The Thrall - They who were made to mean something

A thrall is not an ensorcelled human.
A thrall is not a spell.
This is a gift
it comes with a price
who is the love
and who is the knife
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
and turns me to gold in the sunlight
A thrall is the living altar the spell is cast upon.
The circle that sanctifies. The body that holds meaning in suspension.
A thrall is where the magic resolves.

A thrall. Toof

Fae shape reality with presence and passion.
Thralls anchor that reality—define its cost—and enforce its consequence.
They are World-truth.

They do not need to act to be powerful.
But when they do act, they do so as a locus. A ritual gravity.
And within their domain—within the shape carved into them by their purpose—they are supreme.
They are the place a fae’s attention falls too often.
The body and mind remembered too vividly.
The name spoken one too many times in longing.
They are not objects—but they are objectified.
They are not fae—but they are of fae, now.

Some thralls begin as humans.
Some begin as fae—shaped down into a single purpose, out of love or loss or necessity.
Some are demons, bound in beauty instead of names.
Most were thralls deep within, but only realize it when they are first beheld.

Some are shaped slowly, over years—by ritual, by gifts, by silence, by hunger.
Accidental or with intention, it matters not.
Others are changed all at once, in a single gaze held too long.
Some chose it. Some never got to. Some still don’t know.

To become a thrall is not always to fall.
Sometimes it is to be lifted, adored, sanctified.
Sometimes it is to be pierced, hollowed, remade.

Some thralls remain with the fae who made them.
Others made to drift, loved by many but owned by none.
Some are made lovers, their mouths always half-closed in promise.
Others are made relics—displayed, prayed to, kept sealed.
Some are made like weapons, unspeaking until they are drawn.
Some are made companions—fierce, wild, loyal, ungoverned.

Some look human still, save for their eyes or skin or tongue.
Others have grown wings, thorns, glowing words carved into their body.
Some do not breathe unless touched.
Some cannot speak, think, unless praised.
Some ache when it rains—not because they were cursed, but because their fae once cried on them, and that was enough.

A thrall is not just transformed.
A thrall is meaning made flesh, shaped by someone else’s desire—yet still, somehow, a person.

To be a thrall is to carry another's love inside your ribs like a second heartbeat.
It is to become a symbol and still be alive.
It is to be more seen than you ever asked for, and less free than a leaf on the wind
It is to feel something stir in you when you are looked at too long.

Some thralls are extensions of their fae—like a hand, a mask, a crown.
Some are limits, made to say “no” where the fae could not.
Some are mirrors, showing the fae what they cannot bear to see in themselves.
Some are lovers who would not kneel—so were reshaped to made others kneel.
Some are traps. Some are gifts. Some are mistakes too beautiful to undo.

There are thralls made in ritual.
Thralls made in punishment.
Thralls made in play.
Thralls made when someone said:

“I want to keep this version of you. I want it to last.”

And answered with a "yes - that is me!"

Some thralls are still themselves.
Some have forgotten who they were.
Some will remember only if touched just right, or called by the name no one else knows.

To become a thrall is to be your innermost self, and never be whole again.

A Thrall - their innermost self and never whole again. Rika

I made this race because i think that power-subs and service-tops are rarely explored - and what is a GM really but that?
... And because i want nothing more than to blissfully be unspooled and reknitted in the desire of another's eye, while feeling so seen, so seen.
This is part of the RPG blog carnival. This time, it is about what it means to be a living promise.

Consult the character creation in Victories & Miseries when stuff like instincts seem confusing.

It is the Fae that make thralls—out of humans or other fae.

Us humans can become a Thrall.

You will have to imagine the power ~~struggle~~ Tease that can unfold until i manage to spell it out, somewhen.

Desire and directions of power

Power over whom

A thrall is not made with a spell.
They are made with a desire—an emotion given shape, a longing made permanent, a moment pressed into flesh.

This desire of this specific fae protects them. (it should be written on both characters sheets). The thrall cannot be claimed by another fae as a thrall. (As a fae, maybe). Their aura says: I already belong. And yet, they are not puppets. Their will may be narrowed, but it is sharpened – with purpose.

