#thindol

[sosthemortalcoil]

BLM Donation Shorts: Ethereal Music

@thindol requested a Zaria fic for their BLM donation featuring Zaria’s powers. Not specified Gabriel x Zaria

You lounge across the couch—white, the only person you know who has white couches, another one of the underpinnings of her wealth—watching as Zaria sits down at her harp. She looks to you, studying your languid repose with a sharp eye.

Getting her to agree to this had been a trial. But you want to hear her, the actual her, not the human veneer she puts on. She’d warned you of the effects, and you’d accepted the risks. You’re not a mortal after all.

The first step isn’t entirely pleasant, a sort of dislocation of your energy within your shell. It’s not enough to slip outside of the fleshy protection of your skin, but it’s enough to let you passively access more of your Grace, enough to hopefully protect you from the mind-altering effects of her voice.

Long fingers dance across the thin wires, and at first you don’t hear anything, but you can feel it, resonating along the edges of your Grace. Closing your eyes, you lean into the sensation, and slowly the sound swells in your ears as you adjust your auditory receptors to hear the appropriate frequencies.

It takes a touch more of your power than you probably should be using, but surely the low-level power you’re giving off will go unnoticed. If it isn’t, well, you’ll have your evening interrupted by either an extremely irate guardian angel overseer, or some other uninvited guest.

Her strumming is loose, the sounds beautiful but not forming any sort of coherent piece. Opening your eyes, you can see the tight line of her mouth, the only sign of her nervousness. She’s good at closing herself down, at hiding her thoughts and feelings behind an impassive mask. Society has taught her to hide herself away, to be practiced, perfect in every interaction. More-so because a single lapse, a moment of anger could easily have major repercussions. Sauti ya hila weren’t a populous race, and few resided in this plane, but there’s a reason humans fear sirens.

“You won’t hurt me.”

Her eyes flash to yours, wide with surprise that she can hear you. You’d pitched your voice to the same range as the harp string, startling her.

“Suggestion is… a powerful tool. We are meant to… prey on those who hear us.” She’d told you about how she’d fought with her mother to spend time on earth, to live and work here. How her mother had considered it perfect for honing her hunting practices.

How she’d muzzled herself, how she’d swallowed her words as much as possible. Stay quiet, work hard. But she spoke in other ways, with her body, with the way she dressed, with the written word.

“Oh, am I your prey now? Kinky.”

She snorts, one side of her mouth twitching up in an unbidden smile. It’s not as good as her full-blown smile where the white of her teeth flashes against her dark skin, her whole face lighting up with joy, but it’s a start.

This time when she caresses music from her harp, the sound has purpose, sliding into a soft, deep lullaby. After a few stanzas she begins to sing, an ethereal, haunting sounds that bypasses every safeguard you’d put in place. The sound builds, swells within your chest and though the lyrics are nothing you understand, no tongue spoken by the native inhabitants of earth, you know what the words say.

Your eyes fall obediently closed as her power washes over you. You can’t fight it; there’s nothing tangible to push back against. Who doesn’t want to close their eyes for a bit? Let your worries drift away to be replaced with the echoing chords. You find yourself humming along, impossibly, to this song you’ve never heard before, a smile curving your lips.

The urge to tell her how exquisite her playing is passes, replaced by a knowledge that it’s better to sit quietly lest you disrupt a single note of this masterpiece. That would be a trespass not easily forgiven, since she’s deigned to give you a personal recital.

Somewhere in the deep, infinite recesses of your soul something stirs, a warning, a discordant cry that clashes horribly with the peaceful waves of sound washing over you. But like an undertow, before you can surface you’re pulled deeper, drowning in the song.

A hand shakes your shoulder and you stir, brow furrowed as you stare up into a pair of anxious violet eyes. Amethyst, some might say, but not the cloudy version you see most often. No, this is like the deep purple of a geode cracked open, pried from the depths of the earth but glowing within.

Her hand points at you and then her thumb moves in a circle, and though you’re fluent by this point it still takes a moment to process her question.

