#political cockflict

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous said: "long hair symbolic of peace"? elaborate?

I was inspired by this post about the complexities of a culture that views the act of cutting hair as a precursor to violence or war, and talked with a close friend about what this application might mean for Derse and Prospit specifically.

The conclusion is that Derse views hair as a symbol of maintenance and patience. For instance, young unmarried people are encouraged to seek a slightly older, established Dersite with hair to their shoulders or longer. Reasoning behind this is that it takes a lot of time and effort to keep long hair in a region where having a wet head for too long can kill you. Not to mention the potential for tangles and other snarls. Cutting your hair is a sign of lost temper or fury, a visual severance from patience, and the more hair cut is equal the weight of one’s anger.

In Prospit, having a lot of hair is considered a symbol of virility and fertility, as the act of growing so much is indicative of one’s bodily ability to “produce” and “maintain.” This reflects the high amounts of labor and eating one must do in the Golden Kingdom. If you have time and nutrients to grow beautiful hair, you must be able to bear very healthy children. It is traditional to cut your hair when attempting to sire or bear children for this reason, to direct all that fertile power where it belongs. Young people are cautioned against a lover that only trims an inch or two when the time comes for coupling.

In the Silver Age of the Carnivore King, his hair grew quickly and reached his back’s center by the time the great divide between Derse and Prospit occurred. In the royal fury his wife, the beautiful Renetrix, and Ambroxeus shared, the couple shore their hair to their ears and sent the resulting crate to the Matron of Prospit. Alongside this delivery was a formal declaration of war. All of Derse knows of this great sacrifice.

However, the Matron Des'rnaen was cunning. She ordered that the hair be woven into intricate ropes and strung with jewels, which she then began to wear. It was a beautiful display, and a sensual one to adorn herself with a literal piece of the Dersite’s persons. When enough public appearances spurred national outcry and confusion? Her justification was simple.

She declared, ��The King of Derse, barbarian that he is, attempted to solicit my peace in matters of his nation’s trickery. He sent this hair to bribe Prospit with strong children, and he was shunned for such presumptuous perversion. I will keep his smut-gift to scorn, for he is a pitiful man.” And Prospit believed her, whispering among themselves about the barbarian, the whore, the sexual deviant of Derse and his witch of a wife.

Needless to say, people were pretty pissed off in the south.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous asked: why was bbro named at five? whats the naming convention in each kingdom?

DERSE:

Tradition dictates that a child is referred to by their mother or father's surname until they reach the age of record. Whether the child responds to one or the other is a matter of preference, as they will be allowed to select their preferred surname on their Record Day unless socially obligated to use one or the other. In short, all Dersites are legally and spiritually recorded, fully named, by a scholar on this Day. The name is a while in coming so it best reflects the receiver. (If a child is orphaned, they are named by a scholar, who dedicates the child to the gods.)

PROSPIT:

Children in Prospit are named within a few days of birth at least, and within a few months at most, reflecting immediate fixations or behaviors and spirituality. (Crying a lot, picky eating, preferring red over green, general spiritual plots.) Following the audience birth, children are taken to the nearest Temple of the Pale Court to have their clouds read, where parents will receive a more firm understanding of their child's destiny. Surnames are not very common in Prospit, as a priest will be able to discern your lineage by consulting the clouds.

ALTERNIA:

Trolls are among the oddest in naming conventions, as their surnames are dictated by their nearest blood relative, discerned with gene magic, and their forenames are made up of the first sounds they make upon secondary hatch. Some Alternians have complicated or strange names as a result, such as the Heiress-Queen Trifeferi, while others are simply Taek or Khor. There is no spirituality in Alternian names. They just are what they are. It’s up to the owner to make something of their name.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous said: height differences in hs royal families

The tallest of all royalty at this time is Trifeferi the Compassionate of Alternia, who stands at eight feet and four inches. This is relatively small for an Alternian Emporess, but she’s also exceptionally young and will grow into a more reasonable twelve or fifteen feet with time. A lot of time. Her court hopes it won’t rid her of her youthful curves like her Ancestor.