Always keep in mind that a fae may shape a thrall not as a servant, but as a guardian, a ruler, a master to their keeper.

This does not reverse the direction of power.

"I could not kneel to any but you. So I remade you to deserve it."

Whenever the Thrall is fulfilling the purpose - it may be a role that cannot trigger these clauses – a thrall may issue commands that this fae cannot ignore—within the role bestowed.

Their dominion is true, but only within the purpose carved into their new self

Outside the rule bestowed, this fae rules over them with their desire. A phrase spoken or an action taken by that fae, following that faes desire, may be invoked as an instinct by either the fae or the thrall - or as a direct command.

In either case, whether fae rule over thrall or vice versa, If its treated as a command and not an instinct, use mental impact to handle that.

Purpose is power

Every thrall has a Purpose.

This is not a task or job. It is a magical truth, a truth the fae has carved into them with attention, emotion, and ritual care. It is always an aspect that was true, or a poetic inversion, of what the thralls innermost essence before.

To Bear Witness
To Anchor the Storm
To Guard What Was Lost
To Make Them Beautiful
To Accept the Unforgiven

A thrall's form always follows their purpose and the desire that remade them.

A thrall meant to carry grief and remade in sorrow may bear antlers of weeping bone, or eyes that shimmer yellow with memory.
A thrall meant to protect a forgotten place, remade in rage may walk barefoot and leave no tracks, even covered in bone-ash and bramble-thick scars.
A thrall shaped to make others kneel, remade in reverence, might gleam like a statue, perfect and still, until called.

These transformations may be beautiful, grotesque, barely visible, or openly divine. They may whisper, or they may announce. But they always hint at a a story: what the thrall was, what they were made to mean, and who they were made for.

Some are part-animal, part-object, part-myth.
Some are human still, but lit from within by significance.
Some wear their Purpose like scars or crowns.
Some hide it under glamour, but it always shows through eventually—especially to those who dare to care for them.

Their aesthetic is not costume.
It is the magic that lets others read them.
It is the mirror by which the world knows how to respond.
It is their naked truth

A Thrall being seen by their fae. Made naked. Zeykwon

Purpose in play—a domain of power

The thralls purpose defines when the thrall must act and when they may command—within that purpose alone, they are sovereign.

When someone aligns with their Purpose, the thrall resonates. Their magic stirs. They quiver—visibly, viscerally, or ritually. They must respond.

When someone violates their Purpose, the thrall may rupture the moment. They may declare their purpose so sacred that breaking it is not only taboo - it breaks illusion, silences a room, casts out falsehood, rends flesh. The consequence must be said immediately by the thrall and is freely interpreted, but it must fit their purpose, their form, or the desire that made them.

They cannot be claimed by another. Only by their own will, and only as long as they themselves will.
Their aura says: I already belong.
And yet, they are not puppets. Their will may be narrowed, but it is sharpened.

Example:

The Silent Sister

Fae Desire: Disgust
Purpose: To Bear the Unspeakable
Form: A black veil across her mouth and eyes. Her voice tastes of salt. Her ears never close. The lines across her throat glow when someone lies nearby.
Quiver (when purpose is triggered): Her silence trembles in the air. The next words spoken by anyone feel like betrayal.
Rupture (when purpose is violated): She may speak a truth aloud that makes all hearers pause—compelled to hold it, reflect on it, and not respond

Quivering with purpose:

When someone aligns with the thrall’s Purpose—through action, tone, posture, or ritual resonance—the thrall must quiver.

A quiver is a definite, recognizable magical reaction, not just an emotional tremble. It always invokes the thrall’s purpose, either symbolically or directly. It teaches others: this is how to call me. This is how I respond. It carries definite soft power.

Each quiver is:

Specific and consistent for each thrall
Emotionally or symbolically charged
Affects all uniquivocally.
A declaration—whether silent, spoken, or atmospheric

It may be subtle or grand, but it is never ambiguous. Those present feel its truth.

