So, I've got this postcount, you know? And it's just about reached a certain arc number (413). So I wanted to do something special. After considering making IE or Firefox HS themes, or a HS skin for some PC game, I came up with this.
I know some people hold the opinion troll romance is a bit asymmetrical, especially concerning moirallegience vs. auspisticism. That's why I wrote up a fictional essay delving into the reasons behind this strange fact. Enjoy! Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
[25/09/2011] Made a second in-story article on the subject. You can find the link at the bottom of this post, after reading. Or go here directly.
In which a representative member of a society of galaxy-conquering grey-skinned warriors with surprisingly colorful cranial appendages and a wide diversity of venal content attempts a correction of a historically fact which has been brutally erased from the collective memory by the oppressive overlords after a mostly successfully swapped-down revolution
by Typhus Rollex
When it comes to the subject of troll romance, the mind of the members of most alien species can do nothing but assume the most servient of fetal positions. And for good reasons, too. Observe.
In modern times, the romantic feelings which are harnessed by our collapsing and expanding bladders are harshly categorized into four directly opposing categories.
Two of these are reserved for reproductive purposes. The opposing faction serves to support the leading one. Without the CONCILIATORY romantic partners, the future of our glorious race would long ago have been lost to infidelity, both red and black. There would have been no need for the imperial drones to collect the genetic material from the CONCUPISCENT unions. No need for a mother grub. Incestuous slurry would be as common as grubsauce, and of equal quality. The blood running through every troll’s vein would be as putrid as that of His Honorable Tyranny but lacking the inclination for angelic wrath so often associated with the vile, aforementioned draconian. There would be no potential whatsoever for omniplanetary dominance.
We are fortunate to have these mediating and supporting partners, keeping our natural feelings of pity and hate for all those surrounding us platonically, except for the cases where the trollian race would most benefit from an offspring of the collided genetic material.
But is our society really that blessed? During the latest sweeps, we’ve seen a disturbing increase of unbalanced moirails, and of auspistees which seem unsure if they pity or hate each-other, and which consequently flip violently between either opposite feeling, severely tiring their auspistice, to say nothing of themselves.
It has even begun to affect the relation of the conciliatees’ other relationships, straining their bond with matesprit and kismesis, often even going so far as flipping the established role patterns: matesprits auspisticing between moirails, auspistices harboring more concupiscent feelings for either member of the pair needing mediation… The list goes on. Naturally, this leads to nothing good.
Having experienced firsthand the effects of a degenerating moirallegience, I took it upon myself to investigate this matter. As soon as I began, it seemed to be an exercise in futility.
No records in all of trollian history appeared to contain even the slightest hint to anything like this ever having happened before, nor was there even a clue to a solution.
That is… until I found the library.
Bearing the sign of the most noblest of bluebloods ever having lived, FORMER-ARCHERADICATOR-TURNED-EXPATRIATE MECHANIC DARKLEER, it was hidden in a surprisingly easy-to-access location. It seemed as if it needed nothing but itself to hide its adamantine cavernous chambers from aggressors searching to destroy the contents it held. And surely there were and still are many of the ruling class who would not hesitate to burn the entire place to the ground… figuratively speaking.
This was not a place most highbloods would give much attention too. Devoid of riches and treasure, it would be neglected even by the lowest of archeologisticianS. Securely secluded, it only held of interest something which a troll in his normal state of mind would never think of looking for.
Knowledge which would shake the very foundation of troll society if it ever saw the midnight light of the moons.
There were books in this place. Hidden in a locked vault behind a painting in a room behind a shielded steel door behind a cupboard at the center of a maze, they were no part of the ‘regular’ exposition of books in the library. They were not meant for everyone’s eyes, not even for the dapper traveller daring to cross the brooding desert grounds infested with daywalkers.
But a few well-placed threats granted me access. The librarians and their assistants were old or weak, too long having lived secluded from the rest of troll society. I didn’t know at the time, but they had even chosen to raise their own separate Mother Grub (a vile and malformed insect) and reproduce through it, a crime upon which stood the highest penalty: being fed to one of Gl’bgolyb lesser beaks, and being slowly devoured for a period of no less than 1.025.612.413 sweeps, all the while remaining conscious. But, as stated, I didn’t know yet, and just assumed their fragile frames were due to their chosen lowly profession, lacking psychical exercise. I overcame their protests with ease.
