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m-r-levine · 1 year

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Unspoken : a wip that shouldn’t be

It occurs to me I should probably explain the og/elf brainrot premise of Unspoken since basically I’ve not talked about anything #Dark Tapestry outside of asks in literally years due to mi hijo maldito stealing the spotlight becoming the focus of my writing attention for the last four years or so.

Especially since searching my own blog is turning up almost nothing. 🤦 I swear I feel like I froth at the mouth about these characters all the time and yet my blog shows no evidence of this?? What strange unsearchable vortex have they fallen into this time?

Ahem.

The context…

Under the Weaver's hand, all patterns move in harmony.

Where chaos moves, all theory becomes meaningless.

Daidel is a world of darkness and light, in possession of magic and technology, science and divine power, often at war with itself. Terrible things happen in this world under two moons, and wonderful things as well. The stories in this world span the globe and a massive stretch of time — but the first thread written belongs to a mortal chosen to become a Fury.

The cast

Although the supporting cast is as usual a sprawling mess of multiple cities and factions, the brainrot thin excuse for a plot centers on just two characters: Keris and Davri.

Neither a hero nor a villain nor yet a world power, Praetor Brynrinkeris Z’equidai Chath il Rex do’Xiphos is merely an arrow aimed at one particular offense to the gods (not the Weaver, merely some number of little gods) who is also no one of any particular or weighty consequence except to the gods offended by his existence. Although still mortal, fallible, vulnerable, and utterly killable, Keris was given a certain… conditional permanence in order to facilitate her mission. (Not that she has any idea what it is or that she even has this drive at all. It’s not terribly important to this particular plot or even half of them, it’s just… there. A little narrative land mine that may or may not ever trip.) She has led the Trinae for several centuries now - but this is not remarkable either. Even moonborn with no magic at all can live a thousand years if they set their formidable Wills to it, evade the ravages of wild magic and pestilence, and no one finds the motivation to pay the hefty bills arranging a permanent death would incur.

She will neither save nor destroy the world at any point in the Dark Tapestry. She is sometimes the narrative focus and sometimes she is just a stranger neglecting to pay a gate fee in someone else’s bad day. She is not particularly unique - even when she cheats Death the Scalekeeper, especially after the formation of the Ravens* in the aftermath of the Forge Moon explosion. She is merely a red thread.

…And Davri’s commanding officer. (Whoops)

The little mercenary company Trinae Amicae is not so little anymore - hasn’t been since they seized the wild heartstone in the deadlands of Molniya and built the hidden fortress of Xiphos atop it. Half village, half command center and training ground, Xiphos is hidden by the landscape itself and the wild magic rampant throughout that part of the world… and maybe a little help from the mages of the Amicae who have made their home there for many daystar generations. Although the Trinae is known in many citystates for their professionalism and efficiency and their ruthless policies should a promised paychest dare to be late, little else is known outside their organization beyond their red and gold banner and the frigid reputation of the Praetor who leads them: not only is she a moonborn grand adept who lives apart from other ekete, she owes allegiance to no city at all, and neither does anyone else under the Trinae banner. Centuries ago this was regarded as an amusing and temporary (read: doomed) quirk by administrators of the major cities — in the contemporary era, most civil and military functionaries tacitly agree it’s not worth their lives or livelihoods to question their paperwork too closely. Especially as the Trinae are one of the few Companies willing and able to field any measurable resistance to the violent ambitions of the Ragestorm Empire of Mor’chagh.

Davrush mej Nakun was born among the oggish clans of the Amicae, and follows the wide path forged by his foremothers to train in the arts of war and serve the banner in his turn. Unfortunately, the distant, abstract, and imposing Praetor became a tangible and distressingly mortal reality for him when he was still a child. He has carried a more-or-less secret flame for her ever since, despite six years in voluntary exile attempting to obey her order to overcome what she believed to be a starry-eyed sort of hero-worship infatuation common to the young of every kind. He is acknowledged a master weaponsmith, and on his return to Xiphos and refusal to accept a commission into the Elite Three Hundred** until the Trinae could be (mostly) self-sufficient in the matter of their armaments, he was elevated to Legate (the second-highest rank - there were two Legates previously, East and West, and he was made a third, Artifex) and charged with authority over the craftspersons and armory among the Trinae, both in Xiphos itself and support staff in the field.