Next is Redevioux, who towers over his sister at six feet and six inches. He gets this from his father, Ambroxeus, who was over seven feet tall. He did not, however, inherit his father’s physique. Much more slender and compact, but no less dangerous. He compensates for this appearance with copious padding in his clothing, though some enjoy his severe silhouette.

Prov’njada is six feet and one inch, a bright-eyed giant among the people of Prospit. She bursts with muscle and a strong core, a hilarious juxtaposition against her much softer brother. The populace lovingly calls her the Sunflower, a tall stalk with a warm face.

Sp’rijuhn is five feet and nine inches, with a much rounder and heavier appearance. Beloved and revered, he reflects a fairly average height in Prospit. With thick hair fluttering around his face in a holy breeze and a poor temper, the common folk have nicknamed him the Stormcloud.

The Matron of Prospit, Des'rnaen, is only five feet and seven inches, at the mid range for her kingdom. As stated before, she’s a much softer and more provocative ruler than one would expect at her advanced age. Not that the people mind the shapeliness of their Matron.

Finally, Ambrosius Lalonde is a mere five feet and three inches. Immensely small for her people and even more odd when compared to her father and her mother’s more reasonable height of five feet and eleven inches. She is the most shapely of all current royalty, and rumor has it that Redevioux is smitten with heavier women as a result. Though, the rumor assures, he only has eyes for his future queen.

[hardcoreprocess]

Alternia is a uniform race, culturally inclined to wear clothing that is largely monochromatic. Even members of the court dress primarily in black with only accentuating colors to denote their loyalties, relationships, and personal rung in the caste. Despite this, Alternian fashion can be very detailed and ornate, featuring multiple styles of black or caste-color thread for embroidery or the like.

There are very particular cuts of cloth and shapes associated with certain inclinations within the culture as well. Sleeves are one of the biggest indications of societal reaction in Alternia: long sleeves typically indicate a troll is open and honest, short indicate someone prone to impulse decisions or volatile reactions, a layering of short and long sleeves or no sleeves is a sign of immense danger. Alternians have a lot of small fashion-specific rules like this. Lots of nuance.

The greatest example is the current Alternian Monarch, the Compassionate Trifeferi, who wears very very little at all. Delighting in a simple one-piece slip that bares her legs to the hips as well as her arms to the shoulder, the Heiress-Queen adorns herself in transparent silks of blue and green around her waist, gold to every inch of her person, and sea shells braided into her loose hair. Despite her sweet disposition and bare feet, Alternians en masse recognize that she is nothing to be trifled with because of this attire. (Not to mention her loyal advisors.)

Also, it’s incredibly easy to fuck her consorts in her full regalia, so nobody can really complain about how much skin she has on display.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous asked: so what about the derse queen???

She began life humbly, born of a simple servant in the Wretched Consumption. At five, she was recorded as Moronen, in reference to a type of gemstone unique to Derse that was difficult to harvest but profoundly fuchsia. Like her name, the girl was considered a prize for the inventive, and soon found herself in the good graces of an Alternian Lord that served the Emporess closely for her superior diction and nimble hands. She would apprentice to him for six years.

It was here that she would meet Amarez, the young serving boy with mutiny in his heart and eyes just as jewel-bright as hers. Knowing a kindred spirit on sight, Moronen pled with her Alternian benefactor to allow the Dersite boy to learn the troll’s native language, which he agreed to on the order that she oversee it. In time, student and teacher only a few months apart, they were fast friends.

As a maker, something highly regarded in Alternia, she was in the unique position to craft devices and weave spells that were beyond the understanding of most children. Dazzled with her gadgets, eager to use her brilliance advantageously, the Ocean’s Menace elevated Moronen to the role of an alchemist, where she would study vastly complicated things like automatons, gene magic, and more.

