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broncoburro · 1 month ago

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I'm curious about the nobility in Vestur! What-all are the different kinds of noble titles? Since the Gift is hereditary, how are illegitimate children treated? Since relics get passed down, do nobles in the same line usually conduct the same kinds of meur?

What-all are the different kinds of noble titles?

A midland illustration from the 1500s, meant to demonstrate for children that nobility is in service of the commoner. It depicts a fantastical act in which the lord conducts blue meur to forms a river, signifying ownership over the land. The viscount then nourishes the earth with green meur, so the commoner may grow food for all.

While Vestur is ahead of much the world in the realms of standard of living and technology, the social order is antiquated compared to other contemporary nations. Vestur still functions on something of a feudal system. There are only three ranks in the noble hierarchy, with little socialmobility except through marriage.

The Tri-Kingdom is an alliance of three sovereign kingdoms, each of which are headed by a Monarch: an Archduke/Archduchess, or High King/Queen if occupying the High Throne. Vestur’s Monarchs are absolute rulers, with ultimate executive, judicial, and legislative power. Of course, in the modern day such authority is wielded with a cautious hand, and a monarch will often defer to the expertise of various councils rather than rule by his own intuition alone. The High King may override the word of an archduke or archduchess in especially perilous situations, or regarding matters of the meur economy, but they are (theoretically...) considered equal on all other matters and in full control of their respective kingdoms. The son or daughter of a Monarch are referred to as Duke/Duchess, or Prince/Princess.

A Lord or Lady of the Land holds authority over a specific territory, or lordship. Lords oversee the appointment of viscounts within their province, collect taxes, and whatever other administrative tasks their land might need. They are ultimately beholden to their kingdom's Monarch, but are given the freedom to define local laws and run their own courts (so long as the offense doesn't involve another lordship or kingdom). The son or daughter of a lord/lady are referred to as Master or Mistress.

Both monarchs and lords pass their title by blood, following primogeniture-esque laws of succession. Eldest son is the preferred heir, of course, but in absence of any suitable men, a seat of power will turn to the brothers of the current monarch/lord. Technically, a daughter can claim right to succession if her family has no sons, though this is a politically risky move and she may face consequence for it should she "steal" power from a more popular relative in doing so.

The final noble title is the only one not to follow this system of succession:

Viscounts/Viscountesses are an appointed title, and culturally thought to be one you “earn.” In reality, if your mother or father holds a viscount title, it's extremely likely you will be granted one as well. Appointments are given based on a meur-related service the viscount can provide to his/her lordship. One viscount may provide green meur based soil enrichment to a specific town. Another may own the local quern, powered by a blue meur water wheel. viscountry is largely seen as the reward for fulfilling your pledge. To compare with the real world, if taking your pledge is like receiving your university degree, viscountry means you’ve established a career with that degree.

There are untitled nobles as well, but that’s... an embarrassing role to occupy socially, and one assumed to be caused by being too lazy or inept to be appointed a viscount title. In reality, there are many reasons someone might be untitled: They might not own gloves - the visual mark of nobility, and without which performing meur in public is illegal (and a grievous, heretical insult to The Architect, according to men of faith). They might be from a fallen family and unable to afford a relic. And some may, for personal reasons, choose not to use their gift at all.

Since the Gift is hereditary, how are illegitimate children treated?

Prince Lucas chose specifically to read law under and clerk for Mr. Beiric, who challenged the Crown on the eligibility of bastards to VRMA. Beiric was born to a common mother, but sired by a noble father. Though too old to attend VRMA after his landmark win, he received an honorary conductor’s pendant. (Black, signifying he is not allowed to conduct at all.)

“Half-common bastards” (as the lovely people of Vestur call them) are considered nobility, but this is a twenty year old development. The scientific “realization” that The Gift doesn’t get diluted or lessened by having only one noble parent is less than a century old. It took the courts some time to catch up.

But... the outlook of a bastard attending the Vestur Royal Military Academy isn’t great. While the school has loaner gloves, unless the noble parent or some benevolent benefactor is willing to give a pair of priceless unicorn hide gloves to the illegitimate child, they could never be able to conduct meur legally post-graduation. Most noble families guard their gloves jealously, and few would deign to waste them on a “mistake.”

Do nobles in the same line usually conduct the same kinds of meur?

It depends on the family whether or not they tend towards one kind of conduction. Some have a generational reputation to uphold, or possess a famed historic relic.

Among old white conductor families, the pressure is immense. White meur is famously the hardest pledge to take, requiring an aptitude exam and an extra two years of education after graduation from VRMA. Those who fail the aptitude exam must shamefully pick a second option. (Drawn by @lsdoiphin!)

