#i permit you to kill water master tho

[yeonslayjun]

I HATE WATER MASTER SO MUCH!!! HE DESERVES DO DIE A PAINFUL DEATH LIKE THAT'S SO CRUEL LIKE BITCH STFU

I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM

[caddy-whump-us]

⛓ + 🔨 for the emoji thing?? Character of your choice!

Finally finishing these really, really old requests–thank you for being so patient, Anon! So in this scenario, Rowan is an iteration of Ryan (tall, broad-shouldered, a little rough and scruffy, long red hair) and Elyr is the elf version of Julian. Rowan has been traveling with Elyr as Elyr’s guard and protection, as Elyr is something close to a prince.

I’m imagining the setting as being sort of like early 19th century Europe. The country of the elves is a cluster of islands (not unlike the UK but a few more islands involved) with some holdings on the nearby continent but they’ve mostly been pushed back to the islands by the humans. But the elves have the magic equivalent of an atomic bomb, so one does want to be diplomatic with them (even if they do have a cultural tendency towards peace and negotiation). Meanwhile, Braith is a young (human) duke and his particular state is part of a larger federation (ostensibly) overseen by the elected Archduke (think Holy Roman Empire or the German States before unification). I guess the rest of the ad hoc worldbuilding should be pretty clear in the course of the drabble (kinda long for a drabble tho).

And and and? There’s also bonus whump of several different kinds in this one. Enjoy, Anon!

“Ah, Elyr–” Braith rose from his chair, still with a mouthful of bread tucked in his cheek and held out his hand. “Come and sit down, have something to eat. You were comfortable last night, I hope.”

Elyr, escorted into the sunny breakfast room by the bowing and soft-footed servants, came and sat at the table. “I was, thank you.” His face was grave.

Braith, smiling, was tucking cold meats into another piece of bread. “I try to look after the guests in my house.” He pointed around at the table. “Do eat something.”

Elyr sliced bread and took fruit for himself but said nothing.

“I’m rather pleased the clothes we found for you would fit you. Though I can’t believe you’d only have the clothes on your back for such a journey.”

“It is a pilgrimage,” Elyr answered, “not pleasure-traveling.”

Elyr would have been content sitting across from Braith in his traveling clothes, so long as it ended in leaving this house with Rowan. Instead he had been dressed in clothes better suited to a half-grown boy, the only clothes that would befit a man but were still small enough to fit him.

It rankled to be dressed up like a boy in a miniature soldier’s costume, and so Elyr had left the top buttons of the jacket undone and let the collar of his shirt show through.

Braith eyed him. “A pilgrimage. Of course. We’ve even heard about the birth of your Moon Child here.”

“Then you understand why I and my guardian must continue on.”

Silence fell between them. Sunlight, filtered by leaves, moved across the table like the patterns in water. Voices, laughter from elsewhere in the house reached them. Elyr’s ears twitched and Braith set his elbows on the table and laced his fingers.

“I do understand,” Braith said at last. “But I cannot permit it.” He took up his teacup, drank.

Elyr scowled. “Safe passage is promised along the pilgrims’ routes. We didn’t set foot in your country, and we have papers that would allow us entry even if we had.”

“You misunderstand me. You, sir, I can permit to continue on. Your guardian I cannot permit.”

“That is wholly unacceptable.”

A cloud covered the morning sun. Braith leaned across the table at Elyr; his smile had vanished and his eyes were dark. “What he did is wholly unacceptable.”

Elyr held his place and his gaze. He knew; Rowan had told him. But let Braith make the next move, give him that glory if he wants it.

Braith was still and his voice was low. “He murdered my brother.”

“In open combat,” Elyr said. “In honest war.”

The cloud passed on and the sunlight streamed across the table again, glinting off dishes, glasses, droplets of water on a silver carafe, silver forks and knives, illuminating (strangely) a loaf of bread and making it seem to glow from within.

Braith sat back again. “Is war ever honest?” he asked the air.

