Toraen Glitch

The Toraen Glitch
Mood music​

Dim Hollow, Trinary Main Sequence [CAUTION: Guarded Zone] [CAUTION: Dense Nebula] [WARNING: Anomaly Hazard]

Ø Hollows' beacon - A planetoid of superheated rock and molten metal in close orbit of the trinary stars.

III Torael - A mountainous and forested world extremely rich in metal, its surface perpetually hidden by dense mist and frequent rainstorms.

Ø Eld's Wall - An expansive, spherical asteroid field separating the inner and outer solar system, the lifeless husks of hundreds of vessels scatter this region. [WARNING: Debris Field]

Ø The Soldier - The first of three supermassive gas giants on the edge of the solar system.

Ø The Poet - The second of three supermassive gas giants on the edge of the solar system.

Ø The King - The third of three supermassive gas giants on the edge of the solar system​

Tags

Vampiric, dark-victorian inspired Glitch with a long history of necromancy.


Appearance/Biology

Toraen Glitch are short in stature and appear gaunt to an unhealthy degree- their heights typically ranging from 4’8 to 5’2 at tallest and their chassis almost always of a black or dark gray coloration, and unlike Normal Glitch, are incapable of gaining stronger muscles without the use of their Harvest Organs. Unlike most Glitch, Toraen Glitch have four eyes at birth- the second set allowing for a short range “sight” that shows them the locations of nooradios in a fifty feet radius in the direction they are looking- a bright, glowing, pale blue ‘beacon’. This does not work through walls. They also have a second heart for increased production of nanocells, allowing a slightly faster regeneration than normal. Toraen Glitch are additionally adorned with “Harvest Organs” which can take the form of horns, fangs, claws, retractable wrist blades and more. The Harvest Organs are one of their most notable differences from typical Glitch- for it allows them to pierce the nanocells of another Glitch and “drain” them to not only increase the speed at which their injuries heal, but allow them to grow in size and strength the more they harvest. Their other notable difference is their unique form of Glitch Necromancy that all Toraen Glitch are born with, this will be elaborated on further in this application.


However


This is just the baseline Toraen Glitch. It is not uncommon as they harvest and grow for them to begin self modifying and becoming more monstrous as time goes on. These modifications often include but are not limited to additional eyes, limbs, altered limbs, drastic change in body plan, integrated weaponry, merging with other Toraen Glitch permanently to form a "collective", and the addition of multiple heads.

Specifics of the Harvest Organs.

The Harvest Organs of the Toraen Glitch, while incredibly useful, do have strict limitations. Particularly on the topic of their healing.

For accelerated healing, a Toraen Glitch must consume the equivalent amount of nanocells that it would take to heal their wound- an example follows; a Toraen Glitch loses an arm, through consuming an entire arm’s worth of nanocells, they are able to regrow that arm within the day. This is the same for any organ or limb aside from their neuromorphic processor. However, the larger a limb or organ the more nanocells it will obviously take to regenerate.



Culture/Themes


Overview

Poppetry
Poppetry is a term used both to refer to the act of creating Poppets, and the buildings in which they are made. A Poppetry is a factory made to extract the minds from conquered Glitch, sort them into a Soul Coin, and raise the body in the best possible condition. Able-bodied and cleanly revenants are a luxury shared by the wealthy of Torael, being the rarest state of being to find corpses in.

The actual Poppets themselves make up over half of Torael's population, filling all of the service and labor jobs in the way most Governments use machines for. This allows for those who remain to appreciate greater wealth all around, and one's status has rapidly become focused on how many you control in your personal legion of the unliving. A pauper will have only two, or three. A proper man will have between 15 and 40. A lord or lady? 50 to 150. This continues, palaces reeking more and more of wonderful decay as time goes on.​

Government
While Morawaine the Everlasting has held the throne of her Queendom for the last three centuries, and will forevermore. The continuous growth of her empire means that she must call upon her children to assist her. This pantheon of siblings help in all aspects of ruling this Queendom of Rot; from science, to war, to economy, to diplomacy and development, and to law.


