"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.
09-26-2013, 08:13 PM (This post was last modified: 09-26-2013, 08:13 PM by Confutatis.)
She is angry.
It pulses through her veins, this sacrilegious and blasphemous rage that does not fade, vehement and poisonous, thudding in her ears and throbbing in her wizened black heart. The passion heats her step and glows in her yellow eye, dementia and rabidity, the madness of a foaming beast trapped inside a cage too small. From the ice-locked arches of the northern tundra she escapes, away from the bitter chill to the abysmal place of forgotten sanctuary, the hollow manor, the decaying shell of a once-home. Has the marsh blossomed without her tainted presence to push it back? Do the flowers, smelling of cloying sweetness, reach out from the wet earth, little hands of color reaching for the eternally dim sky, ever shrouded in a persistent cover of miserable gray clouds? And how are the unholy, living in the rotting halls; do they thrive and grow, or are they fading away, turning to wraiths who stalk the empty rooms? Will Seele welcome back the forgotten mare, a traitor, an oath-breaker, forgiving her abandonment, instead pleased to see the white-skulled face, a fellow murderer, slaughterer, killer?
Confutatis, Lady Death, Queen of Skulls, ambitious dreamer of world domination and huntress of the poor, the blind, the weak, who takes honor in killing the crippled, is returning to the swamplands on the southern lip of Helovia, seeking forgivance. Her! Oh how she has fallen, reduced to begging commoner, praying to Oblivion below that they will take her, the foreigner, so she can steal their golden crown, lead them to greatness. Her machinations, carefully forged, was obliterated, crushed and expelled, shredding paper thrown to the wind, stolen away by the golden-girl. Bitch. How carefully she had poured over her mental blueprints, connecting and teasing apart the meticulously crafted ideas, only to be torn from her incompetent hooves, for she had lost.
It was only through desperation and wild hope that she had salvaged a few last ideas, works that could be fashioned with the Asylum as her helpers. And so, greedy, vain, self-absorbed, conceited and narcissistic, she wends her meandering way, drawn to the murderers by no sense of loyalty, but of self-gain.
Before she set her hooves on the black mud and sucking bog, however, a miracle transpired. The sun began to rise. It was the morning of her twelfth day walking, and the sun peered victorious yellow, at last beating back the bruised black of the night, rising triumphantly above the ebony silhouettes of the barren trees. There came the dawn choir, the singing of the birds high and pure, their twittering chirps a fine melody for dewy-eyed does. At once, Confutatis knew, took it as a sign, cradling the hope close to her heart. It was an omen, that Confutatis would rise, and her name would be spoken softly in terror and fear, screamed and shouted, and that she would lead Helovia to their new age.
Dawn and dusk she walked, sleeping during the day, still preferring the cloak of night.
And at long last, she arrived in the weathered halls, the waters still and tepid as ever, the corpses trapped screaming within still bloated and white, putrid carcasses. Without hesitation she plunges into the cold water, bathing in the frozen wasteland of decimated bodies and butchered pieces of them, hooves stirring clouds of silt from the black bottom. Her eye glows golden in the light of the evening, the setting sun bleeding red over the fog-shrouded world, setting to fire the mist. "Seele!" She calls, her voice ringing and twisting, grating and curling. "Erisssss!"
For Eris or Seele, whoever gets to it first (or both, if you feel like it.)
It was a snake, it's body slithered it's way through her blood and through her frozen heart. It reared it's ugly head, her soul now was constricted in it's grasp. What was happening? Tighter and tighter it pulled, trying to squeeze out emotions. Finally a drop the colour of blood fell and it spread it's way through her body. It coated itself in her muscles, it made her eyes see red, her body became stronger, faster and ready to feel pain. The bloodthirsty craze had finally returned. Blue orbs watched the blood running down the trees, infecting the bark with a bold red colour. They needed more blood, the world was not yet perfect. Rising from murky waters, the golden mare raised her crowned head. The crown was made from dragon bones, bent and shaped to please the mare who wore it. Within the bone structure sapphires and blood red stones were woven into the crown, the glinted in the light, their beauty hidden under blood stains. Flames rippled down each individual strand of hair while she walked through the marsh. Alone Eris knew that she was the one destined to fill the swamp with more blood, she was the one destined to mark this land as their territory.