Tradition aside, relics are expensive, even for nobility; some families conduct one color for financial reasons rather than upholding a legacy. If dad’s old hand-me-down blue relic is all you can ever hope to afford... you're going to take a blue pledge and become a blue conductor.

But no one is forced to take a specific pledge, legally speaking. Everyone is free to choose their own pledge/conduction specialty at the end of their education... so long as they can live with the consequence.

#worldbuilding #fantasy world #fantasy setting #magic weapon #magic system #nobility #LONG POST WHEEE thanks for this ask... it was fun to draw for #others art #since ls contributed to this one #world: forever gold #lore dump #oc: lucas #making his screechy little cameo

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flamingfoxninja · 9 months ago

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This makes so much sense why Kipperlilly was asking about how Kristen made Yes! And specifically Where she made Yes! at.

Kristen made a whole new Deity through Arthur Augfort's office and school. As a powerful cleric she reached into the Astral Plane and made life out of her questioning and worship. She temporarily had access to the realm of dead gods to make something from nothing. This was all set in the making from day one.

Jace was working with Kalina and Arianwen to revive The Nightmare King and The Rage Goddess. That's what Ragh saw in front of the office after Prompocolypse. They used Kalvaxis wanting to regain his power as a bigger play to bring back their corrupted and dead deities. A chess piece in a series of steps.

While Kalina was going to bring back The Nightmare King, Jace would work on bringing back The Rage Goddess through Elmville. Kristen already proved that Augefort Academy has access to the Astral Plane. He found and targeted students susceptible to rage, took them to the Mountains of Chaos where the Divine Wedding took place and force the students to make a choice: live for Rage or stay dead.

The Rat Grinders made that choice except for Lucy. Which is a problem because the Need a Cleric. The people the Rat Grinders killed from the school have been Clerics, because with Kristen's method you need a powerful connection to a Deity and Worship to bring life to one.

Lucy worshiped a Giant Goddess, she would have been perfect but she refused.

Yolanda gave up any affiliation to a specific deity, neutral but powerful in worship. She would be a worthy vessel but she refused.

Buddy was brought to always be killed. A follower of Helio, the son of Sol who had corrupted the Goddesses in the first place. He is the grandson of a powerful Cleric, and has that same connection and power within himself. Kipperlilly didn't kill Buddy in panic, that was the plan all along: bypass Obliviti Mori by killing a cleric to meet the Rage Goddess in the Astral Plane, then revive them to spread the word and start the ritual. Buddy was just the first one to accept.

Like in Sylvaire, they are seeding Rage to make their own version of the Nightmare Forest to bring back The Rage Goddess. It's going to bloom and spread, rake over Elmville and the Augefort Academy where the Astral Connection is.

These plans have been started since Freshman Year, and have been defeated all because on goblin was just trying to find his babysitter and another halfling just couldn't handle that.

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goodlucktai · 11 months ago

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gently in the cold dark earth

scum villain's self saving system word count: 2k canon divergent / no system au; sy transmigrates into an empty npc role; gray lotus binghe loves his shixiong more than life and he's ready to make it everyone's problem

title borrowed from work song by hozier

read on ao3

The first thing Luo Binghe does when he escapes the Abyss is return to Cang Qiong Mountain.

With Xin Mo secured to his back, the way could be instant if he so chose—the journey of a thousand miles reduced to a single step—but he unsheathes the elegant jian at his hip instead.

Yong Liang sings sweetly for him, the snow white blade still shining and untainted even after years of helping Luo Binghe carve his way through hell. It has never once failed him, soulbound to the one person still on this earth who has never failed him.

“Take it,” his shixiong insisted, low and urgent. The Abyss was behind them, an even deadlier threat was ahead, and Without A Cure clogging his meridians made Luo Binghe the best choice to wield the only unshattered spirit sword they had between them. “Binghe, take it.”

He pressed until Luo Binghe’s grip curled tight around the hilt, not hesitating to put his soul in Luo Binghe’s hands even with the rosy glow of an unsealed demon mark shining on his face.

Luo Binghe flies at a pace best described as dangerously reckless, hardly smelling the fragrant spring air or feeling the sun on his face. His robes are a disgrace, his hair a tangled, matted mess, and it occurs to him that he could stop somewhere and clean himself up, make himself presentable, but it’s a brief, fleeting thought.

Shen Yuan would be furious to find out that Luo Binghe wasted even a single second returning to his side.

——

He passes through the ancient wards effortlessly, feeling them fall away from him like water. It’s a simple thing to tamp down on his demonic qi, to disguise the parts of him that those so-called righteous cultivators would scorn. He ghosts through the familiar grounds as eagerly as a starving animal bolting down a fresh game trail, but one by one, all of their familiar haunts come up empty, without even a lingering trace of Shen Yuan’s spiritual energy left behind.

