#thraeposting

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i have a secret artstyle i only unlock when i paint dragons

#wip #plush.png #my art #oc throxen #thraeposting

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u guys are gonna love this shit (<- no one care)

#i love to be thrilled excited about very specific new lore 4 my ocverse that no one even knows about properly #except for westley nicefag. because i explained it all to him on a train #i PROMISE this is COOL AWESOME you should be VERY EXCITED #thraeposting #plush.png #wips

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hello everyone. on this blog i make frequent posts about my ocverse, thrae, a world ive been working on for almost three years now. the central piece that holds thrae together is the great inversion- thrae is earth backwards. except it isn't. earth backwards is htrae. i can't call the world fucking htrae. what the shit. the level of absolute buffoonery. i mean jesus fucking christ. htrae. this is my 9/11. fucking htrae.

#plush.txt #thraeposting #or htraeposting. i guess. god hates me

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form fits function

#oc throxen #thraeposting #my art #plush.png #dragons #spec bio #look at my boy isnt he pretty!!!

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the cool thing about worldbuilding is that once the world is fleshed out enough it will start telling you things. like a puzzle with only a couple pieces missing and you can tell what would've been on the missing pieces. dude the fantasy world will start talking to you

#recently realized that roanan culture places very high emphasis on death. it just came to me #its such a cool feeling #plush.txt #thraeposting

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writing some backstory for the wyrms !!

#plush.txt #thraeposting

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Fires of the North

CHAPTER 1: FELL BOUND

First ✦ Previous ✦ Next

The newspapers began reporting on the construction of the great refinery long before even the switchblade-quick men of almighty business could swoop down like vultures from penthouses and corner offices and tear the land apart. No, when news broke on the front page of the Borean Dawn- OIL FIELDS FOUND IN FROZEN NORTH- what would go on to be the most contested piece of land in the Arctic Circle was still just snow and ice, one hundred miles from the nearest major civilization. And yet, the moment those hunters struck oil, journalists hacked out stories and printing presses churned out copy after copy hailing the construction of the most magnificent new oil refinery in the world, a veritable palace of industry, the vital turning point that would finally bring Hyperborea to the world’s attention, under the assumption that the magnate with the sharpest teeth would have broken ground before they could get another issue out. 

This is not what would eventually become of the oil field.

There would be no palace of industry, no global eyes on long-overlooked Hyperborea, and no winner to the rat race that would go on to stain the snowfields for the next several years. Seventy-four starry-eyed men and women from every place conceivable, surnames from every dialect and tongue, would set out northward with teams of shovel-wielding laborers and vast pools of gold at their command. By the end of the first winter, only three would remain.

To understand the depth and depravity of the events that would play out there, one must first understand the depth and depravity of Hyperborea herself. None can match her beauty, and none can match her wrath. Poets wax and dream of her frozen shores, of rivers cutting through endless glittering fields of snow, of secrets untouched by time within the beating heart of shining glaciers- and yet the reality of fair Hyperborea, the Frozen North, Hell on Ice, Glacale, the Last Rise before the Abyss, is a cold and cruel one. The country, and the vanishingly few brave souls who live in it, seem balanced on a knife-edge. Every death and birth, every successful hunt, every chunk of coal burnt to ashes, every grain taken from food stores in the unfathomable depths of winter, is kept in perfect, metered record. Because the truth of a land like Hyperborea, so much further North than anyone should have gone, is that it will snatch everything that is good and warm from you, force its frostbitten fingers into every crack in your plans, your shelter, your safety, and tear it from you like freeze-thaw through a boulder, and leave you, hypothermic and broken, upon the burning snow. There are nights that last days. There are blizzards that last months. There are villages that disappear into the snow and are never seen again.

Perhaps this provides some clarity, then, as to why so many were gripped with such an acute madness when the news broke- perhaps this elucidates even further why so few of them would live or remain to see it through. For whichever upstart could reach out and grab it first, there was liquid gold beneath the ice- the question remained, however, if he could still hold onto it as the impossible North began to eat away at everything he held dear.

They came, in desperate masses, to the city of Fell. Fell was not the largest city in Hyperborea, it was not the most important, and it was not the capital- but it was further northward, pressing deeper into the ever-darkening cold, than any other city in the world. The blistering, maddening hostility of Fell cannot be understated. She stood teetering on the edge of the world, in stark defiance of her limits, a monument to both the deep hubris and undying determination of her people. A wrought-iron giant, magnificent and blazing, clinging to the white tundra like a stubborn grease stain; Fell was a young city, aching for industry, half a million people thronging through her streets, fighting against the elements. Smog pours from chimneys, forges run hot deep beneath the city, and fires blaze all along the streets, keeping intransient Fell smoldering, staving off the great freeze, sealing cracks as the ice splinters through them, just barely grasping her existence from the jaws of the North. 

