felt or knew, and used the most instinctive form of touch and body language to execute what his mouth could not. He knew her pain, he felt it so deeply himself, and he knew there was nothing that could be done to mend the brokenness that their hearts shared. "You are strong,” Archibald added, nodding slightly before lifting his head again.
"We’ve been….well. We spent most of the season scouting the north, looking for threat or ally alike.” Archibald could not stand to tell her that he could not stand to be at home, to see the faces of those that had witnessed the destruction of his heart. Evers, Knox, Phaedra…and most importantly, her. With a flick of his tail, Archibald looked down to Loretta. Go, he instructed. Loyally, though not without a growl of defiance, the bitch turned heel and bound towards the Foothills. "Circe, I—I should not have left you.” He had convinced himself many times that she did not need him. "I know you don’t need me, or want me, to say this, because you are capable of life and freedom and survival, but—“ the authoritarian paused, turning his head to face the dark horizon, "I have silently claimed you for my own, and likewise myself to you.”
I see you lying next to me
With words I thought I'd never speak
08-18-2013, 02:45 PM (This post was last modified: 08-18-2013, 02:46 PM by Circe.)
Circe
How could one horse have this much of an effect on her?
It was his….presence; the weight of his existence in the world and atmosphere. The shadowmere felt every piece of The Dauntless as he moved, the air groaning from under his might; his neck flexed, his legs shifted the earth with every step, those golden eyes of his cut through the thin air as a stiletto might slip through the chains of mail armor; his voice was an avalanche, a rumbling harbinger that destroyed Circe from the inside, pieces of her falling away into the timbre of his speech.
Down into the bare bones of Circe’s heart, she at least understood the embarrassment she was feeling. How could she fall to pieces like this, in front of her General? Her decorum was slipping; the façade of her soldier’s confidence had fallen into the snow, and suddenly it was hard for the shadowmere to breathe, much less meet his eye anymore. He approached her, and even in his shadow there was weight to be felt; his touch was electric against her skin, his musky scent reaching her and causing an ache to settle in the sorceress’s chest, the urge to press herself against the sinew of his neck and chest, to lose herself in the inky darkness of his pelt. As his muzzle touched her shoulder, the fireflies that adorned her mane scattered, a burst of light, and flew away from the heat that ran underneath her skin. She didn’t notice; Circe’s breath fluttered ever so slightly, her neck arching as she resisted the urge to reach out to him, reacting to his raw, physical passion. She realized it was one of the things that attracted her; Archibald wasted no time with twisting words and mindless games of speech. He used the basest form of communication available, the most direct and honest, the most sincere.
The warmth grew in Circe’s body as she listened to him speak, the rumble of his voice resounding in her ears and his touch lingering on her body—the urge for closeness still throbbed in her bones, try as she might to contain it. It wasn’t until a rustle caught her attention, and Circe noticed how the red bitch retreated into the darkness of the forest, before her eyes searched out Archibald with an inquiry in those blue depths. What came from him was most unexpected, and with every word her eyes grew a little, widening with shock at his confession.
*"Circe, I—I should not have left you.” *
Her gaze never left him, even as he turned away from her, her ears hearing and listening to the barest revelation of the Dauntless’s heart. And it was this, more than anything, that gave Circe the most amazing sense of simplicity; her trepidations, her embarrassments, even the buzz of fancy was thrown to the wind, because they were the embellishments of a childish game of love, and this was something of a different sort all together. He was pleasing to her; she was pleasing to him. Why should it be complicated with mundane things such as rank and regard? They were warriors; the world was made guileless by their creed. When she realized this, all the pieces fell into place for Circe like something out of the blue, and she watched him regard the horizon, waiting for her reply.
The words turned over in Circe’s mind, a litany that brought waves upon waves of contentment with every revolution: I have silently claimed you for my own, and likewise myself to you.
The longing for him, to feel him against her once again, came in greater evidence—but Circe didn’t restrict herself this time. There was no need to complicate the desire of her heart. Here….it was their place, their moment for each other, and the curve of his neck as he watched the sunless sky was inviting to her. Taking a step towards him, Circe reached upward with her own muzzle, wanting to trace that bulge of a tendon she was so partial to; the casual display of his strength and brawn that attracted her like a magnet. “You’ll forgive me,” she murmured, her voice caught against his shaggy coat, “If I’m not so silent about my own claim on you." Her lips felt the tautness of that muscle as they ran against it, coming to rest upon the crook of his cheek before she pulled away from him slightly.
“Of course I’m capable of those things,” she whispered, her tail curling behind her as a cat’s might in pleasure, “Just as you are capable as well. We are at liberty to use our life and freedom to take whatever pleases us—Archibald, you’re pleasing to me. I’ll take you.” Her eyes were heavily lidded; her voice was nothing but that throaty purr that snaked from her maw against him. “Go ahead and take me.”
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