The head disciple’s room is dusted and undisturbed, as if its occupant might walk through the door at any moment, but the lack of clutter and the empty book shelf makes it very clear to Luo Binghe what the truth must be.

If Shen Yuan returned to the peak after the Conference, he didn’t stay.

All at once, images crowd the front of his mind—his shixiong grieving, pulling away, turning his back on those responsible for his heartache.

Yue Qingyuan, always only a step behind wherever his precious Xiu Ya sword went, promised that no one wanted to hurt them. They only wanted to help.

He looked so solemn and righteous that Shen Yuan reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced. Luo Binghe, who had gone to the man for help after a bloody whipping when he was a child, only to be given a walnut cake and turned away at the door, knew better.

He wasn’t surprised when Shen Yuan was wrenched away from him, and shizun sent him staggering off the cliff with a spiritual dagger buried to the hilt in his chest, all of it happening within a matter of seconds—but it still hurt.

Shen Yuan’s scream followed him all the way down.

I’m alive, Luo Binghe thinks, with no one there to tell it to. I came back to you. Let me come back to you.

——

Including time spent in the abyss, it’s three years before they meet again.

Luo Binghe’s revenge is his second priority at best, but he is nothing if not efficient and knows how to kill two birds with the same stone. Huan Hua affords him ample resources and opportunities to scour the world for his missing shixiong while playing the role of earnest and diligent new disciple. He snatches up each mission that comes along as though eager to prove his worth to the sect that so graciously took him in, but he takes every excuse to wander, to search, to make conversation with vendors and innkeepers and passing strangers.

Have you seen my heart? It lives outside of me in the form of a beautiful young man and tends to wander. Very contrary, likes to fuss over people, could argue the stripes off a lushu just for fun. You’d know it if you met it. You’d never forget.

The days blur together, meaningless and gray, but he doesn’t stop looking. Shen Yuan still exists somewhere in this world, because otherwise Luo Binghe wouldn’t. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

And then, finally—an afternoon in Jinlan City, when Luo Binghe arrives in a throng of incompetent gold-clad Huan Hua disciples, to investigate a plague of all things—

He’s there.

In dark, neutral colors and plain clothes, a traveling cloak with its hood resting down around his shoulders, as if his beauty could possibly be lessened by cheap, shapeless fabrics rather than effortlessly enhanced. His hair falls from its half-tail in glorious waves—he never did have the patience for anything elaborate, only wearing braids when one of his sticky shidimei cajoled and convinced him. Traveling alone, who could he possibly have to roll his eyes at and complain about and sit patiently still for?

A pale green ribbon is all that decorates his hair. Luo Binghe recognizes it instantly.

“You should spend your allowance on yourself, Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolded him, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

“But I did,” Luo Binghe protested, widening his eyes and clasping his hands earnestly, the way he knew worked best. “I wanted it! And now that I have it, I want to give it to you.”

Shen Yuan was too clever by half to be truly fooled by the innocent act, but he always folded like paper anyway. He spoiled all of his shidimei but Luo Binghe most of all. Anyone on Qing Jing Peak would be hard-pressed to think of a single example of Shen Yuan telling Luo Binghe ‘no.’

Sure enough, after a second spent visibly wrestling with himself, he blurted, “Oh, fine! Hand it over.”

He wore it every day since. He’s wearing it now. The wind catches the ends of it, sending it streaming behind him like the tails of a paradise flycatcher. Lovely.

For a brief moment, Luo Binghe is frozen where he stands, finally faced with the very thing that he’s been missing for years, that he’s been living a miserable half-life without.

And then he remembers himself and lurches forward. His voice is a tangle in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Shixiong!”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have jolted Shen Yuan into more perfect stillness. He stops mid-step, every inch of him as good as carved from precious jade. He doesn’t turn his head, and the sliver of his face visible from where Luo Binghe stands is very pale.

Luo Binghe wonders suddenly if this has happened to him before—if Shen Yuan has heard a voice on the road or in the market that was almost familiar, that was almost the one he was hoping for, only to be disappointed when he turned to follow it and found a stranger.

Luo Binghe shortens the distance between them with a few anxious steps and tries again.

“Shixiong.”

The older boy whirls around abruptly, as if to get it over with. He’s bracing himself, but Luo Binghe barely has a second to absorb Shen Yuan’s painful-looking anticipation before it bleeds out of his face in favor of something else entirely.

He looks like the earth has fallen out from beneath his feet, like he hardly dares to believe his eyes. Zheng Yang gleams golden at Shen Yuan’s hip, reforged and whole again.

“Binghe?”

“It’s me,” Luo Binghe says softly.