“Yeah,” you croak while nodding, your voice dry like you’ve been out for hours. In fact, you feel like you’ve rested for days, though you have no recollection of falling asleep. Her shoulders sag and her eyes close, the tension bleeding from her features and leaving them slack.

Reaching for her, you cup her cheek, waiting until her eyes open again. Love you, you mouth, refusing to let go of her face and your other arm too weak with lingering drowsiness to move.

She sighs, shaking her head.

“That was a dangerous request,” she signs, her eyes narrowing to convey her displeasure.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, sitting upright and signing back.

Her lips purse and you know she disagrees with that statement. It’s why she wears contacts more often than not. It’s why she hates to speak unless absolutely necessary.

“You are no monster.” Not human, certainly not, but neither are you. And she doesn’t hunt humans. When she uses her powers, sparingly, begrudgingly, only when all other avenues have been exhausted, it’s for the greater good.

She has a human heart, you think.

And, while it might be the lingering effects of her voice—it’s interesting to note how easily she affected you, and you wonder if it’s because of your relationship, since Sauti ya hila usually appear as exquisite specimens of humans, the better to lure them in and then devour them—but of all the ways you’ve contemplated your own ending, dying to nourish her isn’t such a terrible fate.

“I know. But power is a temptation, and I prefer to avoid unnecessary temptations,” she signs back, her motions subdued, small and tight. “Let’s not do it again.”

“I had a good nap though,” you reply cheekily as you coax her into sitting on the couch beside you. “And I like listening to you be yourself.”

She shakes her head, folding her long limbs onto the couch like a tulip closing its petals at night as the light fades. “That isn’t me.”

“But it is part of you, Zaria. And I don’t want you to feel like you ever have to hide any part of you from me.”

She leans forward, pressing her forehead to yours, pushing until you’re once again flat out on the couch, Zaria hovering over you.

“You are so sappy,” she signs, and then leans down, letting her lips spell her love out against her skin, her hands finding new chords to play, evoking fresh notes from your lips.  

[tale-chaser]

Thindol - Regional History

Once considered part of Mhairshaulk, the central jungles of the areas now claimed by Samarach and Thindol were largely abandoned by the yuan-ti about -24,000 DR, during their centuries-long war with the couatls.

For millennia thereafter, the jungles of the central peninsula remained the preserve of savage wildlife and individual serpentfolk (either yuan-ti or couatls) who forged their own short-lived domains.

At the end of the great couatl-led migration of human tribes from the continent far to the southwest in -2809 DR, the central jungles of the Sanrach and Thindol Basins were settled by the Thinguth tribe.

Centuries later, the Lapal tribes living alongside the Lapal Sea finally escaped their yuan-ti masters, and the serpentfolk were forced to import tribes of lizardfolk slaves from the Great Swamp of Rethgild to the east.

Upon reaching the shores of the Lapal Sea, many of these lizardfolk either escaped or were released into the territory claimed by the Thinguth.

This event led to centuries of skirmishing between humans and lizardfolk that eventually reduced both groups to barbaric tribal enclaves.

Over time, the Thinguth were forced to withdraw from their western territories, conceding much of what is now Samarach and western Thindol to the lizardfolk, who later expanded into the Jungles of Chult as well. This division of territory geographically isolated the inhabitants of the Guthland from the rest of the migrant tribes that had settled in the Jungles of Chult.

Thus, when the great war broke out between the Tabaxi and Eshowe tribes (-438 DR to -122 DR, the isolated Thinguth of the Guthland were the only Chultans not wholly absorbed into the Tabaxi and ruled from the capitol city of Mezro.

In the Year of Shattered Havens (-289 DR), the Thinguth were enslaved by the yuan-ti of the Sseradess and Sauringar tribes and dispersed across all of greater Thindol, which at that time included lands now claimed by Samarach.

Their liberation came in the Year of Hounds (293 DR), when soldiers of the Shoon Empire defeated the lizardfolk tribes that had battled the Thinguth during the Lizard Wars at the tail end of the Tashalar Campaigns. The Sseradess tribe remained untouched in the depths of the Thingulph, and the Sauringar retained their holdings in the depths of the Samarlogh. Without their armies of lizardfolk, however, neither yuan-ti tribe dared continue to rule openly.