Working so closely with the love of his life, burdened with both the privilege and responsibility to advise and argue with her is a torment he embraces with stoic determination and absolute discretion. He is widely respected as a warrior, artisan, educator, and leader. He embodies the highest virtues of the Trinae, regards his rank as a vocation, and more than a few whispers around the Company speculate that the spirit of their First Praetor (a human knight of the early fourth kiya, Cieramos the Bright) may have been reborn as a chaste og - and what a pity, since unbonded oggish rarely live past seventy-five.

The plot

And now we get to the heart of the brainrot the Excuse to wallow in pining the surface plot.

Three foreigners defy the landscape and magical protections around Xiphos to approach the Trinae with a delicate job offer. They negotiate a deal for an advance party to discreetly evaluate the scope of the work they want: the Company to protect their walled city from multiple external threats and also to mediate between political factions within their city.

Keris has Doubts™️ but at the same time she needs to solve the problem of how these envoys found Xiphos to begin with, how they came to possess artifacts once owned by Cieramos, and how to position a successor for a stable transition when she can no longer lead the Trinae. A campaign past the edges of the charted world would make such a convenient circumstance to force the succession one way or another, if only she can subtly guide the Council to acknowledge the best and most natural choice in their midst. (She is of course certain that when they offer Davri the mantle of Praetor he will finally see reason and secure a platonic bond of convenience to extend his life.***)

Davri attaches himself to the campaign in no small part to prevent her from seeking Death despite Keris’ initial refusal by implying he will seek a bond and establish a family after they return. No one would deny him the right to one last glorious campaign — and to sweeten the deal the foreigners carry better steel than they can make, and armaments of a different style than anyone else. He is the expert on both - and he is more than enough of a warrior and tactician in his own right to command the Three Hundred in the event the Praetor cannot — or if circumstances require a division of their forces.

Naturally, reconnaissance and peacekeeping in Udea does not go easily. Month after month of work uncovers only more tangled politics and personal vendettas and pockets of wild and malicious magics both. Nothing in the desert is simple - and by the Writ the Company is no longer free to walk away from the problem of the modern citystate as inconveniently active magical artifacts predating the Rending of the Forge Moon keep surfacing from various conflicts and expeditions into the trackless sands.

Every day spent in close company on this delicate, dangerous campaign increases the pressure to forge some kind of victory from the chaos, and doubles the challenge of pretending to continued faith in their mutual fiction of indifference.

The Writ that governs the Trinae is sacred and good and right — and the officers of the Company are held to an even higher standard of faithfulness to their laws. Anything less would destroy the foundations of the strength that protects the freedom of the Amicae. No one clear of mind and heart would disagree, much less the highest authorities among them.

Abuse of a subordinate carries the same grave and final penalty as treason and sabotage. No one knows this better than Keris, who bears the silent grief of enforcing the Writ herself.

Control is paramount for a mage, passion is dangerous. Keris is a grand adept with many centuries of field experience behind her. Control is as much her field of expertise as magic and war.

And yet, and yet.

Every “remedy” she leverages against temptation fails to slay the desire to embrace the forbidden beloved at her side.

You see the problem, of course.

The delightful, sticky, overheated pressure cooker of a star-crossed mutual-pining friends-to-lovers slow burn idiots-in-love size-difference monsterfuckery-adjacent secondearth military fantasy adventure kinky romance.

Why is my brain like this.

Send help.

- - -

* The Ravens are an apolitical, secretive, and vaguely occult necromantic organization common on several continents. They offer essential support and recovery services to the city-states at negotiated contract rates lower than any independent necro or dolovai can offer in exchange for a vertically-unbounded but horizontally modest plot of land within the city walls… and tax-exempt status

** The Three Hundred is a company-within-a-company of warriors under the direct command of the Praetor herself

*** Dear Reader, Keris is wrong.

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