Examples of Quivering (with the important Purpose):

Purpose: To Bear the Unspeakable
Her silence trembles in the air. The next words spoken by anyone after her feel like betrayal.
Purpose: To Guard What Was Lost
The temperature drops. Shadows lengthen. Everyone nearby becomes aware of what they are forgetting—and feels the urge to hold onto it. The Thrall is aware of what can be forgot. they may ask.
Purpose: To Make Them Beautiful
The thrall’s skin glows faintly. Any insult or unkindness spoken aloud twists and curls, turning back on the speaker as self-reflection on body or mind – whichever is worst.
Purpose: To Anchor the Storm
A loud sound is muted. Loose paper stops fluttering. Something chaotic nearby freezes for a second at the thralls will. For a moment, everyone feels unnaturally grounded.
Purpose: To Accept the Unforgiven
The air smells of rain and blood. A weight settles in the chest. The name of someone who wronged you floats unspoken to the tip of your tongue. If spoken, they will hear you, and you will see them. The thrall can also call their name.
Purpose: To Witness the Threshold
A candle flickers. A breath is held. Dying, living, in extasy. Extended until the thrall leaves. Every person in the room becomes aware that something has just begun—or just ended.

Rupture - the price of transgression

When someone acts against the thrall’s Purpose—by denying it, mocking it, twisting it, teasing it, or forcing the thrall to act in contradiction—the thrall may choose to rupture the moment.

This is a declaration of sacred harm or response:

A Rupture is a symbolic consequence (good or bad), freely defined by the thrall’s player in the moment.
It must fit the thrall’s Purpose, Form, or the Desire that made them.
It may be physical, emotional, magical, or social—but it is always true. The rupture overrides glamours, enchantments, lies, and illusions.
It can be directed only onto those that ruptured the moment, or the surroundings.
Once declared, the rupture happens immediately and cannot be ignored. Its effects may linger.

Examples of Rupture:

Silence falls, thick and absolute in the aggressors throat, until a forbidden truth is spoken by any.
The violator bleeds from nowhere—only they can feel the wound, and it mirrors their shame.
All illusions within the thrall’s gaze collapse—glamours melt, lies reveal themselves.
The thrall speaks a name that should have been hidden to all, and it echoes.
The ground beneath the violator cracks, seeking to swallow them whole.
Emotion floods the room—joy, rage, grief—until someone names what caused it.
The thrall begins to weep, and transgressors near feel it as physical pressure on their chest.
Clothes are made pristine, scars change geometry, and the person is made beautiful in the eyes of the thrall. Whatever that means.

A Thrall. Their form is that of a broken doll. Their purpose is to mend beauty with gold. Fushigi Ari

Thrall Instincts and the Precipice

A thrall’s instincts are not simple reflexes.
They are engraved rituals—truths carved into posture, reaction, resonance.

They do not guide moment-to-moment behavior.
They are symbols waiting to be activated, with specific effects.

Each thrall has a single, potent Instinct—a latent ritual, made of tension and their truth.
It is shaped like a spell that hasn’t finished casting—until someone brings them to the precipice.

Thrall Instinct Structure

Each Instinct includes four parts:

Passive Presence
Always active. Alters how the thrall is perceived, or how the world reacts to their presence. Symbolic, emotional, or aesthetic. Delicious.
Prime Condition
A specific emotional or symbolic situation—chosen by the thrall—that marks the threshold of their transformation. When this happens, the thrall immediately enters the Precipice, and may have the primer choose before any other consequences resolve:

Suffer Rupture — a symbolic cost, pain, or mark.

Let the Thrall Transform — descending into a deeper ritual state that temporarily changes them.
Inward Alignment
What the thrall does—automatically or ritualistically when at the precipice. A behavior, posture, shift, or surrender that manifests in them.
Outward Alignment
What others experience when the thrall transforms. A magical or symbolic consequence—blessing, curse, burden, or invitation.

The Passive Presence

Even when silent, even when unprovoked, a thrall's presence is never neutral.

