The Start of the Ravening War
The Ravening War starts with the death of Queen Pamela Rocks, first of her name, beloved matriarch of the realm and of her family. A fructeran who knew the truth of her adopted home’s motto well before she married into it, found not killed but splattered all over the interior of the disguised carriage she was travelling in, arousing the wrath of five, of a thousand, grieving their mother/queen.
No, no, that’s late, far too late. Here, try again.
The Ravening War starts when a little radish is driven to fits of screaming at the sight of bladed teeth and viscera when he falls and scrapes his knee. His parents drag him to the nearest Bulbian church, where religious icons are pressed to his face and hands and body until the edges break flesh and the pain starts anew. The young radish learns that the only way to make it stop is to pretend it worked. To give praise to a light he has never truly known nor understood the warmth of, never questioning anything for that is how the pain comes back. That those who bestow such pain upon a little boy have power. That they have the power to ensure it never happens to them.
No, no, that is too early. What about this?
The Ravening War starts when a widow-to-be emerges from her toilette, all traces of her vomiting carefully hidden. She realizes she had been tricked, the heavy drinking, the promises that her old friend took herbs that ensured his impotency, the tisane that he swore would ensure her own. That she is trapped in the prison he has made of her own body, an eternal blackmail victim regardless if the child dies or lives, but oh, she is surprised by how much she wants the child to. To be a queen is to be a mother, after all, to sire the next generation of rulers. But queens are not blackmail victims. She will need to talk to someone.
Tangential, much too tangential. Perhaps this way?
The Ravening War starts when a tiny chili pepper watches as her big brother is beaten into the dirt by his friends. He refuses to take up with the strange adults (is it adults? All those different faces, yet the same eyes every time) who pay kids to watch and listen, and now he is paying for it. She sees how he’s made small, made broken, when he seemed so big and strong before. She flings herself at his attackers in a whirl of teeth and nails and screeching, manages to drive off two through sheer fury alone. The strange adult watching smiles. He can use this.
A tragedy to be sure, but not the start of a war. What about that?
The Ravening War starts when a young meatlander fidgets in the toga of the Ceresian Senate, not quite able to hide behind the spaghetti of his venerable grandfather. He is loved dearly by both sides of his disparate family, but the force of his mother’s personality has made him a shy boy, desperate for direction, for purpose. He has been sent here to learn the ways of his grandfather, to learn how to smile and to charm and to speak in the Senate. The senator smiles as she shakes his sweaty hand in greeting, as he blushes at the waft of her perfume. This will be even easier than she thought.
A dalliance, but again, hardly the start of a war. Perhaps here?
The Ravening War starts when a small boy watches his father get melted in the middle of the square. He is squeezed between legs, can only see the way the air distorts with heat and a vague figure flailing on a hook, but he can hear the screams. Dear Bulb, can he hear the screams. He’s almost transfixed by them, but not enough to not notice the guards, wading through the crowd, heads down and searching, like they’re looking for someone small. Looking for him. He runs and runs and runs, tears greasing his cheeks as he vanishes into the alleys he grew up in.
No, not that, but getting closer. How about—?
The Ravening War starts when a handmaiden reassures a hyperventilating bride on her wedding day that she was, of course, born to be queen. She is a silly girl, a naive one, who has fallen in love with the man she is to be wed to, but that’s alright. She is a du Pêche, soon to be a Cardoon, and above all else that means she has breeding. She has poise, she has manners, she has charm, there is no one else more suited to be Queen than she. Amangeaux will make new friends in this court soon, and if all else fails, Chutney will always be there for her mistress, to comfort and guide her. She promises.
Still not quite right. What about—?
The Ravening War starts when a spymaster wearing the flesh of her ex-mentor hears whispers in the streets of a count who would unify Fructera and Vegetania. Unification would mean ease of travel, a significant expansion of her network, the chance to walk among the court of Greenhold in her true form and have all those pompous nobles bow in deference to the royal spymaster. For all Karna is a spymaster, she is still a twelve year old girl, still prone to getting swept up by the promising ideals of men who could give her more, prone to setting her whole heart on a goal and doing whatever she must to see it through. It will be her downfall someday.
Closer but no cigar. Maybe—?
The Ravening War starts when a senator sprays her favorite negligee down with scent and folds it delicately to be placed in a package. It’s a shame she won’t get to wear it again, but she can always flutter her eyelashes at Focaccia, and she will have three nicer ones by the end of the week. It’s a kindness, truly, to give the boy a scrap of hope, a memento of something he will never truly have. And with the work she has done on him, she has no doubt her little Deli will prove to be one of the most valuable pieces the Sanctus Putris will have on the board, his loyalty and eagerness to please translating making him a useful pawn to fulfill their goals and prevent the end of days.
No, no, that’s way out. Why not—?
The Ravening War starts when a bishop overhears an old chorister remark at length about how King Cardoon has his great grandmother’s taste in spouses. The bishop, preparing for his responsibilities ministering to the new king and queen, engages the member of his flock in conversation, where the old woman’s knowledge sparks an interest in genealogy. Soon there are intricate charts of lineage and birthright spread out in the bishop’s quarters, and though he does not realize it, the head gardener is getting paid very well indeed to look the other way when Father Charlock goes to gather herbs for His Majesty’s tea.
Not yet but getting warmer. Perhaps—?
The Ravening War starts when a cheesy sellsword walks into the Chieftess of the Beef Clans. The buffoon stutters apologies and pleas for mercy, relying more on Provolone coming over to attempt to smooth ruffled feathers, the Chieftess’ son far more proficient in soothing his mother’s wrath. From there the conversation turns to needing to hire guards, a carriage to Comida, and by the end of the day the two of them are on strawberries riding to Fructera. Colton Gouda touches the emblem of pressed palms and a feather deep in his pocket. He’s fulfilled his part—now it’s up to his fellows to do the same.
No, no, it’s almost but doesn’t get everything, not at all. Here, tell it this way:
The Ravening War starts when a drunken tomato makes a wild claim, fueled by ire at the lack of deference from his perceived inferiors. He is made all the more furious, all the more resolved by their refusal to recognize his rightful place as king, and so even once sober, rallies his countrymen to fight for his birthright. He truly does not know what ruin this stupid, shortsighted, selfish decision will bring.
Hardly better than all the rest, but it will do. With so many machinations in play, how could it ever come down to a single event?
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