With her masterful knowledge of Alternian anatomy and biorhythms, the young Moronen and Amarez devised their plot to assassinate the Consumption. Her heart was heavy with the realization of what war would break out as a result of her actions, and Moronen hastened to warn the Alternian Lord that took her in all those years ago of the incoming massacre.

Proud but wary, he would quietly evacuate the troll nobility that did not heed the Consumption’s horrific ways or were grieving members of their lineages lost to the Emporess’ appetite, vanishing them into the mountains or the woods or the sea until )(ER defenses were so low that the shattered blood witch legion could destroy any remaining infrastructure.

Inadvertently, her kindness had ensured that the war would be won, a fact that was not forgotten by the people of Derse. She was crowned alongside her childhood friend and now-lover, given the surname Lalonde and called Beloved Renetrix, meaning our little mother in the eldritch tongue. In the six years following the death of her Ambroxeus, it is said that the Dersite Queen remained locked in her vault of alchemy, searching for something.

Now, in death, once a year there will be a silent vigil held at her tomb. Only the most courageous Dersites attend, for the ceremony is held at the pitch of night by the towering Alternian nobles that her forethought and heart had saved those many years ago. They have not forgotten their little Moronen, even with a life so fleeting in comparison to theirs.

[hardcoreprocess]

Derse fashion cultures are some of the most ornate and rigidly policed of all three kingdoms. Featuring shapewear, layers against the cold, and very specific coloration to separate royalty from the the noble class as well as the common folk, it’s a nation where the wrong cut of glove could spark rumors of your relations to this or that person.

Despite this, the fashion is not “fast” and the adjustments are not shifting with the seasons. For some twenty years, throughout the lifetime of Ambrosius and Redevioux, the cultural rules of color and accent and how to hold your fan while courting a young noble have remained as they are, strict and adored by the populace. As stated before, Derse is a nation that loves to gossip and spread stories, leaping at any opportunity to sell secrets or perceived flirtations of their betters to news scholars. Additionally, because the south is notoriously cold even in the deep valley of the Heartland, cloaks and capes and other grand ways of keeping warm are common even among the lowest dregs of society.

Ambrosius wears the expectations of the Dersite court like a circlet of thorns, just as heavy at the Obsidian Crown will one-day sit on her head. Many layers to accentuate her hips and shoulders. In both Derse and Prospit, weight is an attractive trait in a woman, since Prospit worships the fertility aspect and Derse sees it as protection against harsh winters, therefore the future Queen is lauded for her thick thighs and soft belly with garments that exaggerate and flatter her form. Think big sweeping skirts with climbing collars and the occasional open clavicle to display her chest’s stretchmarks.

Redevioux, conversely, wears a combination of armor and courtwear as the commander of the blood witch battalions. Padded shoulders, padded hips to make him appear stockier, tight sleeves to accentuate his muscled arms, and low-heeled boots with gloves nearly as tall as his sister’s. Of the two, his clothing will always be more practical because of his duty to war and movement, but his embroidered coats of arms and furred cloaks are a sight to behold, extravagant enough that he’s been mistaken for his father’s ghost at times.

Both twins are, naturally, armed. Redevioux wears a sword openly strapped to one hip, and Ambrosius conceals several knives on her person for the sake of protection. They are the only members of Derse permitted to wear fuchsia. Close-toed shoes, boots primarily, rule the fashion of Derse alongside the expectation to be armed and warm. The result: sex is rarely an outside affair, the chill not permitting it, but undressing anyone is a sensual act and Dersites adore tales of nobility getting it on in their finery.

All these rules make Prospit a bitch to visit.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous asked: what happened to mutants under the consumption and has it changed at all under the compassion?

This is a complicated question mostly because mutation is a very broad term in Alternian culture. Many trolls are hatched with genetic predisposition to mutation, but some mutations are considered desirable and others are despised or outright cauterized from the gene pool.