The fiery land is magnificent, bathed in the setting light from the sun, the fog lights up. Pausing in freezing water the malnourished mare smiled at the blood water swirling around her hooves. It was the one thing that made her happy, especially when the world was light again. She was still growing comfortable with the sun rising, preferring the darkness, the new light upset her at times. Still, she could not yet change the way to world worked. Instead she would work with it, do her best to manipulate the light. Prehaps she would use it in the pretence that she was actually a good soul. Use it to pretend that she actually had a soul. Before long the sun would become her maiden, Eris would corrupt the glowing ball of hope into her own evil toy. Long, delicate and pointed strides carry the burden of evil forward. Drawing in a deep breath, the mare crinkles her nose at the smell of rot and decay. Bloated and bursting bodies swirl around her legs, something cold and wet begins to creep up her leg. Time to leave the cold grasp of the unknown and time to go about leading her herd. They were still growing, Eris wondered how long they had until the wilds would no longer be able to sustain them.
A voice calls for Seele. Her ears flick to register where the sound came from, just in time to hear her own name. Now swivelling her head around, Eris waited for the last of name to finish bouncing between the trees. It caused an eeire echo that had the power to unnerve those of the weaker kind. Being sure to set a painfully slow pace, the leader decided she would make the visitor wait a while for her arrival. Maybe Seele would beat her there...maybe Eris wouldn't have to deal with this annoyance at all. Come to think of it lately she had been doing too many leader like things and not having enough fun. Coming around some trees, Eris halted and studied the one that had made the summons. A cruel smile twisted around her chops, the shadows gently stroked her face and neck, they kept her calm and hidden from view. The black bitch of Seele had returned, oh now it was time to play. Seele's little pet stood proudly before her, grey hair rippling down from her neck and dock. White faced so much like her sister Seele, Eris wondered how embarrassing this was going to be for the traitor mare. One creepy yellow eye and one busted one almost gave Eris shivers, this mare had quite the formidable appearance.
"Traitor." She whispered out loud, voice harsh and husky. "Liar." Her figure was frozen in place, shadows licked her sides, they concealed her from the eyes of her prey. "You stand so still now, did you temporarily loose control of your legs?" Doubt fills her tones, anger and disgust are companions. "Did they carry you away into the blood filled waters of betrayal?" Finally she picked her way forward, anger radiated off of every inch of her body. Her face remained expressionless however, dominant and proud the mare marched to a halt not too far from the traitor mare's face. Inhaling the familiar scent of death and blood Eris watched her face for a moment. Hopefully Seele wouldn't come and save her pet this time. No, this idiot who had returned to them was going to be Eris' new toy. The black mare was weak for leaving them. They were going to win this herd land, why should they bring this bitch along for the ride? That act did them no favours. No one gave a shit about this mare.
Moving even closer hoping to invade this mare's personal space Eris paused before speaking again. "What...do...you...want?"
" " 854 words.
Wake me up inside,
Bid my blood to run,
Before I come undone,
Save me from the nothing I've become.
Waiting on the decaying threshold of this rotten house, she is patient, not knocking again. They will come, creeping and crawling, slithering and sliding; they will come most certainly, for they cannot afford not to; they will come because she is here, the cruel, charcoal mare with the grim face and the laughing yellow eye.