“You could have hired him for your army. As it was, he was hired by your rivals.”

“Mercenaries.” Braith waved one hand dismissively.

“But mercenaries honestly hired and honestly paid. And I recall that you and your allies were the victors.”

Braith was silent, running one finger along his lower lip, considering, looking off into the room and the hallway beyond.

“My dear sir,” he said at last, leaning back on the table, “in my country we have an old custom of bloodmoney. Do you know it? It likely appalls your sensibilities. In my country, long ago, a killing would be forgiven if sufficient recompense could be made–in coin, in cattle, in land, or if need be, in blood.”

Elyr looked away and aside, out the tall windows and towards the gardens.

Braith went on: “I demand recompense for this death.”

Elyr snapped back to meet his eyes. “You’d have a death for a death for a death for a death until what? Until only one man remains? And he can crown himself the king of the dead?”

“I did not hope that you would understand.”

“I am many times your elder, aom. And you have much to learn.”

“He murdered my brother.”

“Where is he?”

They walked, or near-at marched, across the gravel yard, followed (and Elyr cast them glances over his shoulder at whiles) by four soldiers.

Grooms and stableboys darted around them, leading out this horse or carrying harness and bridle. Elyr was no taller than some of the stableboys and they cast an eye at him as he walked past. Braith’s coach had been drawn out and two men were tending to it. They bowed as the master of the house walked by.

“My stables,” Braith said as they drew on nearer.

“How very grand,” Elyr replied. But it was an excess of yellow sandstone in his eyes, low and sprawling, patterned with squat windows and white arched doors, and made all too ostentatious with its high cupola.  One tree and only one tree, though spreading and large, cast shade over part of the roof. There was something dry and hot about this stone hall in the midst of a wasteland of gravel that displeased Elyr. Still a few birds swooped through open windows and doors to find their nests under the eaves and in the rafters, and that was some comfort.

They passed through and into the stables. And though it was cooler and darker inside, the barrenness and wretchedness that had troubled Elyr outside still troubled him. Doves were calling somewhere in the peaked roof, up among the rafters and the wooden ceiling lined like the belly of a ship set upside down atop the sandstone walls. But the smell of hay and horses was warm and alive. Despite the warmth, a stove was burning by a far wall.

The last of the servants were slipping out the doors (casting last looks as they went) and shutting them up behind them–most of the last of the servants, at least, for two or three remained. The horses made small sounds to themselves in their stalls, stamping. And the last door was closed.

It was still early, but the sun was breaking down through the squat windows, cut into beams by the dust in the air–the only light in the stables. The birds were silent now. And from somewhere among the stalls came the faint and muffled sound of a man’s pained moan.

Elyr turned, sharp, to Braith.

“Oh yes, he’s here,” Braith said. And he waved to the stablehands and they disappeared into a stall and dragged out a battered man.

He staggered: he was chained hand and foot, like a prisoner, and the iron had already bitten into the skin at his wrists and his ankles. His knuckles were bloody. One eye was blacked and swollen shut and blood (his own? another’s?) spattered and smeared his face. He had been stripped to the waist and what was left of his clothes were torn and there were wounds under the tears. But when he saw Elyr, even in the half-light of the darkened stable, he grinned and Elyr knew him–by his grin and by his red hair (tangled now, with straw caught in it).

“Rowan–” And Elyr moved to go to him, but was caught short when a soldier’s hand fell hard on his shoulder.

Braith spoke without turning to face Elyr. “I’m afraid that, while you are my guest, he is my prisoner–to do with as I like.”

He gave a sign and the stablehands shoved Rowan to the floor. Elyr’s throat tightened at the sound of Rowan striking the bricks.

But now Braith turned. “This is splendid. Bring a chair for our guest.” And two of the soldiers hurried off into the dim recesses of the stable to return with two folded garden chairs to set before them.