In terms of the candyblood mutation, or what the Alternians refer to as the messianic mutation, it's even more complicated.

The breakdown is that the messianic mutation is a naturally occurring genetic fuckup that can strike in any caste level at any time except fuchsia. There are some it's more likely to appear in, but even the finest gene magic available to trollkind is unable to perfectly predict the messianic mutation.

But Saint, you ask, what the fuck does it do?

Simple. The candyblood mutation does one of two things. Either the life expectancy of the troll is cut to human longevity, or they are functionally as immortal as the ruling caste of fuchsias. There is virtually no way to tell, when the mutation surfaces, which of the two it will be.

In the Age of Consumption, the messianic mutation was an offense worthy of death. Under the Compassion, however, there is a renewed effort to study and understand it. Particularly because the Compassionate Trifeferi is incredibly doting on the candyblood employed in her coital court.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous asked: Feferi finds out what happens to the heiresses who fail to beat the Condescension.

Despite many hours, wipes, sweeps of Empire-mandated media and the time besides spent communing with her lusus deep beneath the surface of Alternia’s ocean... Nothing could have prepared her for how big her Ancestor is.

She’s massive, with a hand locked around Feferi’s throat. A grip that overflows onto her jaw and pinches strong fingers behind the Heiress’ fluttering earfins until grublifting instincts kick in. She goes limp. Without being able to look down, it’s a gamble how far from the ground she is, dangling helplessly.

Her lungs are tight enough that her gills are fluttering to attempt compensating.

S)(E looks unfazed. There isn’t a mark on her charcoal skin, even after Feferi’s substantial attacks. Suddenly— she’s lowered onto her feet, shoved back so hard it winds her already struggling lungs. Sprawling out, gasping like a fish of water, a thigh as wide as her torso shoves her legs apart.

This was such a bad idea, Feferi laments. But there’s more, it isn’t death waiting for her, because those hands are— Watching with wide eyes, talons tipped in blood pink polish slit )(ER wetsuit open at the navel until— That’s big.

“That’s too big!” startles out of her, suddenly far too aware of how thin the material of her own wetsuit is, and even more aware of the heady arousal that swims through her pan, at the sight of a rippling bulge wide enough dwarf her leg. Huge hands pull trembling knees apart, the very tip of )(ER tentacock worms around the Heiress’ tantalizing one piece, and Feferi pinned like an especially pretty bug with no choice besides taking every inch S)(E gives.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous asked: so UH how did the martyr king actually die

It's always cold in Derse, even deep in the Heartland where the mountains give way to deep valleys. But the night was unseasonably so for spring, requiring heavy cloaks for even brief excursions beyond the home and hearth. Most would rather stay in, safe and secure by their warming runes and huddled with their lovers.

Among them were Ambroxeus and Renetrix, opting to lay beneath layers of fur and woven wool in their royal chambers. Her supple thighs slipped open beneath his questing touches, eyes curved in a cat-like smirk to match her doting smile. Though slow to verbal affection, the king loved his wife thoroughly, soon putting his nimble fingers to the great task of reminding her.

It was a casually paced, familiar lovemaking. Her hair, freshly shorn, still managed to flow over the cushions and furs, silken and soft. Though lost to a great cause, Ambroxeus found himself mourning the rivers of blonde that Renetrix had once called her own. "You didn't have to," he said, touching the blunt ends and cupping her face, "—it wasn't your slight."

"Oh Amarez," she crooned in return, her secret name for him, never quite forgotten despite tradition bidding her to, "—it was a slight against my heart. We have given so much for Derse. What's a bit of hair?" And he could find no argument in that.

They loved into the night, tasting and taking of one another until the Queen gave him a royal shove with comments of needing relief. "I can provide another," her King would tease, but he received a sweaty palm against his face for his solicitation. Off she went, smiling and slick and dripping with his affections, and there he laid. Sprawled comfortably with a fractional smile.