Through the center of Fell, along the high streets where black facades rise stories-high, a river cuts the city in two. This is the Corione, a paradoxical beast flowing inland from the Ocean, which joins with the Stoll and the Sea to the West, and races screaming up from the South, where the waters are calm and blue and beautiful, through jungle, woodland, plains, and steppe, before tumbling over the cliffs into the tundra and slicing through Fell like a jack-knife. Its frigid waters arrive bearing gifts- dead fish, ships with metal faces, and news of warmer lands. Three dozen miles to the North, the Corione reaches its terminus, an impossibly deep and desolate lake. Within the walls and streets of Fell, it is bludgeoned by the streets into the rough shape of a canal, and is constantly at war with itself in much the same way that Fell is constantly at war with Hyperborea. The casualties of this war are the shattered ice sheets it carries with it; as each one crystallizes, it is rent asunder by the ceaseless currents, or the ice-breaking boats, or the streetlamps and hearths burning alongside it. The waters of the South, against the cold of the North, against the fires of the city- the Corione can never rest. The city of Fell can never rest.

And so, in droves, up the Corione and the Stoll and along the vast frozen plains, the big-city oil magnates, sleazy news-hawks, and leaden-shovel laborers came to Fell. The truly inconceivable seclusion of the promised bounty must be emphasized here- Fell, by all accounts is an incredibly remote city. The next major hub is almost two hundred miles to the South; some say her sheer septentrionality is bordering on blasphemous. And yet, any man hoping to sink his talons into the treasure trove waiting out there in the snow would have to journey one hundred miles deeper into perilous Hyperborea, into the far reaches of the world where lakes hide beneath kilometers of ice and your breath freezes in your lungs. 

This nightmare did not trouble the minds of the fools in their boats and chariots as they pressed Northward, the promise of oil money so lucrative and all-consuming it struck any inkling of concern or forethought from their minds. No, there would be no time for consideration, no time to pause and think how quickly and thoroughly Hyperborea was going to flay the cashmere greatcoats and fine lambskin gloves from their flesh- only gold glistens behind the eyelids of the wealthy businessman as thundering black stallions carry him upward, to the wonderland of infinite profit and shining snow that he dreams of.  At the end of the road or the river, icy damnation waits hungrily for him with open arms. 

There was oil, and soon there would be blood.

#plush.txt #my writing #thraeposting #fantasy #fires of the north #LOOK I DID A DIVIDER AND EVERYTHING ARENT I FANCY!!!! #read my thing pleaseeeee im really proud of it and there WILL be more

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ive been thinking about thrae and kind of. what its all about. and yeah on a very surface level its just wouldnt elves in pangea be fuckin awesome? i started writing thrae in middle school and now im almost in college and its become so much more than that. i think the question im trying to get you to ask is- if the creator and the devourer are meant to be halves of the same whole, what is that whole? and its magic. and what if instead of coming from primordial soup and chemical reactions we came from magic? what if we came from love? and what if, in the silliest and sugariest way, love is magic? because its an exploration of love, thats what it is. its a world made of love, and thats what it is. but its more than that! because ive written thrae in the time that ive written thrae and i cant extract it from that context- i dont think i couldve written the plot point that almost every major world government actively denies that the world is dying in any other time period. thrae is a dying world, its about death- i think i write thrae in the way i wish we were dealing with our own dying world. maybe we could solve climate change with the power of friendship, and maybe thats what thrae is about. or maybe its just elves in pangea, yknow? its about love and death and fear and escapism and its about hoping and fighting for a better world, and its about how much i fucking love dragons, and its about billions of stories converging into a single purpose, and its about rainbows and seven elements for seven kinds of love, and its all the fantasies i had when i was too young to know how to vocalize them, and its about two people who, if they could only see each other again, could bring the world back into tune.

its about a sunrise. its love, persisting against all odds.

and its elves in pangea, and it fuckin rules.