Braith draped himself in his chair and looked over his shoulder at Elyr. It took a shove from the soldier and a firm hand on his shoulder to set Elyr in his seat.

“Why are you doing this?” Elyr’s fingers were knotted together.

“Because,” Braith smiled, “My brother is dead, I have suffered, and to pay the bloodmoney owed for that death and suffering, I want him to suffer as I have suffered.”

A low sound, like a growl, came from Rowan even as he lay on the floor. But, it was laughter. And Rowan raised his head. “It would be easier,” his voice was cracked and rough, “to kill me.”

Braith gave him a shove with the toe of his boot. “But I don’t want to kill you.” He waved one hand in the air and the soldiers and the stablehands moved almost as one to surround Rowan.

They hauled the bleeding man to his feet and he stumbled against the chains around his ankles. To Elyr, the first blow felt as if it struck him as much as it struck Rowan–deep and low to his stomach. Rowan staggered, righted himself, and threw a grin to Elyr.

At that moment, the circle of soldiers and servants closed, with Rowan in their midst. One of them threw a punch to Rowan’s jaw and he stumbled to the far side of the circle. The man who caught him struck him again, sending him reeling again to stumble into another man. So they passed him, from man to man, around the circle, with punches and kicks. And if he fell, they stood him up again and knocked him back around the circle. They laughed and called to each other.

Rowan was silent, save for low groans when the blows hit home. Elyr was screaming–for him, perhaps for himself. “Stop it! If you beat him to death, what good will that do you?”

Braith turned to him, slowly. “Perhaps you’re right.” And he clapped his hands.

The circle opened immediately. Rowan collapsed to his knees, panting. The soldiers and the stablehands still stood around, nearby, breathing hard, some rubbing at their knuckles.

Braith rose and crossed to Rowan where he had fallen in a pool of sunlight from one of the high windows. He lifted Rowan’s chin with his boot and looked him, the blood running from his nose and from his lip, the cut in his forehead, the rising bruises on his jaw. Elyr could still see the spark of defiance in his one eye and willed himself to look away, but he could not.

And Braith kicked Rowan aside, once in the chest, then twice in the stomach after he fell. Rowan writhed.

Bratih whirled back to face Elyr (who stiffened and trembled at the rage in Braith’s face). “You are my witness. This is my justice for the murder of my brother.”

Elyr found his feet and shouted back, “I will give you all the offerings we were taking to the forest temple if you will let him go. Every last piece of silver, every opal, if you will let him go.”

“I will send you with a battalion of my own guards to keep you and your treasures safe. You will be on your way tomorrow.” His voice was low and even, but now it rose again, “But he will not go with you.”

“Please,” Elyr said quietly, breathing hard and fast, “Please.” But Braith ignored him.

“By God, but you are a mess,” he said, lifting Rowan’s head by a hank of his hair. “It’s shearing season, I think.”

Elyr buried his face in his hands. A stablehand brought out a pair of shears better suited for sheep. The blades ground edge to edge as Braith tested them. Rowan struggled in his chains. And though Elyr had his eyes covered, he could still hear the grinding blades as Braith took up handfuls of Rowan’s hair and hacked it away. Someone laughed, someone muttered.

There was silence, then footsteps, then silence again. Elyr raised his head.

Braith stood over him, with the shears still in one hand and a lock of Rowan’s red hair coiled around the fingers of his other. He held it out to Elyr. “For you,” he said, “to remember him.”

Dazed, trembling, Elyr reached out and took the lock of hair (bloodied, straw still clinging to it) and wrapped it tight around his fingers. And as Braith turned away he could see Rowan on the floor with his hair hacked away, uneven red stubble across his scalp, like a badly mown field, and blood running through it. His hair lay around him like clots of blood.

And Rowan saw him, but this time he gave no defiant grin.

“Lift him up,” Braith said.

