Because I am never one to reign in my world-building when it starts to spiral out of control, this is a top level for organizing lore to related to the aforementioned setting (it was originally just supposed to be a backdrop for an arranged marriage prompt! Oh how the turn tables) and threading with my rp friends. If we've rped before, feel free to just jump in. Otherwise please message me first, thank you. <3
Setting inspo: The Husky and His White Cat Shizun, Lovecraft by way of the Old Gods of World of Warcraft, and this fic specifically by x_los, as pertains to Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu. Cliffnotes: they are two separate, unrelated people in this setting, and Shen Yuan is the peak lord known as Shen Qingqiu while Shen Jiu holds the courtesy name Fuzhao and is the famously beloved/infamous bitchy spouse of Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan.
Shen Qingqiu has been promised in marriage to one of the ghost kings, but I am nothing if not a multi-shipping whore and happy to bring in Shen Luguang or a transmigrating Shen Yuan if people want him, =uwu=
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had maintained the barriers between the worlds of the living and the restless dead for generations, but now a new enemy had descended from the darkness between the stars. Terrible, faceless aberrations, like monsters from the depths of the sea yet capable of walking like men, who fed on spiritual energy in all its forms. For living humans being caught in a Void Walker's claws meant a life without cultivation, without emotion, spiritually blind, deaf, and dumb. For the restless dead it meant total annihiliation, a complete cessation of existence more painful and terrible than even the wheel of reincarnation which they had fought so hard to avoid.
It quickly became clear to both the peak lords and the council of kings, which ruled the Ghostlands, that to maintain the status quo would spell doom for both their worlds. Thus a treaty was formed -- but the restless dead required insurance. A marriage must take place, to seal the treaty: yang bound in sacred submission to yin, a peak lord taken into the household of a ghost king and held there in trust against his or her martial family's good behavior. A hostage and living embodiment of the treaty in one. Shen Qingqiu had volunteered himself for the role.
It was no great sacrifice, to his mind. He was not a great warrior, nor an invaluable healer or craftsman: he was a scholar, but even then all of his knowledge was written down and preserved in the library of Qing Jing Peak, which preceeded him by generations and would endure long after he was gone. Cang Qiong would not suffer by his absense, and perhaps his knowledge of monsters and ghosts would even give him an advantage in navigating their society, and working to maintain the treaty from the other side. These all seemed perfectly reasonable arguments to him, and he had never been one to value his own comfort before the needs of his peers -- nor could said peers find any reason to force a substitution. A bride was needed, and Shen Qingqiu was willing. What more needed to be said?
(But Shen Fuzhao, whose sharp eyes always saw more than was good for him, insisted on helping Shen Qingqiu dress himself in the matrimonial robes, and giving him an unnecessary hand to boost him into the palaquin. He presses a small clay vial into Shen Qingqiu's hand before departing, and as the bearers lifted the palaquin onto their shoulders Shen Qingqiu carefully unsealed the bottle and sniffed the end of the stopper. A spiritual opiate, he realized; and the note that came with it read, "For if it all becomes too much."
Shen Qingqiu was no great healer, but he knew enough herblore to realize that such a potion would put him into a deep, dreamless sleep from which not even the rage of a ghost king would wake him. To his credit he immediately frowned and resealed the bottle with a touch of his qi, and buried it in the lowest depths of his storage sleeve. He could not think of a manuever more in bad faith, than to take himself out of the marriage before it had even begun.)
It took the bearers no great time to reach the borders of the Ghostlands, for just like death itself it lay around every corner and looked over every shoulder. Shen Qingqiu could not see it through his heavy veil and the silk curtains that shrouded the palanquin, but he knew what it looked like from books and the night hunts he'd once joined before the Void Walkers arrived and changed everything: a dark and sandy plain adjoined with an eternal sea, and overhead a black sky with no stars. Between land and sea stood the ancient city, shaped like a tiered cone or ziggurat, and lit with a thousand lamps and fires in defiance of the dark. There his bearers left him, just outside the city gates, and probably thought themselves the last living humans that would ever lay eyes on Shen Qingqiu.
But he was not dead yet, as the frantic beating of his own heart in his chest assured him. He folded his hands in his lap and focused on his breathing, doing his best to calm himself before his groom arrived.