The books I uncovered told of a period in time erased from the history books, its pages devoured by the gaping food hollow of the Grand Highblood.
They told of the Sufferer, and the tragedy of his life, and of his death.
The Sufferer was a mutant. An outcast. A curiosity. Outwardly, he appeared to be a normal troll of yellowgreenish caste, a perfect example of a lowly ranged THRESHECUTIONER.
But he would never have joined their rungs. During his entry exam, he would have been found out and culled instantly, both for his boldness and the depravity he represented.
For the Sufferer did not appear on any charts. He was a landdweller, he had no fins. He was a peasant, his hive was no castle. He was middle class, he would never experience manual labor if he didn’t seek it out as pastime. He was a freak, an a69mination, for his excretions did not match anything on the hemospectrum. He was a scarletblood.
When I first read of this, my first instinct was to leave the building at once, but not before shredding this blasphemous piece of insolent fiction, which mocked everything I held to be true. How could a troll ever not bleed vermillion, brown, mustard, jade, teal, indigo, cerulean, fuchsia, lila, or any shade in-between?
And yet, the safe I found this tome of heresy in contained a vial of crimson liquid, its substance almost, but not quite, entirely unlike any liquid I had ever laid eye on, troll blood or otherwise.
It smelled of cherries… of bloodthirsty prehistoric carnivores… Of freedom.
And so I read on.
The Sufferer, it said here, was not content with his place in society. Oppressed by the iron fist of the seabound upper class, his collapsing and expanding bladder went out to the submissive trolls he hid amongst, the very people who would puncture that same CAE bladder if he would ever shred a single tear, or cut his finger on a bone-bulge-wiping parchment.
He organized a rebellion. Over the course of many sweeps, he trained an army, and raised a cult.
His lifespan unnaturally long for the limeblood he pretended to be, he was able to imprint his followers with his own conviction: that for things to change for the better, the system needed to be turned… upside-down. Red needed to rule over purple.
All this was all good for me, as I read about it from the pages of what could easily pass for a weathered school book – or even a wiggler’s recuperacoontime story. My blood raced and I kept looking up and over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Her Imperious Condescension herself, having come to stop this charade in person. And yet, I could not put the book down. I was glued to the pages as if it was a drab piece of erotic gamblignant fiction, and equally enticed.
But still, nothing had yet pointed me any further in the direction of the answers I sought. I had begun to expect that I had been fooled by the troll who had shown me the way here. Secretly, I cursed the self-proclaimed ‘Sekret Wwizard’, a washed-up bum of noble blood and dishonorable conduct, whom I had stumbled across in a shady establishment, where empoored skippers drank away their sorrow over glasses of stale musclebeast milk.
And then I read the following passage.
It told of the relation the Sufferer had had with one of his followers. Or, better stated, one of his coworkers, his second-hand man in the growing legion of alternahemospectral cultists.
The book described their relationship as STRIVALRY. The syllables rolled off my tongue in a surprisingly familiar and naturally manner, as if the concept had always been there, imprinted in my cranium.
A STRIVALRY, it was explained, was a relationship directly opposite to a MOIRALLEGIANCE.
Moirails balance each other out. Commonly at the opposite end of the hemospectrum, their personalities are made to complement. Their bond is frozen by the cold ice of pity.
Strivals are united by the obsidian fire of hatred. But, as with moirails, their relation is strictly business, platonical to the very end. Their respective grudges and detestations never stood in the way of their cooperation.
Because, where a KISMESSITUDE is formed between rivals with conflicting interests, a STRIVALRY occurs when two trolls working toward the same goal find an even match in a colleague, someone with significantly different abilities yet matching prowess.
The Sufferer and his strival often clashed over how their movement should continue its growth. The Sufferer was all for keeping the peace until the sudden and unexpected uprisal.
The Psioneer, on the other hand, was torn over what the best course of action was. Sticking to the shadows, never drawing attention, secretly pulling the strings, or an immediate, violent, incessant display of bloodthurst to gain the upperhand?