One of the stablehands threw a rope and hook over a rafter and played out the rope until the hook hung above the place Rowan lay. The servants and soldiers hooked in the chains around his wrists and then, like sailors, hauled Rowan up from the floor to hang by his arms in midair. They tied off the rope and went to stand around him again. His blood dripped off his bare feet and onto the floor, pooling there.

Braith came back to his seat next to Elyr (who had sat again for fear of collapsing) and gave another sign. The circle closed again.

Again, each man took his turn striking at Rowan as he hung there. The chains on his ankles rattled with each blow, and he groaned. One of the soldiers took up his rifle and raised the butt of it like a club.

Elyr dropped his face into his hands again.

“No, no, little lordling.” Braith caught Elyr by the chin and turned his face to show him where Rowan hung from the rafters. “I want you to see it.”

The soldier swung the rifle around to strike Rowan in the ribs–a cracking sound and Rowan gasped for air. They laughed.

One of the stablehands took up a shovel; Elyr gagged at the horror of it. He swung the head around to strike Rowan in the leg this time–no crack, but Rowan swung from the hook. So the stablehand tried again–still no crack, but a solid sound.

Some kept to their fists, practicing their punches. Others took up tools to beat him: shovels, the handles of rakes or brooms, rifles. Braith held Elyr still and forced him to watch as they went around, taking their turns, laughing, trying to urge different sounds out of Rowan. Rowan sagged in his chains, one shoulder coming out of its socket. And still they went on, slapping at him and laughing, striking at bruises. One of them found a riding crop in a stall and took to whipping him across his back. And still they laughed.

Elyr tore his face free from Braith’s hands and Braith called out, “Oh, let him down.”

Rowan was dropped to the floor with a thick sound and, to Elyr’s horror, a familiar sound: the sound of a deer taken on a hunt dropped onto the floor to be dressed and butchered. It was the same sound–and Rowan himself had taken deer on hunts with Elyr (and Richard and all the rest). Elyr had heard this very sound with Rowan before, but now it was Rowan who was taken, perhaps to be butchered like a deer.

The circle was breaking again. One of the men was over by the stove, stirring the coals, stirring the coals to greater heat, and drawing out a glowing iron rod. And this, Elyr knew, was why they had kept the stove burning even on a warm day.

And Elyr was screaming again, inarticulate, in his own Elvish language. Braith called two of the soldiers to him.

As Elyr rushed, at last, desperate, to reach Rowan, the soldiers caught him. Braith turned Rowan over with his foot and knelt over him. One of them carried the glowing brand over. The soldier hoisted Elyr over his shoulder (as he would have carried a child) and Elyr kicked against him, clawing at his shoulder, still screaming. Rowan still lay in a pool of light, more battered now than before, struggling to breathe, bleeding endlessly, with Braith holding the brand over him. And this was all Elyr could see before the soldier carried him out of the stables again and the sunlight blinded him and the door they had passed through was shut and latched again.

A butler had been dispatched with a tray of tea to take up to Elyr late that afternoon–after he had been carried bodily and screaming back to the house, after it had taken both of the soldiers to carry him upstairs, after he had been locked in this room, after all the household heard his screams through the noontime.

But he was quiet now.

The butler knocked, unlocked the door.

Elyr was sitting at the small table at the windows, twisting the lock of Rowan’s hair around his fingers. His eyes flashed immediately to the door; his face was still dusty and streaked with tears, despondant.

The butler, soft-footed as all the servants, set the tray and tea things down before Elyr.

“What will they do with him?” Elyr asked softly.

“I’m afraid I could not say, sir.”

“What will they do with him?” Elyr asked again, harder this time.

The butler was quiet for a moment. Then: “What shape was the brand?”

“A crescent, as much as I could see it.” And Elyr covered his eyes with one hand.

“Then very likely,” the butler said, “he’ll be sold to the salt mines.”

Elyr dropped his forehead against the table.

“Where they’ll work him to death.”

[wespeak-yolros]

This question is a bit broad but what is the world like

Alright, this could get a bit long so I apologize in advance.