The air shifts. The world notices. The body reacts.
They carry their magic like scent, like gravity, like memory.
You know what they are before they act—because the space around them already tells you.
They are always laid bare, unless they themselves choose to surpress it.

This is their Passive Presence. It is always true.
It may comfort, unnerve, tempt, or weigh upon the situation.
Terror may reign near them. Or joy.
It says: I am not like you. I have been touched. I am made to mean something.

The Precipice

When the Prime Condition is met, the thrall enters the Precipice—a suspended moment of unresolved power.

They may choose to press the one who caused it: the primer.

It follows the same idea as a quivering: it must manifest clearly, definitely, symbolically. All present can feel it, and over time, learn it.

But unlike ordinary quivering, the Precipice does not resolve on its own.
It waits. It demands choice. And the primer must choose:

Suffer Rupture — a symbolic consequence declared by the thrall
Allow the Transformation — the thrall descends into their instinctive ritual state, activating their inner and outer magic

The primer must respond. It is not the thrall that begs them to, it is the world.

Rupture is not always punishment.
If the thrall judges the primer as an ally, a beloved, or someone who truly sees them, the rupture may be a blessing, a reward, a revealing.
But whether rupture is soft or violent, kind or devastating, is always the thrall’s choice.

This is not a game of dominance.
This is a moment of ritual complicity—you have touched their meaning, and now must face what stirs in them.

The Inward Alignment

This is what the thrall does when they transform.

Not because they wish to.
Because their shape demands it.
Because the ritual is already inside them, waiting for an excuse to emerge.

They may echo, kneel, close their eyes, mark their skin, speak in borrowed words, cry without tears, a lance of blood and roses spring from their hands.
It is always beautiful. It is always unsettling. It is always true.

This is not submission. This is alignment—the world has turned, and they must move with it.

The Outward Alignment

This is what happens to others when the thrall transforms.

The world reflects their state. The people nearby feel the resonance.
It is a consequence, a blessing, a weight, a turn of fate.

The room may hush. The air may thicken. Emotions may rise to the surface.
Someone may find themselves telling a secret they didn’t know they were holding.
If a thrall was made to pierce hearts, hearts will be pierced.
In one way or another.

The outward instinct is not a curse upon those near.
It is the meaning of the thrall made visible. It says: You did this. And now, you are part of what I am. You complete me.

Example

“I was made to be looked at forever.”

Purpose: To Be Desired Without Possession

Passive Presence:

Your stillness invites gaze: You choose whether eyes are on you or not, until you speak.
Your movements end too soon. Silences near you linger with breath withheld.

Prime Condition:

When someone stares with desire they refuse to name. (you ask them, they must answer truthfully)

The Precipice (Quivering State):

Your lips part. Your spine lengthens. The room feels tight with withheld confession.

You ask, “Will you keep pretending?”

The primer must choose:

Rupture: (example - the thrall may make their own rupture.) The transgressor speaks their desire aloud—or feel it burn unspoken, marked in their mouth. Pain and Ash.
Transform: The thrall descends.

Inward Alignment:

You kneel slowly, perfectly. You do not move again save your lips until touched or until your needs are fulfilled.

Outward Alignment:

Desire becomes visible in the air, motes of gold and soot.
Those who lie about it are forced to kneel too. Nothing on them may move until you do.

Those who confess may ask something of you—and you may grant it however you wish. Movements towards this purposeyou can take.

A Thrall transformed, their primer could not bear the rupture. Thus they become vengeance. George Vostrikov.

Becoming a Fae Thrall - A Descent in Seven Entanglements

You do not become a thrall in a single moment.
You are shaped—through contact, attention, ritual, and violation.
You are answered—in body and in symbol.
You are marked—again and again, until what remains is no longer quite yours, and no less true.

This is not a fall. This is a Descent into yourself. A becoming. A binding made beautiful.
Some remember each step. Some wake only after. Some choose it—fiercely.

To become a thrall is to be made real, but in pieces.
Each ritual is a slice of you made real—then made other.