But the night was not over. Standing in the shadows of a balcony latched against the cold stood a carapacian, armed with magic and duty both. An uninvited guest that waited, ever patient, for the Queen to take her leave and the King to doze in post coital bliss. He was relaxed. He was tired. The weight of new war and escapism lulled Ambroxeus to sleep.

The assassin struck. He wielded a great magic unique to his mission, a ring of transformation that bent his shape obscenely until a great black hound loomed above the man who consumed the Ocean's Menace. A blade sunk into his chest and the King roared his pain, his shock, his fear. If he had been a moment faster, if his attacker had been a moment slower, the gods may have allowed Ambroxeus to live.

They did not.

He died alone, pinned to his bed much like the Consumption before him, bleeding ink into the sheets and stone. Despite his Queen arriving mere moments later, the deed was done and the great hound was already fleeing. It was a broken dawn that followed, heralded by the screams of the Beloved Renetrix.

[hardcoreprocess]

anonymous asked:

bBro in hs royal fam was named like ambrose right?? scale of 1-100 how ridiculously sexy was he

In the Age of Consumption, he was born of a starving mother and a starved father. He was called Amarez on his fifth birthday, after a native flower with knife-sharp thorns. Named for his piercing eyes and wit, his youth was spent in servitude of the Feastress. Fetching meals for the groaning banquet table built atop the bodies of dead royalty, tending her wants and bowing his head, he made an obedient air for himself.

Amarez became close to the Emporess’ officials, learned of Alternian writing and battle, while minding his duties serving the Wretched Court. Wine made of his nation’s blood, bread sopped in meat of his fellow servants, fruits grown of mass graves’ dirt tainted his hands for eleven long years. But he watched. He waited. He practiced patience, as a weed grows roots before leaves, as fury sat in his soul. Deeper than the rivers of horror the Dersite nation suffered under the Consumption. Festering. Growing.

With time, the boy was sixteen. Old enough now to be considered man of his own, the Emporess permitted Amarez to read Dersite fairytales at her bedside with his hard-won literacy. An elevation in status, something to be celebrated, but he was not content with obeying the Ocean’s Menace. He was furious. He was cunning. Under the guise of his new station, Amarez studied the gods that lurked in his broken nation’s clouds.

On the eve of his seventeenth birthday, the Consumption was slain. A blade drew over her throat, pierced her chest, pried her ribs until he could take her heart. Triumphant and wild with madness bestowed by They Who Watch Our Suffering And Croon, Amarez devoured the Alternian Queen’s soul. Then, his fury turned on the Occupation. Long dormant fractions of the war nation’s blood witch legions rose to stand with the boy who consumed Her Hungeress, obeying the unholy call to war.

With stone-grey skin and snow-white hair, he led a massacre of every Alternian noble that claimed Derse as their own. Dark ichor poured from his eyes and wounds, until the deed was done. It took one year to appease the gods, to drive the occupation to the original borders of the nation.

On the dawn of his eighteenth birthday, Derse crowned him as Ambroxeus Strider, of the gods’ vengeance. His skin was bronze, his hair was silver, his blood was ink. Now calm, he ushered in an era of freedom for his populace and let his hair grow to the center of his back, a symbol of well-established peace. In the war, he took a wife. In the peace, he took a Queen.

To this day, royal portraits of the Carnivore King are hailed as some of the most haunting and attractive in all Dersite history.

[hardcoreprocess]

how are relations between the human kingdoms and the newer alternian ruler?

Somewhat rocky. The Compassion, naturally, seeks some form of absolution and trust from her nation’s former enemies. But seeing as the Consumption Queen has only been dead for about two decades, tensions are still high. Particularly between Derse and Alternia, since the Silver Kingdom is still nursing itself back from the brink of absolute starvation and destroyed infrastructure.