Edit: this is super heckin long I’m sorry 

This is the basic world map of Yosra.

Enik, Shecai and Geshith are monarchies at different levels. 

Enik is a regular monarchy (ruler guided by a counsel) and also a diarchy (ruler and spouse rule together). 

Shecai is an absolute monarchy so the empress/emperor have complete control. 

Geshith is mostly a constitutional monarchy (kinda like Britain) on the Mainland although the ruler does have significant say in the happenings of the state and regularly meets with the elected prime minister (check the world map tag for a bit more info cause I’m working on close ups for all the countries). The Main Island is mainly large stationary tribal groups consisting mostly of naga (legs and tail) gorgons. Each group has a chief that inherits their title and there’s a head chief (title also inherited though can be stripped if the person’s deemed unfit) that organizes meetings between all of them to stay in contact.     

Hellui is a dictatorship run through heritage (if a tyrant dies their eldest child or named heir takes over).

Jakil is home to a nomadic people’s so there’s a lot of different groups that travel around. Every group has a leader of some sort (whether elected or by heritage depends on the tribe) that organizes and protects their tribe. There’s little outside influence because it’s so bloody cold. It has snow for most of the year despite having a between 4-8 hours of sunlight a day which becomes 12 hours in the summer. Any non-porcupine living there have established self sustaining villages, complete with farming, enclosed in clear domes and connecting but clear, enclosed walking paths (much like Ikduma’s underwater society but above ground). The tribes tend to steer clear of these places but they’re not against those people as long as they’re not disrupting things. Plus the people who live in the villages do venture out and trade with them from time to time.        

Liclica is an in-world second world country. Some parts are really developed and others not so much. Also some of the islands are home to tribes of people who will literally kill you if you come anywhere near it (freaky shit goes on there). In terms of government they’ve established a rocky confederacy but it’s only been in place for about 200 years and there are still people alive who remember when the country was under Geshith’s control (they were a tribal people before Geshith conquered them which unfortunately resulted in the enslavement of the native ghosts).   

Vremsin is a well developed democratic commonwealth country. 

Oktice is a theocracy (a deity is recognized as the ruler and rules are interpreted by oracles and the country is run by these interpreters). It is incredibly well developed and considered another commonwealth country.       

Ikduma is home to selkies so a large part of their civilization is actually underwater. Their land base is used for trading and farming and things. Selkies can’t breath underwater so underwater buildings are surrounded by clear, water tight domes and there are several chambers one has to go through to drain all the water before entering a building. Every building is connected by thick, clear, watertight, walking tunnels that give a great view of the surrounding waters but can be intimidating. Things like skateboards rollerblades etc. can be utilized in certian lanes of the walking tunnels but cars and bikes are permitted only on the surface. Non-selkie people’s are more than welcome in the underwater society if they can find a way down there first.  

Tiokal is classified as an in-world third world country and as a result is much like an old western movie. No external influence has reached the interior at all because it’s so bloody hot only the native scorpions and immigrated gorgons can handle it; everybody else who’s tried has died. Today, Geshith leaves Tiokal alone meaning any gorgons living there were a) born there or b) are really stupid it’s so hot what are you doing. It’s literally the opposite of Jakil. Also no one leaves unless they’re adventurous. Running water is a thing but electricity is scarce (and expensive; candles are cheaper) and cars do not exist, it’s all horse and buggy. Every town has a sheriff but other than that it’s the lawless west, pardner.  

Here’s a basic chart of things that isn’t quite finished yet but I’ll post it again under #world map once it’s filled out  

In terms of in-world movement all countries (except Tiokal obviously) are considered multicultural with Vremsin being a vast mixing pot of peoples much like real world Canada. No one leaves Tiokal unless they’re really adventurous so scorpions can be a rare sight in most other countries but there are some. Porcupines are a rarer sight in other countries than scorpions since they greatly prefer to stay in their tribal groups. Naga gorgons (gorgons with both legs and a tail) are developed tribal groups living in the rain forests of Geshith’s Main Island but can be found across the globe in steady numbers (it’s just a lot more concentrated in Geshith). 