They often quarreled, both in private and in public. But their discord did not take from the influence they had over their followers. In those days, their verbal aggression was seen as a healthy outlet.
Their aggravation with each other never turned into more… aroused hatred. At the same time, they made each other aware of their own faults and weaknesses. Strival worked in tandem with moirail to make the subject of platonic affection a better troll… and a better suitor.
As I pondered the faulty moirallegiance I had left behind, I wondered if the relation would have suffered or blossomed if we had tried to get under the other’s skin more instead of less. Alas, what’s done’s been done.
But it became apparent to me that strivals, if they are a real thing, would in the world we know today not be capable of understanding the emotions they felt towards some of their peers. They would be torn between pity and hate, pale or ashen feelings, and would not know what to do with these “in-between” feelings.
In fact, I could imagine they would constantly be torn between pitying and hating their successful-yet-impaired shadows. They wouldn’t know whether to count them as friends or enemies – something which a troll is already not that good at.
And the ARROWS symbol ‘<ᴛ>’, denoting strivalry, was as alien to me as the concept I once read about in a drive novel, of red swingy thingies attached to metal boxes which contained pieces of paper on which people exchanged conversation, instead of using a more sane method, like instant messaging.
I turned the page and started a new chapter. Following the title was a picture which bore some resemblance to another of the ‘only’ existing romances we know today.
With three participants, the comparison with the ashen quadrant was easy to make. (Was quadrant even a word to use any more? How would one part of six be called? A sextant? Preposterous.) Intuitively, I made the correct assumption that where AUSPITICISM is meant to quell and prevent black infidelity, this sext-- nay, HEXANT was where flushed infidel feeling was treated. The acting mediator was called, the CRUSHURPATOR, the relationship, CRUSHURPATIENCE.
Easy enough to understand, and I could quickly enough name a few of the… missteps I had made in the past, which could’ve been stopped short in their tracks with the right mediator.
Alas, our modern troll society knew no such concept, and I wondered why. The book contained examples of faulty crushurpatiences, where the crushurpator had a hidden agenda in driving the two lovers apart. Flushed or other feelings towards one of the crushurpees had been the source of many a promising matespritship never achieving liftoff. But this had not been the reason why today, no-one carved into a wooden forest behemoth anymore: ‘X c3 Y & Z’. And why no-one is ever in FANS with anyone else anymore.
It became clear that, together with the figure of the Sufferer, these two relationships had been erased from troll history for seemingly no reason at all.
I consulted the backdrop, and it appeared the lexicon had been assembled by a cultist, a believer, someone living centuries after the Sufferer had perished – I gathered this from the dates mentioned in the book and on the cover. Apparently, the Sufferer’s irradication had been insufficient for the highblood who had committed the act. But why?
I read on. And it was not for too long that I found out the last of a list of shocking revelations.
The Grand Highblood had been attracted to the Sufferer. With all their other respective relations firmly and securely established, he wanted to make the Sufferer his matesprit.
Of course the very idea of such an arrangement was repulsive on its own, even more so because they both represented such opposing ideals and ends of troll society.
The Highblood made his request during the Sufferer’s first and final uprisal. Sensing the right moment had come, the Sufferer and his followers came out of hiding during the first bilunar eclipse in hundreds of sweeps. He and his own tore their way through the threshecutioner squad, their numbers dwindling more rapidly than he had feared.
Finally, only the Sufferer, the Psioneer and his matesprit were left to face the Grand Highblood in his throneroom. A single lackey – an ancestor of the author, perhaps? – had followed them inside and was recording the events for future generations to come.
With two powerful psychics at his side, the ruffian held the advantage over the noble. Or so he thought.
When the maimed harlequin was almost defeated, his blood painting the walls and covering up the paintings which were testimonies of his previous victories, he made his request.
The Sufferer made no indication of even considering such a brazen commitment, but the Psioneer’s mate felt it up to her to intervene still. Acting as their momentary crushurpator, she attempted to explain to the Highblood all the reasons why such a relationship could never worked out.
The Grand Highblood went bezerk. No-one knew where he found the strength or occasion, but he managed to clubber the Sufferer to death, crush the Psioneer into a wall with a single hammer blow, and he did way of the unfortunate unnamed troll that was his mate. There was no record of what he did to her, but the author stated duely: ‘Not a single fiber remained to pass onto the drone. Her rustblooded line ended then and there.’