On the more local level, however, the Queen relies on her Rotlords to govern the tracts of land they have been assigned with their life and death. They take these positions with glee, for there is no greater honor than to serve the Queen as one of her direct vassals.

The Royal Family
The Niriman family occupies much of the public and private life of any given Toraen, as objects of worship, personal celebrities, and their governing body. Fashion and trends ink out from them and stain into the lower class, forming the society seen today. They were the first to enslave the undead, they were the first to deform and disfigure, they were the first to be driven mad, and they were the first to use Rotsteel. There is much to idolize, don't you see?


Matriarch of Torael, First to Rot, the living Throne Morawaine has earned her title as the Everlasting Queen, endearing herself to the populace and enduring for all of the Queendom's life. She sits as one of the premiere Doomlords of the generation, the minds of countless kingdoms occupying her skull. Perhaps as a result, she is aloof, and she is proud. Found only conversing with her Court or herself. She views herself among the gods.


The Mad Scribe, The First Fanatic, Noraliin was the first to worship Morawaine as their goddess and queen, and as such was taken as her suitor. Their reverence came down to detailing every bit of her life, and every bit of her Queendom's life, documenting the eras before Rotsteel down to the present day. Their books are the only remaining tales of what Torael was in the past, though they are even more aloof then their wife. Their tomes still come out regularly- documenting the last ten years for future generations at a time- but they have not been seen in nearly two centuries.


Below now, we get into the Six Siblings, or the Six Heirs. The firstborn six children of the Queen. History needs to be put forward before, to explain their... peculiarities. Each of the six were slain three centuries ago, and became the first success stories of Morawaine's studies into necromancy. Since, they have rejoined the fold, but they are not as they once were. They are better.


Micolash the Disturbed, The Beast of Assembly, is the greatest mind of Torael, its head researcher and the eldest of the heirs... When he is in the proper state of mind, that is. More often than not he is in a feral, animalistic state of rage and hunger from- ordering his poppets out to acquire 'volunteers' for horrific experiments that take place in the deepest catacombs of the Queendom. Occasionally still, his mind will temporarily fracture further and he will leave the depths which he has been confined to to hunt volunteers himself- this is quickly responded to by his sibling Cardinan the Integral, who orders local Rotlords and War Poppets to apprehend their brother and drag him back into his laboratories until he recovers.


In life, Micolash was shunned and berated by the people of his mother's lands for his odd tendencies at the time. The vivisection of living creatures, Glitch and otherwise. The spitefulness and anger towards his siblings- for if he had been born differently he would be heir to the land of Torael. And finally the murder of his youngest sibling when they chose to stop him from killing their lover.


The Dragon of The Mint, Ameli the Crowned calls the many Poppetries of Torael their domain. In life, they were a playful and boisterous young woman, with a pension for generosity and an infectious smile. This is no longer the case. She counts herself as a restrained and calm person, and their smile has been eradicated from their face. In its stead is an array of detachable eyes that swarm their spindly frame like dandelion fluff. They garnish themselves with a robe of many coins- Crowns swimming from their shoulders to the floor, hiding their three-armed frame.​

Under her and Onaria's watch, the Toraen coin has mutated from the simple golden credit. Each is minted with the name and visage of a particular slain. These are minted from the many civilizations crushed underfoot in the Queendom's conquest, and split into four denominations; Crowns, Mitres, Plumes, and Caps. Crowns are kings, queens, princes, princesses, and other bastard children of Royalty. Mitres are religious leaders or positions of public authority. Plumes represent low nobility and high peasantry. The rest lie in the Caps. ​

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It is an open secret to much of the civilization that Crowns house the complete AI of those they were minted after, and some Mitres are even said to house buffered scans of their victims- Allegedly an idea taken the Undercryptian Soul Coin, though the people of Torael have yet to figure out how to mint entities outside of Glitch.