#thraeposting #plush.txt #its really late i hope this is coherent. i have big feelings #my writing

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i have these very jarring moments on occasion in which i realize that no, owen, other people do not in fact have an elaborate fantasy world in their mind that they have devoted hundreds of hours across multiple years to realizing. anyway back to my absolutely massive map

#plush.txt #thraeposting #autism RULES

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i love worldbuilding im always building some world or another

#thraeposting

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im writing a new legend

#ive been thinking a lot about the apocalypse #thrae's and our own #the precursors see death on the horizon and run. the thraians agree to quietly burn out together #theyre not going to leave their world behind. theyre not going to save anyone. its okay. #plush.txt #thraeposting #ill put it into words soon

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here's the thing. one of the main symbols im working with for thrae is the rainbow it's like the whole main representation of EVERYTHING. however. ive kind of got two separate rainbows that mean totally different things?? there's the five color rainbow for the love between the wyrms and then a seven color rainbow that represents the elements. but for the sake of symbolism i think i need to have just the one rainbow which means i need to figure out two more types of love and also another main line story. ruh roh

#i say only one main line story b/c i can gently shepherd the sparks prequel into being its own thing #since their relationship is at such a different place in it #much to think about... #thraeposting #im gonna post full essays on the dawn and the rainbow as the two main symbols of thrae soon btw #ive been doing a lot of work with them

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one track mind, one track heart

#YES ive been listening to marina and YES that song is sooo lucycoded #ALSO MY INTERNET IS BACK!!! YAYAYAYYY #plush.png #my art #oc art #oc lucinder #oc olivia #sparks (oc ship) #thraeposting #<- my disastrous organizational tags help.....

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evening star

#HELLOOOOO heres a COMPLETELY different artstyle #my art #plush.png #oc art #thraeposting #oc duchess bone #been thinking about her a lot lately

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the interesting thing about olivia is that even though she has mindblowing transgender lesbian sex astoundingly often the hottest thing that's ever happened to her is still the mech crash

#thraeposting #oc olivia

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heres another map of thrae- this one is for language families!! almost all countries have their own unique language, but these are the main groups :) brief descriptions of each under the cut

classical elventongue- yostinthe, roan-crest west of the helmswatchers, dorma, surface-noct, metropolitan areas of the static coast, southern kolaxia and the shroud, coastal verdantia, and the edges of the cradle. most resembles latin and other romance languages- true elventongue is the language of most ancient academia and is almost identical to latin.

ezrathian- although its only spoken in ezzerath, ezrathaian's influence is far reaching, with words/roots from it appearing in almost every language. it is a harsh, germanic-sounding language.

old mannish- spoken exclusively in the cradle, especially in rural areas. strongly resembles celtic and britonic languages, and one of the primary roots for draconic and later worldspeak.

meridial- formerly known as the southern tongues, spoken in the ashwild, kul-wrang, inner verdantia, and the rural static coast. primarily resembles afroasiatic languages, although the kul-wrangi dialect is more heavily niger-congo.

draconic- official language of the dragonlands, although its influence can be seen in far southwestern aldenne and the midwestern cradle. essentially a combination of old mannish and ezrathian, giving it a sound somewhere between britonic and germanic.

nordic elvish- a vast, diverse language family spoken in maelstrom, aldenne, kolaxia, the central shroud, southern quon and glacale, and roan-crest east of the helmswatchers. this group should actually be separated into two- west of the grinsmaw is west nordic elvish, which resembles slavic languages, and eastern nordic elvish is east of the grinsmaw, and is more strongly sino-tibetan.

hyperborean- the far north languages of thrae, spoken in the northern shroud, glacale, and quon. similar to scandinavian languages, with some slavic/germanic influence.

woodfolk sign- used in greatwald, cradlewood, the verdant, and summertree. woodfolk lack a spoken language due to the importance of their hearing in their culture and magic, but they have a unique sign language composed mostly of simple, two-syllable signs to communicate basic information.

click- only spoken in the caverns of noct. could be described as being similar to classical elventongue, but is based almost entirely around echolocation. full of difficult-to-pronounce sounds, pitch changes are crucial to this language.

metoric- the native language of the deosil, now entirely extinct. this language is incredibly complicated and impossible for non-deosil to pronounce due to the highly specific larynx needed to produce what sounds like random noise to the average listener.

#native angelic/worldspeak/sina astera are not discussed here!! because worldspeak + angelic are everywhere #and this is just a map of pangea proxima so space languages are sadly excluded #thraeposting #plush.png #plush.txt #<- also putting it in the text posts tag bc good lord did i ramble