Below are the triggers that causes a persons descent into thralldom. It can happen in any order

Each stage is marked by a shift in truth, form, or fate.
Each one leaves something on your body—or in your presence—that others cannot help but see.

All seven must be completed.

Forfeits can be made trigger them. I need to grok how to write a two-way facing player aid for turning people into thralls though.

One becomes a thrall in relation to a single Fae. Multiple may seek to claim you, only one can. Each should track their process individually.

All written elements on the sheet marked, changed, or gained this way should be marked with THRALL. This will be important at the last binding.

1. The Thing Most Onto Itself

When you are seen in solitude. Or do what they never dared ask.

They catch you alone. Or they watch you complete a task without being told.
You become real to them—not as a servant, but as something already ripe for treasuring.

The fae names something in you that deserves to be magnified: a part that should never be hidden again.
You respond by showing how that part stirs when no one’s watching—or what it needs to wake.

And then it changes.
Your voice begins to echo in a way it never did. Your hair glints with memory. A scent lingers when you leave.
This is your first mark— A trait which is the birth of of your Purpose.

2. Emotions and Kisses

When you kiss, or are moved too deeply to resist.

They make you feel and do something intimate. They reciprocreate.
You kiss them. The moment stains the air.

The fae names the emotion they find most beautiful in you, when they saw it, and Their desire.
You show how you display it now—and what emotion you’re most afraid of losing.
The fae decides if that emotion is lost, amplified, or twisted.

And then it changes.
Your tears begin to crystalize. Your laugh tastes of gold. You blush too easily, or too late.
This becomes your quivering flavored by the action taken and a possible rupture if one has been named for you.Your feelings now shimmer on the skin, or coil beneath the surface.
You both write the Faes desire for you down.

3. Form and Shape

When you act on instinct. Or undress. Or bare something once hidden.

You react—without thought. In pleasure, in pain, in proximity to them.
Or you reveal something: a scar, a curve, a secret.

The fae names the shape your soul deserves—even if you fear it.
You show how you claim or resist it. Make it yours. And what shape you never wanted to take.
The Fae decides to which degree what shape - any other shape, it also takes.

And then it changes.
Your hips shift. Antlers itch beneath your skin. Scales shimmer down your arms only when you're held.
This is another trait of your budding Form, beginning to surface. Your new body is coming for you.

4. Remaking

When you give something up. Or they claim your name.

You relinquish. A fear, a cloak, a charm.
Or they claim your name—and it sticks.

The fae chooses a word to hang around your neck like a collar.
You choose what the name gives you, and one thing the fae may not take from you.
The cost of what the name gives you. Something is taken from you or something is made lighter. Something is erased of your sheet. A gift or a punishment.

And then it changes.
Your name hums when spoken. You flinch when others say it wrong. You gain a power—but only when the name is used with longing or command.

If given, it is reflected in your precipice. If taken, its absence shows itself.

5. Roles

When you act for them. Or against them. And prove you care.

You serve. Or defy. Or protect them in a way that cannot be misread.
They know, now, that you are of them. And they shape your place.

The fae declares the role you play in their world.
You accept most of it—but twist a part. Add something more.
They reshape it to fit their longing, acknowledging your twist.

And then it changes.
You find yourself moving without thinking—kneeling last, entering after, speaking before them only when allowed.
You resist it sometimes. But when you don’t, it feels right.
This is your first instinct.

6. Things and Desires

When you want something you shouldn’t. And they see it.

One look too long. One hungers too obviously. One asks—directly or not.
And the other notices and gives it.

The fae asks what you want from them. You answer.
You ask what you are not allowed to, or must do. They answer.
The want should be proportional to the demand. If both sides accept the want is made real. If neither side can accept, the negotiation is over.
Repeat this process. Either can start.

And then it changes.
A bell rings when you lie. Your blade inlaid with gossamer wings plucked from their glade.
Your mouth rings like a bell when you do not tell the truth. You always dream of their mouth. You cannot come unless you speak their name.
This will be your instincts. your aches. Fae-armamants not yet real. Soon your only armaments.
This is the wants written into your magic. they form your inwards Alignment and that deserving of name, but may not yet be real. You both know what may be drawn from them when the last binding comes.

