#beobyra

Hhhhh I’m so happy!!!!!!!

Have some tidbits of information about my own worldbuilding

- My mum’s cousin (who we see often) told me I can’t have a goddess as the deity of monotheistic Beobyra because women should protect each other and are generally more pacifist. But that is all cultural and if I want my most warring people to worship a Goddess of War then goddamn it they will.

- There is also no sexism or lgbtq+-phobias in Natéa because I don’t care about that shit at all. Literally half my reasoning when creating this world was “why the fuck is there always sexism in worlds where people can create storms with their minds???)

- The Mother Goddess has a pet Wolf (with capital W), and wolves are sacred. Doesn’t mean people can’t kill wolves if they’re a danger to their livestock or if they’re in desperate need of warm fur so they won’t freeze to death, though. The Beobyrians are a practical people. Survival comes first.

- The common people of Peosana (and Drahenport) view the Sanath - Peosana’s monarch - as a god on earth. The more educated view them “merely” as the Voice of the gods. The Sanath is spoken to with the honorific “Your Holy Majesty”. 

- Therefore, Peosana is a theocratic monarchy.

- Drahenport, on the other side, is ruled by a council of merchants.

- The people of Trima actually often wear trousers and skirts that only reach their knees, since they often work in or by the Grey Sea and it’s more practical. This has given them a… reputation as promiscuous. 

- There’s one country, which does not yet have a name, where magic is outlawed. There were huge streams of refugees escaping it when that law was taken into effect, to avoid execution.

Did I do this right?

...

When Razz stepped out of the city train outside the city hall, the entire yard was already full of people. All sorts of them; she’d never seen so many different kinds of fashions and species in the same place before, and Thyragård wasn’t a monocultural city in any way. A flood of people followed her out of the train, chatting and laughing. They sounded excited. When she stepped into the city hall’s garden, however, she did so with a sigh. The many birches and maples and other trees filling it were turning red and orange and yellow, and the ivy climbing up the building itself was just as colourful as the sun danced over its leaves. It was lovely, but it didn’t change the fact that Razz was preparing herself up for scornful gazes when people realized what family she belonged to.

Once upon a time, her ancestors had been powerful and glorious, and she was proud over being a Valkyria. Some of them had also, however, been tyrants. The last Valkyria ruler, her great grandfather, had been completely horrible even to Beobyrians. But that was over a hundred years ago, long before she was born, and she was so fucking tired of people blaming her – a high school student. Yeah, she didn’t want to be here. But her parents had forced her, too concerned with their reputation to care about her protests.

Her stiletto-heeled boots clicked against the paved path as she made her way into the crowd. Into the city hall itself. Throwing her blonde braid over her shoulder, she looked around. Where did one announce one’s presence? A sign sat over the reception, telling her exactly where in Beobyrian runes as well as every language and alphabet she knew, and then some.

“Excuse me,” she muttered as she made her way through the crowd, yelping as she almost tripped over a naga’s tail. Yellow eyes glared at her, and she gave them an apology before hurrying past.

The receptionist, a green-haired Fae with bright red skin, smiled at her as she handed over her ID. Their smile widened as they glanced down at it. “Welcome! To the first Former Empire Exchange! We’re very happy to have you here, Razz Valkyria.”

Razz forced a smile as they handed her a name badge, and she signed the paper she was handed, promising to do anything she could to make her guest feel welcome. “Thank you. I am glad to be here.”

Sliding the ID back into her phone case, and then her phone into the pocket of her leather jacket, she stepped into the crowd. It was probably for the best to attempt socializing; that way she would have a chance to find someone who wouldn’t immediately judge her by her ancestors. Her eyes glazed over the people there. Everyone wore their country’s flag on their name tags, so it was easy to know who she was supposed to talk with: which people were non-Beobyrians.

She smiled pleasantly at a group of sapients she assumed were selkies, before turning around. Her heart skipped a beat from surprise. Close by stood a water tank, and on its edge, a merperson lounged. Their long hair was turquoise and purple, their scales a dark pink, and their skin desert dark, and they leaned over it to talk to a humanoid below. The Beobyrian words sounded strange on their tongue: the sea’s languages were very different from those on land.

Realizing she was staring, she tore her eyes away, and went to search for someone to talk to. At first, a satyr wearing Trima’s blue flag approached her, but once their eyes flitted down to her name tag, their face hardened and they immediately turned around. Razz ignored the pang in her chest and went the other way, toward the edge of the crowd. Outside, again. The sun immediately heated up the leather, and she sighed in pleasure. Her skirt flitted around her leggings-covered legs in the breeze.

Next to a fountain depicting the first president of Beobyra, two humanoids stood, chatting with each other. They were far away, but as Razz narrowed her eyes, she thought she could see them both wearing pale flags. They weren’t half-red, at least, and so, not Beobyrian. Clenching her fist in determination, she straightened her back and marched over to them.