In this world, it is the job of cultivators to maintain the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the restless dead, or the Ghostlands. This is not a true afterlife, but rather a sort of bubble dimension or secret plane, curated by the Ghost Kings, to which congregate the spirits of those who do not wish to ride the wheel of reincarnation after death. In ages past a high-level cultivator or deity sacrificed themselves to place an enormous wall of spiritual energy between the Ghostlands and the human realm, blocking weaker ghosts from coming and going as they pleased and stirring up trouble in the human realm. Unfortunately this barrier, or "veil" is both permeable and easily weakened by certain rituals or bloodshed. The Ghost Kings in particular like to stir up trouble by encouraging cults in their honor among humans, exchanging trite favors in exchange for spiritual energy and their hard-won wealth.
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timeasmymeasure
Lord Among Ghosts -- Fantasy Genre-Fusion Top Level
Date: 2023-04-21 04:06 am (UTC)Setting inspo: The Husky and His White Cat Shizun, Lovecraft by way of the Old Gods of World of Warcraft, and this fic specifically by x_los, as pertains to Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu. Cliffnotes: they are two separate, unrelated people in this setting, and Shen Yuan is the peak lord known as Shen Qingqiu while Shen Jiu holds the courtesy name Fuzhao and is the famously beloved/infamous bitchy spouse of Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan.
Shen Qingqiu has been promised in marriage to one of the ghost kings, but I am nothing if not a multi-shipping whore and happy to bring in Shen Luguang or a transmigrating Shen Yuan if people want him, =uwu=
Arranged Marriage -- closed to sink for now
Date: 2023-04-21 04:43 am (UTC)It quickly became clear to both the peak lords and the council of kings, which ruled the Ghostlands, that to maintain the status quo would spell doom for both their worlds. Thus a treaty was formed -- but the restless dead required insurance. A marriage must take place, to seal the treaty: yang bound in sacred submission to yin, a peak lord taken into the household of a ghost king and held there in trust against his or her martial family's good behavior. A hostage and living embodiment of the treaty in one. Shen Qingqiu had volunteered himself for the role.
It was no great sacrifice, to his mind. He was not a great warrior, nor an invaluable healer or craftsman: he was a scholar, but even then all of his knowledge was written down and preserved in the library of Qing Jing Peak, which preceeded him by generations and would endure long after he was gone. Cang Qiong would not suffer by his absense, and perhaps his knowledge of monsters and ghosts would even give him an advantage in navigating their society, and working to maintain the treaty from the other side. These all seemed perfectly reasonable arguments to him, and he had never been one to value his own comfort before the needs of his peers -- nor could said peers find any reason to force a substitution. A bride was needed, and Shen Qingqiu was willing. What more needed to be said?
(But Shen Fuzhao, whose sharp eyes always saw more than was good for him, insisted on helping Shen Qingqiu dress himself in the matrimonial robes, and giving him an unnecessary hand to boost him into the palaquin. He presses a small clay vial into Shen Qingqiu's hand before departing, and as the bearers lifted the palaquin onto their shoulders Shen Qingqiu carefully unsealed the bottle and sniffed the end of the stopper. A spiritual opiate, he realized; and the note that came with it read, "For if it all becomes too much."
Shen Qingqiu was no great healer, but he knew enough herblore to realize that such a potion would put him into a deep, dreamless sleep from which not even the rage of a ghost king would wake him. To his credit he immediately frowned and resealed the bottle with a touch of his qi, and buried it in the lowest depths of his storage sleeve. He could not think of a manuever more in bad faith, than to take himself out of the marriage before it had even begun.)
It took the bearers no great time to reach the borders of the Ghostlands, for just like death itself it lay around every corner and looked over every shoulder. Shen Qingqiu could not see it through his heavy veil and the silk curtains that shrouded the palanquin, but he knew what it looked like from books and the night hunts he'd once joined before the Void Walkers arrived and changed everything: a dark and sandy plain adjoined with an eternal sea, and overhead a black sky with no stars. Between land and sea stood the ancient city, shaped like a tiered cone or ziggurat, and lit with a thousand lamps and fires in defiance of the dark. There his bearers left him, just outside the city gates, and probably thought themselves the last living humans that would ever lay eyes on Shen Qingqiu.
But he was not dead yet, as the frantic beating of his own heart in his chest assured him. He folded his hands in his lap and focused on his breathing, doing his best to calm himself before his groom arrived.
World Building 1 -- Cultivators vs Ghosts
Date: 2023-04-23 08:04 am (UTC)This is 98% cultivator propaganda.