In the decades that followed, a succession of Shoon satraps brought civilization to the Thinguth, and many natives found employment denuding the Thindol Basin's of its prized mahogany and teak trees and shipping them back to the heart of the Imperium.

During this period, many Tashalans migrated southward from the Tashtan Coast to settle the unclaimed territories west of the Thingulph. They took control of the lumber trade, while the Chultans retained their primacy in the eastern region known as the Guthland.

After the Shoon Imperium collapsed in the Year of the Corrie Fist (450 DR), the Thindolese achieved independence for the first time in centuries, albeit under the subtle influence of the yuan-ti agents who had infiltrated the ruling corridors of power. By chance, in the Year of Many Serpents (605 DR), a minor scandal in Thindol's royal court led to the unmasking of hundreds of yuan-ti infiltrators, including none other than the reigning monarch and his family.

All of Thindol descended into near anarchy, and for months after the incident, anyone even suspected of possessing serpentine blood was summarily executed by roving bands of ophiophobes. This civil war ended the monarchy and slaughtered thousands of innocents, but it also greatly reduced the influence of the yuan-ti. By the time it was over, Western Thindol had declared itself the independent realm of Samarach, and all the mountain passes and roads in that new realm had been cloaked in a veil of illusion.

In the centuries since the War of Unmasking (605 DR to 606 DR), a Council of Cities has ruled Thindol and vigilantly guarded its borders against serpentine interlopers, never suspecting that the Sseradess tribe lurks beneath the waters in the heart of the realm. 

Ophiophobia still results in periodic purges of suspected serpentfolk, although most are now expelled rather than executed. Thindolese merchants make a good living trading with Halruaa, Dambrath, the Tashalar, and (to a much lesser extent) Samarach.

However, the century-old decline in cross-peninsula trade from Thindar to Narubel has reduced the flow of coins into the realm's coffers, and Samarach is a part of the realm only in name.

[tale-chaser]

Thindol

The Realm of Running Waters encompasses the entire Thindol Basin. 

Its lands are encircled by the Hazur Mountains to the east and north, the Tching Mountains to the northwest, and the Sanrach Mountains to the west. At the heart of Thindol lies the Thingulph, a large sheltered gulf that is fed by six major rivers and opens onto the Great Sea. 

The flatlands of Thindol are covered by tall grass and scattered orchards, and the Hazur Mountains contain productive veins of gold and iron sufficient to meet the local need.

The realm of Thindol is rent by divisions along geographic, racial, ethnic, class, and political lines. The northern city of Narubel is all but independent, and the northwestern third of the country is part of Thindol in name only. Lizardfolk are barely tolerated here, and kuo-toa and serpentfolk are killed on sight. The gold dwarves of the Hazur Mountains are considered autonomous, so they are given no say in the governance of the realm as a whole. The human population is divided into two ethnic groups: the Tashalans and the Chultans.

The Guthland, as the eastern shore of the Thingulph is known, is poor and backward. Dominated by Chultans, it remains semi-autonomous. The western half of the kingdom is wealthy and dominated by ethnic Tashalans. 

Each major city gets one vote in the ruling council. Since Tashalans have slim majorities in most of the cities, they effectively rule the realm despite their minority status in the population as a whole.

Mounts are almost unknown in Thindol, so transportation is usually by boat or on foot. Endless battles rage in the Hazur Mountains between the gold dwarves and the kuo-toa, and the yuan-ti continually test Thindol's defenses from within and without. Ophiophobia is rampant among the human inhabitants, and eternal vigilance against the serpentfolk is the cultural norm. Most Chultans appease a handful of dark powers (such as Talona and Umberlee) and nominally venerate Ubtao. 

The Tashalans hold the same beliefs as their cousins in the Tashalar, but they tend to favor appeasing the dark gods over looking to the church of Savras for answers to life's mysteries.