Black Nerve

kinda wanna talk about the euvespid birthright and the contradiction of paradise

but it’s the sort of big idea that would probably benefit from several hundred words of write up hyping up the gravitas to really hit

I’d be interested in hearing about it in either form

The wonder of the euvespids is the archive of souls.

Euvespids are wasps, and their sting is a neurotoxin‍ ‍—‍ a nouetic neurotoxin. It erodes thought, and when prey isn’t dosed sufficient to die at once, the euvespid hunter retains a mental connection to metabolized venom. It adumbrates as it deliquesces flesh, granting them an enervate‍-​trail to relentlessly track.

But venom that interfaces with the mind‍ ‍—‍ whether to destroy or appraise‍ ‍—‍ is quick to inherit the inventive flexibility of thought. Thus it came to be that the greatest euvespid hunters stopped hunting, and instead took up venom‍-​inked quills, and wrote.

Euvespids became sealscribes, practicing a new species‍-​innate art of venom inscription. Atrament is the blend of venom with oils and pigments to craft the finest ink. Euvespids chew the wood of trees, and symbiotic fungus grants their paper unique properties.

At first, atrament on wasp‍-​paper is merely a means of crafting records and contracts. The nature of the mental connection envenomation creates means that a hunter’s signed atrament is an unfalsiable testament to both their identity and even their mental state at the time of writing.

A proper exposition would explain the breadth and depth of this millenia‍-​honed tradition‍ ‍—‍ but we’re here to discuss the contradiction of paradise.

Suffice it to say, refining the properties of atrament and the fungal paper allowed scribes to bind black nerve. Acrane venom inscription became spell‍-​potent, capable of replicating the myraid feats of weevil wizards, and thus achieve the universality of umbral techniques.

Of course, potential universality does not mean actuality‍ ‍—‍ the wisest of weevils, legend‍-​obscure, are said to have achieved transmigration, a sleep or trace from which one awakens in a new body.

How to translate this fabulous means of immortality? Euvespid queens, ever inclined with violence‍-​eager grasp fro legacy and power, coveted the weevil’s great art.

Only one ever was crowned with success‍ ‍—‍ but there only ever needed to be one.

Long ago, the Librarian was a queen (princess, rather) whose grandmother had begun unravelling the secrets of weaving minds into seals and seals into minds. The grandmother never achieved success‍ ‍—‍ once she verged on enlightenment, her mind was too old and vast to ever attempt the technique. But her daughter (mother of the Librarian) brought her theory to completeness with the remainder of her life: only to discover that she, too, was too old.

So it was the Librarian who had lived a life short, with a mind still fluid enough to become archived.

The medium of choice? Her own daughter, the first royalborn in her nest.

When the Librarian overwrote her daughter with her own mind, the two‍-​turned‍-​one became the first ovitheon. With this immortality, and the genius needed to achieve it, the Librarian began a conquest of the Queenlands, a protracted, meticulous affair. Her very existence had beeen the work of generations; patience is thus intrinsic to her being.

When at last she perched upon the throne of a continent, it was with a council of queens made immortal alongside her. There’s still more to be said about the shape of the society this council built. These minds engraved as seals, a tool first created to signing binding contracts, inevitably lead to a obsession with rules and promises‍ ‍—‍ but a full exposition is not necessary to dash off this sketch of the Queenlands.

The Librarian conquered all other queens in the old world: those who bowed to her were archived in immortality alongside her; those who did not would live finite lives‍ ‍—‍ where exactly it ended is a rounding error in comparison.

What matters is that the eternal library they built is the pride of the euvespids, a utopia carved out of unforgiving rock of the world. The ovitheons climbed to godhood with muscles straining, and gave their children a paradise.

Centuries were spent refining seals until every inch of their vast nests could be configured for comfort and enrichment, any need accommodated. Generations lived and lived, contemplating philosophy and psychology, all in cultivation of freedom, benevolence and thriving. There are restrictions, of course, transgressions that threaten others, or the library itself.

But what is to be done with those in grave, persistent error?

Every euvespid in the Queenlands is a book in Librarian’s archive, she their loving curator. If possible, the offending material can be redrafted. But without consent? There’s only one resort: exile.

The nature of this eternal library means matters of ignorance and trauma are rather simple to correct; the only crimes left are principled, philosophical incompatibility with the library.

Every exile is also an expatriate.

Perhaps, despite everything the library allows, what the laws forbid have their irrestible allure. Birthing new children is a rare privilege, for example.

Or perhaps there are questions with no satisfactory answer. Why is the Librarian granted such power over every euvepids? Why is each ovitheon granted such power over her subjects? Why does the archive admit only euvespid minds? Why does the library remain in such unending stasis? Why not conquer the world, all of Khitona? Why not save all the euvespids absent from the library. Why not not do more?

Thus arises the contradiction of paradise.

Every euvespid exiled from the library has, branded upon their foreheads, a seal of absence. It redacts information from their memory‍ ‍—‍ library secrets, their knowledge of seals and the enervate mysteries. All that remains is the near‍-​mythic image of a beautiful world tragically forsaken, as they sail away upon a dark sea into a cruel world, none them knowing where now to go.

But there is another seal upon these exiles. Not just upon them, for the one bit of knowledge every exile retains is the means to replicate this most important spell‍ ‍—‍ the seal of birthright.

Activation of this birthseal lulls a young euvespid into a deep trance, and they witness a vision of the eternal library, and receive personal audience with a ovitheon. Within this vision, they must make a choice: accept, and the seal will consume their mind, conveying a transcription of their mind to the archive of souls via the aethershade. Refuse, and live on in contradiction of paradise.

Lasting mental changes are inflicted on the refuser, though. They are granted knowledge of how to create a birthright seal, and a compulsion to feel that every euvespid should witness their birthright. Not that they must accept‍ ‍—‍ simply witness it.

Modernly, the Heartlands oceans distant from the Queenlands, the archive of souls is spoken of in tones of religion. Is its Librarian benevolent? Are all the euvespids suffering in the Heartlands part her will, her servants? Or is this punishment for crimes inherited from their ancestors? Is the library a wicked place, a poisoned chalice you must never drink from? Is it simply an impossible choice to make, a supposedly better life that requirese abandoning everything you know and love?

It’s been centuries out here, generations staffed only by those who refused. What must they think? Is the image of the library any more than a seductive illusion that curses their race?

What else is the birthright of the euvespids, but suicide through avarice?