The lackey who witnessed all this? Perhaps he hadn’t been on the Sufferer’s side after all – the losing side. It would explain why he could’ve survived long enough, to ensure that what he knew of would be passed on to the next troll to bear his symbol.
Twice brokenhearted, the Highblood went forth to dictate the law. With Her Condescension’s approval, he removed the Sufferer from all of recorded history. Without her approval but still unstoppable, he and his legion of subjugglators erased the concept of strivals and crushurpers. For it was because of his strong strivalry that the Sufferer had almost succeeded in beating the Highblood, and it was due to the (short-lived) crushurpatience of the Psioneer’s mate that the Highblood was left behind matespritless (or so he choose to think).
And so they went out and commenced the oppression of the two relationships for all time to come, until no single troll remembered what they stood for. With the exception of the Empress, and the author of the book I had found. And, as from now on, you and I.
The epilogue of the book talked of what happened afterwards, when the final memory of the oppressed romances had all but vanished from public troll society. The last remaining followers of the Sufferer and practitioners of strivalry and crushurpatience kept to the shadows, as they were forced to helpless observation of the degeneration of their peers. They saw how even though the subjugglators had erased the concepts, the emotions pertaining to the former hextants remained seeded in trolls’ bladders, and searing through their veins.
It wasn’t too long before the emotions were absorbed into neighboring relationships. This signed the start of the discord which had reached such far-reaching proportions in my time.
Moirails, who had before been strictly about balancing the other partner out, started pointing out the other’s flaws, an inherently wrong course of action in this romance.
Auspistices in nature pity the pair of spiteful arguers and try to instill feelings of pity in an otherwise hateful relationship. But as the influence of crushurpatience seeped in, the triangle grew asymmetrical. Auspistees swapped seemingly at will between pity and hatred (burning pity and brewing hatred), and the auspistice grew aggravated with the pair they were supposed to be helping, as they could make head nor tail out of this tangled-up mess. An auspistice who resents either or both of the pair s/he needs to be helping won’t succeed at the job, this should be clear to all involved.
Unfortunately, no-one recognized that a resentful auspistice is basically a crushurper without a pair of beloveds to tear apart. And feelings of envy, jealousy between moirails, are nothing less but an indication of a lack of a healthy strivalry.
Only trolls like the author remembered the olden days where these feelings still had a place, and they were prosecuted and culled before their time should they ever start voicing their opinions in public, the pretense being the protection troll society – a devious rule the Grand Highblood of yore had added to the lawbook. So they hid away and kept to themselves, only passing on their knowledge in the form of books and stories inherited by their peers and descendants.
The library was nothing more now but a temple run by a bunch of misfits, trolls who had lost touch with current times. It was a ruin that had started to crumble under outside pressure, and before long, even it and its inhabitants would be erased from history.
But I will break the silence. I’ve taken it upon myself to re-establish the Sufferer to his rightful place in history, and to start a movement to normalize the relationships in what I’ve come to call: the rose and suited hexants.
It is now clear to me that this is how troll romance should be divided:
- Conscupient third: flushed and caliginous
- Conciliatory two-third: pale, ashen, rose and suited
- Conculleaguience third: pale and suited
- Contrivenal third: rose and ashen
- Consortive two-third: flushed, caliginous, pale and suited
- Red half: flushed, pale and rose
- Black half: caliginous, suited and ashen
And I will stop at nothing to
Ah! Uh? Oh, please excuse me. I hear someone knocking at my door.
It will only be a moment.
Uhm. Oh geez. Excuse me. It appears I have failed to fill my conscupient quadrants in time. Please excuse me while I make some calls. I will be with you aga
(Editor’s note: The events described in this article are purely fictional. The author was a delirious lunatic long overdue for culling. There has never been such things as Sufferers, arrows or fans. The hemospectrum is grand. The quadrants are glorious. ALL HAIL HER IMPERIOUS CONDESCENSION.)
Fun fact: while making the pictures for this work, I accidentally created a rave party:
[25/09/2011] As promised before, the second article: (Essay on) Troll Romance 2: The Romancing