Trade connections between countries vary. 

Enik, Shecai and Geshith have very good connections with each other (partially do to the 3 royal families intermarrying). Vremsin, Ikduma and Oktice are on good terms with everybody; including Tiokal (since trade happens along the coast where it’s cooler) and Jakil (not so much the tribal groups but the villages). Hellui’s rather conservative in there trade and doesn’t do business with Shecai, Geshith or Enik at all do to political power clashes (that changes when a new dictator comes to power tho). Tiokal mainly exports to Hellui, Geshith and, to a lesser extent, Liclica. Jakil has little to offer except stories and a good number of famous authors live there.           

Race is not defined by skin colour. It’s defined by species (check the list nabove).

Arranged marriage was a thing in Enik, Shecai and Geshith until relatively recently and still occasionally happens in Tiokal (but nowhere near as much as it did).

There are a sub class of peoples called Wanderers (which have members from nearly all races of people but are called by different terms based on language. Wanderer is the universal language term for them) who can be considered society’s outcasts to a certain extent. Waanderer’s typically have powerful magic and fire-telling (storytelling but with fire) is an ancient tradition (if you’ve ever seen the hunchback of notre dame, they’re like the Yosra version of gypsy’s). Their main concentration is in Enik (the majority of the Wanderer population are peciks (people with peacock tails)) but they can be found just about anywhere. 

The sub race of ghosts known as Apparitions are mysterious peoples that live almost on a higher plain than the rest of Yosra. These people’s have the ability to alter a person’s genes to make them an Apparition meaning that there are people of other races that have been unwittingly pulled into this higher plain. They’re completely invisible and speak a language called Liksora which cannot be taught. People who’ve had encounters with them but didn’t have their genes altered can pick up some of the language in the breeze and occasionally see flashes of this race of people but otherwise you’d have to become an Apparition or be born one to know the language fully.  

Another ghost sub race are the Revenants. Humans were absorbed into evolutionary lineage Megaannum’s (millions of years) ago and Revenants are the closest living relatives to humans. They’re classified as ghosts because they have an aura about them but lack the abilities of their brethren making up for it by becoming master’s of black magic. They’re thought to be extinct because it’s been millennia since any of them were seen up close and the person lived to tell the tale. They live on isolated islands far off Liclica’s coast and are the ones that will either kill you if you get close enough or curse you so you die anyway. 

There is a sub class of hellhounds known as wolves and a sub class of kitsune’s known as foxes. These are groups of people who’ve abandoned society and many have forgotten how to use their human forms or simply don’t have a human form if they were born into a wild pack. Wolf ales (especially alphas) typically have harems and the female alpha always has a litter either from the packs head alpha or one of the lesser ones (same with foxes but they don’t have litters so it’s typically one at a time unless it’s like twins or something). They live typically in forests or anywhere away from civilization and are most commonly found in Vremsin.   

Harems are common amongst chief’s of naga gorgon clans on Geshith’s Main Island but it depends on the chief. If there’s a female chief she can choose to have a male harem if she wishes. If there’s a chief that swing for more than one gender they can choose to have a mixed harem. All members of the chief’s harem (no matter their gender) must agree to be a part of it, otherwise the chief cannot/will not touch them. Harems are also often shared with the chiefs knowledge and consent and a small price must be paid (whatever that price is again depends on the chief) if someone wishes to leave the harem before the end of 2 years. After that if a member tells the chief they wish to leave then the chief can no longer touch them.       

Peciks have clutches like hellounds have litters and they range in size from about 2-6 kids per clutch/litter.

Social dynamics vary too but I won’t get into that.

I think that’s it so far. I’ll keep reblogging and adding to this as stuff progresses but there ya go!

P.S. It’s so long thank you for reading to the end