Ameli is the only one capable of determining which soul fits to which denomination, and they keep close watch over the Poppetries for this reason.


Evalainn Niriman, known by the populace as Evalainn the Estranged, is the most peculiar of the royal family. Before her death, she was a dour streak in a typically bright family, and had a pension for setting things alight. Now? She's a living inferno, an infectious bundle of joy and coincidence for whom the world seems to naturally bend. Odder still is her physical form; Two hundred and thirty centimeters total in height, with two arms, two eyes, two legs, and one head. No major deformity. No monstrous visage. Covered in gold embroidery and wearing only the most dazzling of dresses.


It has been twenty years since the last time she was seen with any of her siblings or her mother.



Cardinan the Integral, The Anubian Web, is the high Judge of Torael and looks after all matters of law. Despite the lack of written laws, there seems to be some unknowable 'code' binding together the Queendom, personified by the many threads and wires that spread from Cardinan and wrap the entire city. They have eyes everywhere, watching over everything, making sure the civility of the nation is not broken. Their word is law, and their word is dexterous. They are the authority that the Death Knights look up to.


In life, the monolith that is the High Judge was a quiet and insightful child, interested in all things and endlessly curious. If this was maintained, they would have been slotted as the head of research. Their reclamation of life came as a twisted road, and fragments of the sacrificed soul still fill their mind. Whispers of some ancient judge-king have changed them, and their endless curiosity is now an insatiable interest in all lives of all people.


The Unfettered Serpent of the Sky, Marcath the Artist, is the heir single handedly responsible for the design of the great mega city of Torael. Every street and alley, every building and tower- even the royal palace itself in all of its grandeur- all of this is a part of his great masterpiece as he looks down from above with thousands of eyes along his great twisting body.


In life, Marcath rarely left the palace, content to sit and plan out how he would construct the architecture of the Queendom with his boundless imagination. Since his resurrection this has continued to be the case, and in the opinion of many- he may be the most sane and caring of the heirs, for he lovingly plans out the exact construction of every home of the citizenry. This isn't to say he is without his quirks though, for since his rebirth he has gained a distaste for walking the earth, in fact, there hasn't been a record of him touching the ground in over two centuries. While the former of his oddities is rather tame, the latter is more extreme. The Artist has gained a compulsive desire to make sure that the planning of the Queendom is exactly how he intends; every building and street must be perfectly in place, or else he enters a fit of displeasure and orders the entire structure leveled and construction to start from scratch- occasionally even ordering the destruction of entire city blocks to ensure the perfection of his design.



Onaria the Dauntless, the Vampire of the Battlefield, takes helm over the realm's warrior-dead. In her life, she was a frail and small child, with a deep hatred for all things around her. In unlife, she has not gotten any more healthy. Her body is almost self-destructive, totally unable to produce nanocells of its own. As such, she must subsist on a constant diet of stolen life essence to remain animate and aware. Her hatred for life has mutated, and become a fascination with death- No, no, not death. The act of dying. Killing. She was first a righteous and slaughterous Death Knight for her mother, personally deriving the nanocells she needed for life from the battlefield utilizing her lethal arm-blades.


She has dulled since then, becoming a lethargic and reclusive child, permanently affixed to the war room or the grand theatres of the city. Where once she loved the taste of slaughter, she has taken more to toying with her food, as it were. She arranged elaborate games and beautiful executions, seeing how many ways she can drive the life out of her enemies, or her subjects.

Rotlords
The title of Rotlord is the Toraen term for Doomlords- specifically, the two types found within the Queendom of Torael, which will be described in the paragraphs below.