Time drags on, the mist swirling with crimson and gilded gold, scarlet and vermilion. It glimmers, scintillating, gleaming, glittering, the sun burning yellow; the mist thickens, and she can almost scent the salt of blood. Drops of ruby red coalesces on her shoulders, her withers, her hips and the curve of her back, running down her spine, glistening in soaked obsidian rivulets. Her head tips back, the longest strands of her coarse mane dipping into the water reflecting the bloody sky. Both eyes drift shut, as if weary with the waiting, while she is anything but. Patience is something she has learned through her long, war-battered years, a weapon in it's own right; a weapon that she also well-knows is often utilized as a form of intimidation, to create a sense that the leader does not care of these intruders waiting to visit them. Still, the waiting begins to drag out, and she wonders if their security is lax, rather than the Asylum using some form of strategy.
The voice, a whisper, a ghost, probing out from the deep shadows of which cloak a mare, rasps, curling, hissing, twisting around Confutatis' ears. Inwardly, she starts; outwardly, her head turns, slow, magnificently unimpressed, a profound sense of boredom emanating through her languid movements. Her yellow eye, bitter inside her white skull, seeks out the lithe form, faintly recognizing the source of the voice. Once, they had together approached a unicorn, threatening her, blackmailing her, forcing her into co-operation with little trouble, apart from a few vindictive words. Does Eris remember that chilled day of the marsh, a day of interrogation?
Mad-eyes. Her eyes are a wicked thing, a feature more memorable than the golden skin and red mane, the stripes or the white spots flecking the tawny. Oh yes, her pelt would be lovely to hang about Confutatis' shoulders; but perhaps she could steal one of the Asylum leader's eyeballs, one of those pretty sky blue ones. That would be a better prize.
She sings a song of praise, Eris does, of lies and treachery, betrayal and deception. Confutatis enjoys the beautiful words, letting it warm her frozen black heart, taking the insults as compliments. It is her line of work, after all; dishonesty, treason, bewitchery, villainry, nefarious and wicked sins. Within her blood it runs, black and viscous, beaten into her by her own self-teachings- evil, they call it.
Her golden eye is frozen, devoid of emotion, and a drop of acid falls from her foaming, poisonous mouth. For a lingering moment she does not answer, silently fighting for control of the delicate conversation. Then she sighs, breath dragging across her frozen lungs. "Careful of where you put the blame." A growl, a warning rumble starting in her chest. "I was stolen, Eris. Held captive; it is you who did not look out for me, did not chase down the one who incapacitated me. I waited for you, and you did not come." Lies to spin, webs to weave. "I killed the boy, Eris, when I regained my strength, with little thanks to you. These wounds I carry, which stain the cold water red, are from him."
She prays to Oblivion Eris will accept the story.
"What do I want? I want your cherished company, your enlightening presence, to pull me to ever-greater heights. I want to conquer, to kill, to murder and pillage; with a friend at my side, an army alongside my shoulders."
She does not put into her words her cold longing to lead, with all behind her and below her.
She does not say her hunger, her passion, will drive her to kill. Death she promises, to all fool enough to stand in her way; torture, persecution, crucifixion.
Will Eris take the bait, plummet and fall, or stand tall?
I didn't feel like moving through the forest. I didn't feel like wading through the marsh waters. I didn't feel like picking my limbs up and kicking them forward through the muggy air that came with the summer heat. But, alas, it was the voice that caused my audits to prick up that caused me to move forward. My name, from the one whom I had sent on a mission to gather information. Information that should not have taken as long as it had been to gather.
So, I shoved forward from my hiding place where I listened to the souls as they careened around this marsh begging for attention and recognition. I did not arrive soon enough to catch majority of what had been said. The only words I caught from Eris were "you... want?" and then Con's scratched voice as she almost seems to tsk at Eris's former words I had not caught. Stolen. Held captive. The wounds she carried are from the stag who stole her. My eyes narrow as I stop in the shadows, my venomous gaze not appeased that she believed she could get away with these lies.
