May 17, 2025
The best thing about growing up with fandons like game of thrones is that faction/groups morality discourse in smps are just never rlly a thing to me
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The best thing about growing up with fandons like game of thrones is that faction/groups morality discourse in smps are just never rlly a thing to me
The First Speech
Notes: So this is the first fic on the ask blog, introducing Tibet as queen and basically just being awesome. It also adds a whole bunch of world-building and exposition, so watch out for that! Hope y’all enjoy it!
-Sassy
Summary: Queen Tibet is about to make his first appearance since becoming queen and since the Great Migration. Facing the crowd head-on, he delivers a speech of a lifetime.
Happy Reading!
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Five years ago
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Tshering took a deep breath, holding the speech in front of him and trying to push down his creeping feeling of stage fright, practicing it over and over in his head to distract himself from the droning voice on the podium that stood in front of the curtain he was put behind for the grand entrance. He was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. Sure, there might have been at least 50,000 people in the new palace square solely to hear their leader speak, and sure this might have been the first time that Tshering had spoken with his people like this since the Great Migration from the Red kingdom, but it couldn’t be that bad. He was going to be fine, he repeated in his head over and over until the words meant nothing and the white grip on the papers in front of him twisted tighter.
A guard to his left coughed, snapping him out of his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. The guards stood a respectfully length away from him, almost like they were afraid to get too close to the national hero. Minds still heavy from memories of the Great Migration, their eyes shone with an inner admiration and pride that danced from guard to guard and echoed the roaring audience outside. Tshering sighed and stepped closer to the curtain, skin itchy with an emotion he could vaguely identify as fright. If the guards here were treating him like a hero, who knows what the crowd outside would be like.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, spirits and dead, Orange and Yellow alike, give it up for our royal Queen Tshering!” The curtains swished open, and there was no time to soak in the sight of the thousands upon thousands of people in front of him, waving their yellow scarves and hats and fragments of their robes while they cheered. The sea of yellow stretched as far as the eye could see, spilling into the sides of the courtyard and into the streets outside, with people sitting on trees and rocks and the fountain in the pond just to catch a glimpse of their beloved leader. They roared and cheered when they caught a glimpse of his small stature on the stage, clapping their hands and waiting for him to address the people he led out to the promised land, the one who started an exodus out of the cruel hands of the Red and into the warm lands of Yellow. They held their breaths, going silent as a buzzer rang out to signal the start of his speech, and the dead silence hung even more heavily than the roaring cheers did. It as time. It was time for the moment he had been practicing since he had came to the Yellow Palace.
Tshering stumbled over to the podium, making sure not to trip on the light step that lead out to the huge balcony that oversaw the event. The entirety of the podium was draped in different shades of yellow, gold, and here and there a speck of orange. He stepped into the large stand and cleared his throat, looking down at the somehow yellow microphone and taking a deep breath. Alright, time to speak.
His eyes shot up, heart steady and pulse still now that he was in the moment, and the note cards were placed on the stand as he waited for the right moment to start.
“Three hundred years ago, we stood in a different land.” His voice rang out to the courtyard and into the ears of every Yellow, echoing in the trees and in the pond and in the minds of the breathless people who waited for his words. “Three hundred years ago, we lived in a different world. Three hundred years ago, our tenth great grandfathers and grandmothers were taken from their homeland and put into Red. There they lived, and there their Yellow descendants lived, for three hundred years.”
“For three hundred years our hands had been tied by the ropes of our poverty, chained down by the metal of our oppression, bent over with the weight of our families need to survive under the meager scrapings thrown at us by the elite. For three hundred years, the men and women of our blood served under the rich and the wealthy and the powerful and oppressors and the ones that held us by the chains of our forefathers’ debt, making sure that we only barely had enough money to live, and bounding us in slavery when we couldn’t pay the debt-ridden bill. For three hundred years, our people were enslaved in every sense of the word, treated like dirt by the upper classes and spat at like foreigners when we came to buy bread, only to receive the meager scraps the Reds tossed away. For three hundred years, we were not humans, but animals to the magical and blood red people of the throne, treated like a burden open their society for being dragged here on their ships and kept alive by their neighbors!
“FOR THREE CENTURIES,” his voice shot the air, making everyone stand at attention as he took a deep breath and continued, “We took this all without a whisper, shedding our blood of gold to wear their cloth of red, wishing on our yellow stars and sunrise that we would wake up to see the sun kissed earth before us, letting the tales of our grandmothers of our golden laced homeland be the last thing we thought of when we went to sleep, ready to battle the nightmares of blood and ruby that our slave drivers threw at us to make us bow, to make us forget. They took our necklaces, our heirlooms, our tightly hidden scraps of yellow, and they burned them in the square, chanting how the evidence of our heritage didn’t exist as they incinerated our history in the fire. The Reds, draped in rubies and blood like the very nightmares we vowed to keep at bay, kept us under their heels, ignoring our cries for freedom and pleas to see the amber sunflowers and the blond wheat sighing the wind one last time, before our Yellow hearts could fade. We prayed to the gods for our deliverance, we brought what meager earnings we had and we begged for an answer at the shrines our neighbors would burn down with crimson fire. FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS, we have endured this!”
