#sonorian culture

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

novaxiom lore dump ;

the name-chords of voxswyn: identity in sound

in voxswyn, a name isn’t just something given—it’s something tuned. to live within the sonoric basslines fueled city-states of the voxswyn plains means carrying a chord progression that is yours alone, a sequence of notes shaped by the rhythm of your own breath, your presence, the sound of you moving through the world. every citizen is marked by their name-chord, the defining sequence that ties them into the basslines that pulse beneath every street, every city, every foundation of sonorian life. a name-chord is not a title, not a sound assigned at random. it is a signature, a song written into the current of the world itself.

naming the newly born

a child’s name-chord is rarely assigned at birth. sonorians wait—watching, listening—because rushing the process is considered a failure to respect the natural cadence of a life still finding its footing. most families delay the naming until a child’s first completed cycle of seasons, allowing their earliest sounds and movements to shape the composition. the rhythm of a newborn’s cries, the way they react to distant chimes, the instinctual hums they form before they ever learn speech—all of it feeds into the crafting of their chord. this is where chordwrights come in. trained specialists, part healer, part historian, part musician, they are attuned to the subtle fluctuations of individual basslines. they listen. they take in a child’s presence, their natural timing, the specific way sound wraps around them. no two name-chords are identical. even among families, even in cases where motifs are passed down, the final chord must reflect the singular presence of its bearer.

a name-chord isn’t truly a name until it’s been heard

the first calling is held at the beginning of a child’s first year, a gathering where family, mentors, and those closest to them harmonize with the chord, solidifying it within the sonoric basslines. from that moment on, the child isn’t just a presence in the world—they’re a part of it, permanently attuned. to be heard is to be known. voxswyn’s culture is rooted in sound, in recognition through frequency rather than sight alone. to introduce oneself is not to speak a name, but to sing it—to release the name-chord into the air, letting it vibrate against the listener’s own attunement.

to those raised in sonorian society, this is second nature. outsiders, however, often struggle. those without name-chords—whether through exile, displacement, or birth outside the basslines—are considered untethered, an absence in the structure of the city. they can pass through, they can exist among the sonorians, but they will never fully belong. their silence marks them. this creates a natural hierarchy. in places like rhyzanth, where sound-anchored echotecture shifts in response to identity, those without a name-chord find themselves locked out—doors do not open, paths do not alter, the city does not acknowledge them. to be nameless is to move unseen, unheard, disregarded.

name-chords evolve over time

some shift subtly as their bearers grow, bending in response to personal milestones or emotional upheavals. others are deliberately altered, reforged through ritual harmonization. in rare cases, individuals renounce their chords entirely, choosing to sever their connection to the basslines. this is seen as an act of erasure, a final rejection of self.

name-chords & their everyday presence

name-chord inscriptions: many sonorians are known to wear their chords in physical form—carved into metalwork jewelry, stitched by mothers into the inside of their children's clothing, inscriptioned surnames into the foundation of their homes. it is a way of ensuring that even in absence, their presence lingers.

instrumental calling: in most voxswyn city-states, particularly aerothyn and nazhira, it is customary to carry a small personal trinket capable of playing one’s name-chord. introductions are often made through harmony rather than voice.

the chordless: sonorian exiles who have forfeited their name-chords due to various reasons such as punishment, banishment, or personal choice, are referred to as such. in most of voxswyn, they encounter suspicion, but in certain locations like on the continent of calythraxis, they find solace among the psinorian or kryx populations—where silence is revered.

name-chords as governance

in sonorian courts, a name-chord is more than identification—it is a legal signature, a binding force. to alter one’s chord mid-negotiation is seen as nothing more than an act of nefarious deception; even forging another’s name–chord is among the highest offenses, punishable by permanent banishment to the borderlands—exile into extremist psinorian territory where they patrol perimeters.

if caught along their territories, an extremist will sever any wandering sonorian from the auditory–frequencium–attuned (afa) basslines entirely by brute force, rendering them forever unable to be recognized by afa structures, sonorism too if that wasn't obvious.

the finality of sound

a name-chord is not simply a name. it is a proof of belonging, an imprint upon the sonoric basslines that shape the very foundation of voxswyn. to carry one is to be part of the sonorian world.

to forego your name–chord—all is to be considered lost.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

What is your favorite aspect of the world you have built?

i wanted to make sure everything surrounding the answer to this was exactly how i envisioned before answering, but hands down my favorite thing about novaxiom has to be the magic systems. now i can confidently say they’re both such a chaotic, yet fascinating mess in their own ways.

sonoric sorcery is so raw and complex, but still holds the quality of depth—it’s all about sound and vibration, shaping reality in real time. it’s purely the essence of the aųrolis: loud, unpredictable, still holding its beauty while it teeters on the edge of disaster. screw it up? sonorians are not just risking a spell not working—they’re essentially risking life as they know it as they could end up silencing themselves.

which goes into on the flip side of that—psinorism, which couldn’t be more opposite. it’s subtle, deliberate, and rooted in silence and taciraia’s absence. psinorians don’t care about sound—they work with the void, the stillness, and the spaces left behind. it’s haunting in a way, but also deeply introspective. using it isn’t about noise; it’s about the intent and thought, and that contrast to sonoric sorcery makes it all the more satisfying.

but then there’s the forbidden shit: mortiphonustry. even the name feels cursed. it’s not about creation or destruction—it’s about defiance. it spits in the face of novaxiom’s natural order, ripping apart the Frequencium and twisting it into something grotesque.

the mortals who use it aren’t just breaking the rules; they’re rejecting death itself. and the results? horrifying. fractured souls, broken bodies, and whispers that haunt the edges of novaxiom’s world for eternity.

what i love most, though is how none of them stand alone. they each clash, overlap, and spark conflict with one another at every turn, reflecting everything about the world itself—messy, dysfunctional, but deeply human. magic to them isn’t just power; it’s their identities, cultures, and philosophies. every choice tied to it feels personal, and that’s what makes writing it ssoososo fun 🥰