She is too strong to be incapacitated so easily. Too strong to not have come back sooner, even if that story is true. The hunde lies. The hunde is todesfall. Schwere hisses in my brain as the gravely voice of the creature continues on. Cherished company. Enlightening presence. A friend? She does not want any of that. Memory is one of the things that has always served me well, and I knew that such a thing was a lie.
It is then that I pull myself forward from the shadows. "Lies do not end well, Confutatis." I hiss, horn glinting in the tiny ray of light I pass before arriving at Eris's side. "You have called yourself a nightmare. Alpträume do not become incapacitated so easily. Nor can I see your acidic mouth taking as long as you did to get free and come back to tell us. We did not come because you were not near us, we had no way of knowing you were missing when you had been sent off on a task which I suppose has also not been completed."
Two seconds. I pause for two seconds as a snarl emanates from my chest. "Drop your charade, Alpträume. You were not desirous of our 'cherished company' when I first met you. You warned that you didn't take company well, that you didn't follow well. While such words may play off well against the mare who did not recruit you, the lies and that web will not be woven in front of my face. Hündin, you do not amuse me. So, perhaps you should try again." My soprano chords were etched with harsh consonants, every syllable sounding more and more feral. I did not like games. I did not like lies. And, with one false move the soul that I could already feel tugging upon my frame might just be snagged free from her body.
After all, what else was a necromancer to do?
547 words
Seele = not in a good mood
translations -
hunde = canine
hundin = bitch
alptraume = nightmares
10-13-2013, 04:31 PM (This post was last modified: 10-15-2013, 10:18 PM by Confutatis.)
Seele, the clown girl, the Glassfox, appears, a necromancer, whisperer to the dead, with eyes of lustrous amber, the yellow of gold, the aureate of predatory eyes. What a pretty girl, all dressed up in her black suit and stoney mask, all soft flesh and unbruised sinew gone untouched by the savagery of battle for too long. Not a warlord anymore, but a girl, reduced to a petty shallow thing, hardly worth the effort of conquering and destroying. Why had she followed them, Confutatis wonders, amber eye glittering hungrily as she watches the mare draw nearer. Why had she sunk down to their pathetic level, become the unusual normal? She is not that- not a follower, peasant, commoner, smallperson. No, she was daughter of Oblivion, heiress to warlords, vain and vindictive woman of voluptuous hips and hard eyes, sister of a priestess of death.
She would not come back begging for forgivable, bequeathing their apology. No, she was of an iron heart clad in scarred armor, the bones of dead vanquishers on her shoulders, and she was invincible, a corrupt monster, a nefarious beast, a sinner and a hellion. Never would she fall, bow her head, forgive or forget. No, Confutatis would bide her time, gather her patience, until the day they forget; and then they would lie in their blood with their throats slit. Fuck them, fuck them all.
Seele volleys words at her, words more empty than her glass horn. The sooty equine bares her ivories, ears pinning to her skull, lips curling back in a gruesome grin, a horrific smile, a terrifying promise. Around her eyes, the skin tightens, a tiny sign of tension well overridden by her locked muscles. Doesn't she understand, this fool of a mare, that she shall not win the wolf over with vague insults and bitter sentences? Fools, pretty little birds singing their pretty little songs, not watching for the cat about to leap onto them. "Stop," she snaps, voice hoarse and grating. She shifts her weight, wincing at the pain of her healing wounds, but unafraid. "Do not hide the honesty of your word, Glassfox. I care not if you call me bitch to my face- dare to do so, but in my own language." Confutatis' voice takes on the tone of an egoistic commander, haughty and condescending. These are lowborn horses, despite their primping. Now she, she comes from a black bloodline hard and true that flows steady through her tainted veins.
Her amber eye is cold and dead as the corpses in the tepid swamp waters.
"Idiot," she growls, amber eye glittering cruel. "You are damned fools, and you will regret this day to the end of your years. I will not beg, nor plead; you are weak cunts who linger in the shadows, and you deserve nothing but to rot."
She did not look back.
She left them in the mists of the swamp with fury writ on her face.
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