Everyone wants to be a Death Knight. The stunning armor and the rotting graze. The twisted form and the personal legacy. These warriors of Death are the more common of the two Rotlords working under the Queen. They guard neighborhoods anywhere from the size of a county to a small state, deciding on almost all local decisions first and foremost, commanding the respect of the people. Each tells their own story and completes their own act, driven partially mad by the excess of processors in their skull. One might style themselves after a Raven, adorning their land with innumerous Murders and letting them feast on dead meat, while sporting a helmet with a look crooked nose and a feathery plume that makes their form near parallel to the birds. Another might decide that the true story lies in the fungal afterparty of decay, encouraging mushroom growth and taking on weaponry using poisonous spores.


Though everyone wants to be a Death Knight, few realize how simple the path to being one is. Construct a Chassis of Rotsteel. Inhabit it. Call yourself a Death Knight. You will die or you will prove it true.


Compared to the glory of being a Death Knight, few consider the lesser role of the esoteric Warlock. Their bodies clad in embroidered robes of the highest quality, their minds honed to genius. These clerics of Rot are the less common of the two Rotlords working under the Queen. They stride through the catacombs and archives of the Queendom as her messengers and scholars. It is they who govern the most valued locations from atop their sky scraping spires, the depths of their sanctums filled with holy abominations and magicks. While their counterparts, the Death Knights, are driven partially mad by the excess of processors, Warlocks are driven to madness from the very beginning, even more they begin to add additional processors to their minds. For to walk the path of a cleric of Rot, is to embrace the occult, the insanity, and the holy art of Necromancy. While Death Knights style themselves and mark their territories with effigies of their being, Warlocks take a different route. Instead choosing to create terrible chimeric beasts that represent them in the way that they see most fitting. One may create a three-headed drake to act as their herald. While another may create a great metallic weaver to ensnare any who dare trespass into their land.


Few walk the path of a Warlock, fewer still understand what must be done to take that name as their own. Construct a Beast of Rotsteel. Raise it. Call yourself a Warlock. You will die or you will prove it true.


Religion
The omnipresent religion of the Toraen Glitch has two core aspects.


The first, is the worship of Morawaine the Everlasting- for she is brought forth the legions of poppets to revitalize their Queendom, she is the one who led them into this new age, and she is the one who taught them the ways of Hunger, Resurrection, and the Rot. She became their Eternal God Queen who will lead them forever to their destiny with her demigod children.


The second, is the worship of Decay itself. The slow, ever present death of every aspect of the universe that corrupts existence eventually. None of the Toraen fear their demise, no, death isn't mourned by the Toraen Glitch at all- it's celebrated! After all, what greater joy can one have but to have their minds rot away and enter their holy necropolis? Though their consciousness is now gone, their bodies can still serve the Queendom. Resurrection of the fallen as Poppets is standard practice for all Glitch who die in the territory of Morawaine the Everlasting- in fact, it's viewed as an honor to join among the legions of their great queen.


This however, does not mean that the Toraen rush towards death. No. They worship the decay- the inevitable corruption and loss of life. Not the quick, sudden death that so many in the Fringe have.


Additionally, it is customary for the spouse, firstborn child, or closest friend of a recently deceased to suck out their nanocells to 'carry on the legacy.'

Fashion
A tailor is a surgeon, to the people of Torael. They entrust their fashionistas and dressmakers with their very beings, and receive only the finest. For in the Queendom of Rot, fashion does not stop at your clothes. It burrows into your body, your form, and the poppets that cater to you. A well-to-do lord or lady is nothing if they stick only to the chaste and dull two legged, two armed form they are given at birth, much less so if their personal zombies aren't even tailored to their specific whims. Instead, all manner of personal modification is taken up- “More legs, more heads, I've heard radial symmetry is all the rage, but I still much prefer the exact mirror look, why bother stopping at five fingers? Ten is much more in vogue. Could I get my eyes done up like the treasurer?-- of course I can pay for it, who do you think I am?” All in the name of trying to keep up with the times. Poppets are often outfitted with tools or suits built into their flesh, for what is a skeletal minion who does not exude your personal style?