There’s a tableau he’s afraid to break, as if they’re in a delicate dreamscape and a move too sudden or loud might dissolve it. He wants to say I’ve missed you the way lungs miss air, immediately and needfully, I haven’t breathed at all since we’ve been apart. He wants to say you’re my light in the dark, I can only stand in front of you now because I love you too much to ever truly leave you.

Instead, he tells his dearest friend, “This one made you wait. But your Binghe is here.”

Shen Yuan sprints the rest of the way to meet him, almost before he’s even finished talking, and they collide in a solid embrace that knocks the air from them both.

His arms wind around Luo Binghe’s waist like steel bands, fingers digging into the back of his robes, precious face pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Luo Binghe doesn’t hesitate to gather him up close, holding him as tightly and securely as he knows how, burying his nose in his shixiong’s hair and breathing in the familiar, beloved smell of him.

Shen Yuan is a few inches shorter than he remembers. All the better to tuck him beneath Luo Binghe’s chin, to cover and surround him so completely that not even the heavens above can get a decent eyeful.

He wants to grab and bite and pin Shen Yuan beneath him and never let go. His jaw aches with wanting it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Luo Binghe says, eyes wet. “I went home first.” Unsaid goes the obvious but you weren’t there.

“How could I stay?” Shen Yuan bites out, managing to sound all at once strangled and bewildered and—charmingly—offended. He shakes his head without lifting it, an aggressive nuzzle against Binghe’s shoulder. “After what they did to you, I’d rather die than represent their stupid sect another minute.”

“Step away from it, Shen Yuan,” shizun said coldly. “I’ll put that beast back where it belongs.”

“No,” shixiong said in a voice that was smaller than usual, one that shook. He was frightened, clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t budge from where he was plastered in front of Luo Binghe like a breathing shield.

“Now.”

“No, shizun.”

“Shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, offering his hand. “Come here. It will be alright.”

Shen Yuan said, “No. You can’t hurt Binghe. He’s not bad just because of who his parents are. He’s as good as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. He’s hardworking and loyal and a sweetheart to anybody who gives him half a chance. He’s so good.”

Liu Qingge was behind the sect leader, sword drawn. Shen Qingqiu was quickly losing what little patience he had, face twisted into a sneer, dark eyes stabbing hatefully at Luo Binghe from over his head disciple’s shoulder. There were more figures rapidly drawing closer, the other peak lords following the flare of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. The standoff was becoming more and more untenable, and Shen Yuan was too smart not to see that, shrinking back against Luo Binghe as much as he could without crowding him closer to the edge.

“You can’t hurt him,” he said again, the closest Luo Binghe had ever heard him come to tears, “he’s my shidi.”

Luo Binghe is unsurprised by his shixiong’s loyalty, because it’s already been proven to him over and over. It’s unremarkable at this point, which is an absolutely remarkable thing in itself. It makes him feel warm with gratitude and affection and ownership.

Shen Yuan is clever and quick on his feet and always three steps ahead, more knowledgeable about flora and fauna than anyone else Binghe has ever known combined, and probably a force to be reckoned with as a rogue cultivator, where the only rules of conduct he has to adhere to are his own.

But Luo Binghe hates to think of him on the road alone, without the little martial siblings who follow him like ducklings, without his Binghe there to make sure he remembers to eat all his meals and comb out his hair before bed. He’s a creature of comfort, made for airy rooms with too many cushions and an abundance of sweets and books to read.

Luo Binghe has fantasized more than once about building a home for Shen Yuan to lounge prettily in. It was, in fact, his favorite flavor of daydream since he was about thirteen.

If Shen Yuan wants to rogue cultivate, then that’s what they’ll do. But Luo Binghe thinks, if he constructs a palace that’s as comfortable as it is grand, and fills it with trashy romance novels and obscure beasts and his own hand-made meals, he can convince his friend to live in it with him.

Shen Yuan needs to be taken care of. Luo Binghe needs to be the one taking care of him. They’re together now and they’ll never be apart again and those needs can both be met.

That possessive, proprietary feeling coils dark and deep inside him, undulating lazily like a serpent who’s fed enough for days, reminding him over and over what he already knows:

Mine.

#scum villian self saving system #svsss #bingyuan #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen yuan #my writing #svsss fic #sy transmigrates into a blank role in a world where his favorite character exists #and he's supposed to - what ? NOT fulfill his personal fantasy of being lbh's best friend ?? ok 🙄#naturally binghe has been obsessed since the moment this pretty boy first smiled at him #bingbing i love you you deserve a good shixiong / future wife and i'm here to deliver #ALSO sy's sword name is (yǒng) meaning perpetual ; eternal ; forever #and 亮 (liàng) meaning bright ; clear ; to show ; to shine #in my mind's eye zheng yang is golden so yong liang's silvery white is the perfect compliment #YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO THE SUN & MOON SHIP DYNAMIC 🫵#heaven and hell were words to me

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