Overall, there’s a very tense and somewhat insincere truce. Trifeferi the Heiress-Queen has made it clear she won’t be infiltrating, attacking, or otherwise overtaking Derse and Prospit. No matter how fascinated she is with the culture, the people, the way of things. However. She’s very, very eager for both royal families to change their minds, let her visit, let her help.

It’s not very likely. Derse has paid the price for accepting help in the blood of their beloved Martyr King and his tempestuous Witch Queen. Prospit is shadow-ruled by a suspicious old woman that is far older than she appears. But Alternia does have one advantage, and it’s that their Emporess will theoretically outlive the current royals. Surely opinions on Alternia will change by then.

Even if she thinks the current arrangements are very... scrumptious indeed. She has an eye for humans, completely convinced she’ll be a nurturing, adoring power. Perhaps they’ll join her consort court in time, if she’s patient.

[hardcoreprocess]

hello mr saint i would very much like to hear more about the Grand Matron in your royal families AU

The Grand Matron is a practical woman.

In her youth, she was wise beyond her years, taking the throne alongside her brother in the era of Alternian Occupation. When her brother fled after laying seed to her, the young Lady of Golden Prospit realized that the nation had no knowledge of it until an official proclamation was made and sent out by heralds. Her people are illiterate, focusing more on their agricultural prowess and vast reserves of fertile soil. She began to cultivate opinions, instilling deep loyalty to her rule with careful policies. None knew she carried the lost Lord's child, believing she had been gifted with motherhood by the White Court.

When she came into maturity, a young king (barely able to hold a blade) rose to power in Derse, slaying the Alternian Occupation and seizing authority over his nation. The Lady, raising her first child, saw promise in the Obsidian throne's mated pair and reached out a treaty. "Slay the Alternian Occupation in Prospit," she beseeched, "—and we will provide supplies to your winter-famine nation." It was a brilliant strategy. None of her soldiers would die. The Golden Kingdom has so much grain and fruit that waste mounted every year. No loss will be suffered by Prospit.

Derse, starving after being inhabited by The Consumption Queen and the Alternian battalions, agreed. The Lady of Prospit watched with naked awe as the young King and his blood witches stormed an army three times their size and banished Alternia from Prospit. There was no famine in the Silver Kingdom, and all sang praises to the Lady of Prospit, so gracious and kind and warm, an embodiment of her nation. Giver. Provider.

Her son is old enough to rule Prospit now, allowing her to take a step back from direct rule so she may comfortably pull strings. Her precious Lord of Prospit mingles well with the King and Queen of Derse. The newly-declared Matron sees potential in a union between the three and arranges balls in their honor, inviting and welcoming her southern neighbors to her home.

But she is betrayed. The Dersite rulers take note of Prospit, praise its beauty and plenty for her to preen, then ask of her libraries. Naturally, she has one, the royal library, access barred to all but nobles and scholars. Shocked and pitying, the Queen suggests that Derse provide teachers, to teach their sister kingdom of writing. Her husband offers to build schools. Offers access to Derse's scholar temples. In horror, the Matron watches her loyal son agree what a boon this would be.

She has no choice, she tells herself, as she spreads word that Derse seeks to occupy Prospit by building hostile barracks and sending scholars to steal their nation's secrets. There is outrage. The people refuse to send rations to the Silver Kingdom in protest and all supply lines disappear. Her son watches in confusion as Derse demands to know why they are sentenced to starve in the winter so soon after the Consumption. He turns to his mother. The Matron replies that the Golden Kingdom suspects their neighbors of subterfuge, and as he's been given no reason to disbelieve her, he makes it known against the wish of his heart.

Derse declares war. Slander and hideous lies are destroying the nation's chances of surviving after all the blood shed for Prospit. In the ensuing conflicts, skirmishes, and battles? The Matron arranges the King's assassination. The war ebbs with their Martyr killed, and she sits back on her gilded throne, heavily pregnant with her second and third child.

The Grand Matron is a very practical woman.