For the less wealthy among them, they resort to fabric as a means of self expression. Many have sleeves or shawls sewn into their chassis as a weak attempt at emulating more drastic customization. Or Everlasting Queen forbid wearing a cloak of Caps.


The colors of the time are black, red, blue, and green. Anything else is a hard case for looking in style, social suicide for the unconfident.

Cuisine
Toraen Cuisine is a matter of national pride and national humiliation. It is an open secret among the people of the Queendom that no spice could save a Toraen Oil Sandwich from its fate as the worst food in the Galaxy, or that the secret ingredient to the always-loved Tenfish Casserole is copious sprinklings of salt to dull the flavor. The only reprieve from such a dire diet comes in the Nanocell broths they prepare often, likened to a thick and rich honey, it is the miracle that the Queendom exists upon.


...It is said that the rich currently feast more on Hylotl take-out than any dish originating in the country. No one blames them.

Fringe Influence
Since the borders of the Queendom were opened to outsiders, the great metropolis has begun to see change- foreign stores and chains opening, neon lights shining through the ever-present mist of the planet, and all manner of Fringe oddities walking the streets of this undead land. What more will come of this influence is yet to be seen.


In the years since the Queendom's opening to the Fringe, a twist of fashion has occurred among the young.- In place of dark and noble hues that society has held dear for generation, the young and green of the people have taken to wearing pastel hues and flowing fabric, adorned with pictures of life- Flowers, berries, fruits. And resting in abodes with open access to sunlight and, greenery. This twisted 'Cottagecore' element has been widely critiqued, with many hoping it a temporary fad of the era. But perhaps it has more staying power then that?

History

The Age of Ignorance

The history before the rise of the Queendom of Torael as we know it today is short and sparse. Found primarily through the ramblings of ‘The Mad Scribe’.

In short, around three centuries prior to the modern day the Barony of Torael discovered a strange black metal within the depths of the mountains surrounding their capital. They thought it was merely an oddity at first- nothing notable about it. Weapons and armor were crafted of the material, and a rare few had their entire chassis made of the metal.

But after only a few years, its true properties would become known when a Floran warband native to the planet attacked the Barony in a fit of aggression and expansionism. It was on the battlefields of this war that the true nature of this dark metal was discovered- Rotsteel, the alloy which had the potential to destroy any organic life on contact.

This discovery heralded a new age and a newfound fanaticism over death- “The Rot”, in the Barony. Soon, through encouragement by their soon-to-be crowned queen Morawaine, they full heartedly embraced the taboo of necromancy to replenish their army and workforce.

The Age of Rot

In the centuries following, the Queendom’s dark aesthetic only entrenched itself further. Its architecture takes a gothic turn, and a majority of its workforce and military become legions of undead Glitch to serve their masters. And along with this vastly increased army, an expansionist fervor soon overtook the living population and their queen, now known as Morawaine the Everlasting, declared war on their neighboring regions.


In the modern day, however, the Queendom of Torael has not yet reached every branch of the celestial body it occupies. It sits as a dark black *stain* across a majority the surface of its planet, slowly grasping out and suffocating the remaining local fiefdoms and lords. Corrupting them. Shattering them. Sending their kings to the gallows and their citizens to the Poppetries. Those who value their lives know when to change loyalties, as Torael sees no value in them.


For the first time, however, in their short, dark, and bloody history- the Queendom of Torael has opened its borders to the Fringe for the foreseeable future. The reasoning for this is unknown, for it has happened at the behest of Morawaine the Everlasting herself- and her plans are known only to herself and her children.


Intentions for Story & Setting Interactions


The intention for the Toraen Glitch is to provide an interesting, Gothic, monstrous and Vampiric take on this already wonderful species and provide conflict between normal Glitch and Toraen Glitch over the ethics of mass necromancy and cannibalisation.

Misc/Trivia




Visual aids

Spoiler

Examples of the architecture of the Queendom.

Cosigners
@zecon125
@Exon
@MaskedHero​

 

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