As she came closer, she got a better look at them. Both had black hair and dark skin, and both were dressed in some of the most colourful clothing she’d ever seen. The taller wore black jeans and a leather jacket, but her crop top was yellow with an intricate pattern in pink and black and her sandals were pink, and the other was dressed in a turquoise t-shirt and dark red trousers. When she came even closer, she found they looked pretty similar, as well, with the same wide noses and squared jaws. They were speaking a language she didn’t understand, and apparently hadn’t noticed her approaching.

“Hello,” she greeted, and both immediately turned to her, obviously surprised. She got a look at the flags they were wearing: grey with a golden oak. Peosana. Her shoulders dropped in relief. Oh, good. Peosana and Beobyra had been on relatively good footing for centuries. Her eyes glazed over their names and pronouns. For the taller, the one with their long hair in a ringlet bun, Fell Arya, she/her, and for the shorter, sturdier one, Red Arya, he/him. She held out her hand. “I’m Razz-”

She trailed off. ‘Red’ had met her eyes, and his own were the most beautiful shade of brown she’d ever seen, gleaming like gold in the sunshine. Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. He had short, messy hair that framed his face, and suddenly, she felt an urge to pull her fingers through it. Razz almost lost her balance, a blush rising to her cheeks. He stared back, mouth half-open as though he’d been about to speak.

Then she blinked, shaking her head, and managed to finish. “-Valkyria. Razz Valkyria.” Her voice was shaky, and she felt her face heat up as he grasped her lower arm, and she, his, in a shake. Oh, he was handsome.

“Red,” he replied, and his voice was dark and smooth. “Red Arya.”

“And I am Fell, his twin sister,” the second of them interrupted, a grin stretched wide over her face. Amusement shone in her eyes, which were the exact same shade of lovely brown. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Forcing herself to let go of Red, she turned toward her, grasping also her arm in greeting. “Same.”

Fell’s eyes flickered between the two of them, and then she huffed, grin growing even wider. “I’ll go talk to someone else.” She hit her brother lightly over the head. “Behave, asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, you too,” he muttered without looking at her. Then she was gone, lost in the crowd. Red smiled lopsidedly, sitting down on the fountain before gesturing for her to follow suit. Taking a deep breath, Razz did. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but she finally managed to get rid of the heat on her cheeks. “So. Valkyria, eh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, dragging her fingertips over the cold stone of the fountain. “You’re from Peosana?”

If he noticed the quick change of subject, he didn’t comment. Only raised a bushy eyebrow, and oh, that looked good, and grinned. “Sure am. From the land o’ sun and spices.”

Tag yourself- shitty natéa countries edition

Basically, the semi-joking tl;dr of this

I get to decide what sort of compliments they have.

I mean

“And you look great in that uniform. Like you could take out an army single-handedly.” 

The Princess’s favorite The Queen’s favorite!

Only serve it for smaller meetings.

Prepare a 26-er tarte tin for this recipe [[A/N: a 26cm wide round cake tin works for this as well]]. Heat up the oven to medium high heat. [[A/N: translates to 180°C]]

Ingrediences

For the crust:

200g white wheat flour

100g white beet sugar

100g cold cow milk butter (Haldor’s note: don’t fucking use goat milk butter ever again, the prince was outraged)

1 whole medium sized chicken egg (H/N: look I don’t know which eggs are the medium sized ones, the former chef cook just told me it are supposed to be medium sized chicken eggs for the entire recipe)

Mix all ingrediences quickly with the hands and then press it into the tin. Let it sit in a cold room while preparing the filling.

For the filling:

200g blanched milled almonds

100g white beet sugar

100g bee honey

75g white wheat flour

4 whole medium sized chicken eggs

200g soft butter

Mix the butter with the sugar and honey until it’s creamy.

Add the flour, then the eggs, then the almonds. In that order! (Shelby’s note: Why in that order?) (H/N: Ask the chef)

Spread the filling evenly on the crust and then smooth it out. Aditionally, you can sprinkle some vanilla sugar onto the filling, it will caramalize nicely while it’s cooking.

Bake for 30-40 minutes until it’s finished. Let cool completely before serving.

[[There it is! The recipe for the Hundla.

Both Odd and I have baked it before and it’s a good cake, trust me.

And pardon the particially weird descriptions of the ingrediences; there are many, many kinds of sugar, eggs, milk, and honey traded across Natéa, so I wanted the recipe to be as authentic as possible. Which is also why I added the small notes from the different cooks. They’d scribble all over the recipes and then rewrite them once the pages get too cluttered.

Also, don’t worry too much about the ingrediences. You can use different kinds of flour, sugar, and even use margarine instead of butter, as I did. And you don’t even have to use blanched almonds. Just use whatever you have at hand. The cooks are all just really franic about that because it has to be perfect for the royal family.

Thank you for reading! <3]]

I got the suggestion to do this, so, for those who are curious, here’s a list of the countries in Natéa as well as some facts about them. Well, those who are invented, at least. There’s many countries left on my map.

Under cut due to lenght