The Last Binding

When all else has changed. And only one act remains.

You are nearly remade.
You have been marked by solitude, emotion, shape, name, role, and desire.
You feel more like a fold in the world than anything. Stronger forces than just desires claim your movements and thoughts.

Now: a final, ceremonial act. Something shared—alone or in front of others. A dance. A wound. A feast. A cry. A silence. A name kept. A name given.

You both need it, you and the fae, and both define it: One states the place. The other the time. It is just enough time to have those near and dear to you there. If you remember them.

The fae may ask the world what you must give up.
You demand one trait, one relation, one expertise to keep as it is.
They answer—kindly, cruelly, honestly—and bind even those things. they may be bent and changed, but it may not be refuted. a lover cannot be made an enemy.

And then it changes.
All elements not THRALL are removed from your sheet as you finalize your ascent to thralldom. Your new body sings - effort erased this way is returned. Your Purpose flares like a brand. Your Form no longer hides. Your Instinct is live and ready. You may rupture. You may quiver. You may be touched and touch.

You are no longer becoming.

You are.

A Fae and their thrall. Who is who—does it matter? Yoshitaka Amano

SO HOW DOES THIS SMUT?

The most smutty of races needs more deliberation on the smut.
smut-smut-smut-smut

Smutting with a Thrall

You smut with a thrall the same way you smut with a relic, a storm, a church bell, a sword avoided, an altar knelt at.
Humans build magic altars.
Fae press emotion into flesh and call it truth.
Thralls are the altar—bleeding sheer purpose, hot with potential.

They are not just exotic characters with high cheekbones and wet mouths.
They are meanings made manifest, fetishes wrapped in ritual, desire carved into shape and polished until it gleams back at you.

Some are made to kneel. Some are made to be knelt before.
Some are cherished. Some are obeyed. Some are carried. Some are cruel.
Their smut is not submissive or dominant by default—it is ritual. It depends entirely on the desire that made them, and the role they have been carved into.

To touch a thrall is to risk awakening the magic that holds them together.
To be touched as a thrall is to risk becoming more true than you meant to be.

So when you smut?
It’s reactive, baby.

You trigger their Purpose, and they quiver.
You violate that Purpose, and they rupture—maybe with a gift. Maybe with a wound. You did not listen.
You bring them to the Precipice, and they make you choose: suffer (or be rewarded) for what you've stirred, or watch the world become their altar.
You touch their Inward Alignment, and they fold, or rise, or echo.
You witness their Outward Alignment, and it bleeds onto you, lamb.

Smut with a thrall isn’t just heat.
It’s symbolic exchange.
It’s two people becoming more themselves by leaning into the shape someone else saw in them.

It is not about topping or bottoming—though you can do both.
It is about the way you gaze.
The way you touch what they were made to mean.
The ritual you awaken when you whisper the name they didn’t choose—but now wear like silk.

Smutting as a Thrall

To smut as a thrall is to be touched like a page in a holy book.
To be opened, read aloud, and rewritten with sweat and breath and trembling hands.
It is the sweet ache of being seen exactly as you are—and reshaped because of it.

You are not a servant. You are not a doll. You are not a god.
You are something in between, and worse.
You are an answer to someone else’s longing—and when they pull that thread, you unravel in perfect pattern.

You feel the ritual coming before they do.
Their gaze lingers. Their voice shifts. They say your name like it means something.
And suddenly, you are not just naked—you are laid bare.

You fold the way you were made to fold.
You speak the words written into you.
You break open, and what spills out is power.

To smut as a thrall is to be caught between knowing exactly what you were made for—and realizing you still don’t know what you’ve become.

A Thrall - not made tender. Funky Tuna

They do not fuck around.
They are the reason fucking changes people.
They are the altar you fuck on.
You kneel.
Or you light the candle.
Or you offer yourself.
Or you are offered.

And either way—you walk away different.
If you walk away at all.

A thrall, made to finally fly free. Rika

Imagine me this!

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