The elder people in the audience nodded, tightly clasping the hands of their grandchildren and pulling their scarves over the heads to hide the scars ripped onto their faces and peering at their calloused hands in bitterness and sorrow. The elder women looked at the heavens for a glimpse of golden children taken from them at birth, and the elder men hung their heads in remembrance of sons who lived no longer under the saffron sun. Tshering paused for a moment as the audience remembered, children gnawing on their hands as they were taught to when they were hungry and mothers holding them tight in case Red soldiers roared out of nowhere to take them away. Heart heavy with his own memories of the Red Kingdom, he took another deep breath and looked out, holding his hand in the sky to silence the whispers of anger and bitterness that had arose from the crowd of people, before taking a deep breath and speaking again.
“We bled, we suffered, we toiled, we fought, we loathed the Reds, yet when I look at them, when I looks at their sorrowful king and queen, when I cast my gaze to the people we have lived under for so long, for three centuries, I can only say this. I pray for you.” The crowd stopped short, furrowing their brow in confusion and murmuring among each other. Tshering again raised his hand, and the people below him were silent. “When I look at the Silvers, with their muddied hands of war, and the way their children scream at night because of the famines waged across their lands, even if they never reached out, I look at their starving infants and I say, I pray for you! When the Blue, caught up in their own corruption, people tearing into each other’s throat just for a slice of bread, cursing all others out and selling weapons because they have no other means to survive, I say, I pray for you! When the Orange, who took us in as we fled from the Red who sent their guards and swords after us, when their mothers were taken for the harems of the rich and they were left at the border to be forgotten by the royals, I say, I pray for you! To the Whites in the west, who have but snow and pillaging men who only wish to take some scrap of food to soothe their aching bellies, I say, I pray for you! To the Reds, even the Reds, who languished under a corrupt royal family and were raided by their neighbors for food, who cried out in the dark only to receive the silence of the guards and the people who swore to protect them in the middle of the night, who had to watch as their children too were taken, taken to be soldiers or slaves or chimney sweepers or simply cannon fodder for the useless spats of the nobles, I looked down at my calloused hands torn with labor, and I look down at the hole in my heart where my son once lived, I look down at the very same things they do! And I say, I PRAY FOR YOU!
“For we are not the only ones suffering, for we are not the only ones with a promise land, for we are NOT THE ONLY ONES SEEKING HOPE! We are simply the first one who grabbed it, the first ones who rushed over to our homelands once again, the first one in a new age of peace and prosperity! And when I look out at my people, I see the people of the world, joyful that their dream had been accomplished and a shining examples for our nomadic brothers in Silver, our starving cousins in Blue, our hopeless yet enduring saviors in Orange, to our freezing friends in White, and to our whipping slave drivers, soaked with their own blood, drowning in red, and I say, and we all say, WE PRAY FOR YOU!”
The crowd jumped up and roared in agreement, families holding each other’s hands and raising them into the sky, and the sea of yellow that spilled out of the courtyard screamed their hope and their dreams throwing their yellow scarves and shawls and necklaces and anything lose they could find into the air, showering the palace with gold as they rained down.
Queen Tshering watched this all from his podium on the balcony, grinning ear to ear and slightly panting from the passionate moment he had been caught up in. Gathering up his notes, he stepped off the podium after the announcer gave his cue, though the crowd was too busy rejoicing and relishing in their national pride to notice their hero slip off. The saffron curtains closed behind him and he sighed in relief. The entirety of the guard was gaping at him, the adoring glimmer in their eye now shining brighter as he walked up close to the captain and smiled.
“That was a nice introduction to my rule as Queen, don’t you think?”
I decided to do more of a messy sketch of a new character I created for Not My Fight associated with @artnerd1123 . He originates from the short training session paragraph I wrote ----> Here. He is one of Vordur’s best students in the art of pure strength. Hope ya like em ^^
Here he is. The infamous Prince Squall. I decided to try him out as a Night/SandWing hybrid. So this is how he turned out. Hope ya like him ^^
Prince Squall belongs to @artnerd1123 .
@artnerd1123 I drew the head of Vordur ^^ Hope Ya like it!! Want to know more about him or any other characters he is involved with go check out @avery-clawderson-and-co or @artnerd1123 .