Hello everyone, this is my first time posting anything here. This is a personal writing project...
18 Day Writing Challenge
- Thread starter PhantasyPen
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Day 1
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
The Warm Time
Hunter takes his water cup, venturing forth from his camp and out onto the grasslands for prey. He and his mate have lost their youngling, and she is still weak from the childbirth, he must find her food this day. Step, step, step, it is easy to find the rhythm out here, the long stride that devours the land and exhausts prey. Eventually, he spots what he wants, a deer, grazing alone and away from the herd. Hunter finds a large stone and hefts it, and then it is let fly, soaring through the air to impact the side of the beast, striking it true and causing the beast injury as it runs. The deer will die, most likely from exhaustion, but possibly from the injury, by nightfall, and he will carry it back to camp.
When Hunter finds the deer's corpse, he is shocked by what he sees: a grass lion has gotten to it first, but the deer's horn impaled the predator even as it snapped the deer's neck. He will bring the rest of the tribe here tomorrow, where the elders can debate of its meaning. For now, Hunter takes the dead deer, and brings it back to camp.
Arriving at camp, Hunter is again shocked by what he sees: his mate is sitting by the fire of their camp, and suckling at her breast is the cub of a grass lion! Hunter's mind flashes to the lion out on the savannah, and an understanding fills him. This cub is not their child, but for now, it will do.
The Winter of Long Hunts
Toba stalks quietly through the snow, holding a long spear in hand as he watches his prey. The white elk is said to be the king of the tundra, and if he can bring it back to the tribe, the elders will allow him to choose a mate. Toba's hand tightens around the haft of the spear as his vision focuses on the elk. The beast will not be able to escape, on one side there is a ledge, and on the other his lion Mik'kika stalks towards their chosen target.
Suddenly, the wind shifts, and the elk goes alert, it smells him! Toba must act fast, and so he hurls his spear at the elk, the signal for Mik'kika to charge at the prey. The spear strikes true, and momentarily stuns the beast. A moment is too long, for Mik'kika sets upon the elk before it can recover, and her powerful teeth and sharp claws find the great vein in the beast's neck. The hunt is a success, Mik'kika has already begun dragging the dying elk back to him. Then Toba hears the most terrifying sound: a crack from the ground beneath him. Toba shouts as the cliffside gives way and he begins to fall, then something strikes his head, and he knows no more.
When Toba awakes, the sky has gone dark, and snow covers him. Nearby, he can see Mik'kika, using her larger form to ward away the scavenging wolves from his body as the pack feasts on the white elk. He will have to find new prey another time, but for now he must get up.
Trying to stand up causes pain to spear through Toba like a bolt of sky fire, and his scream calls Mik'kika to him, the lioness growling at him to be still. He will not be able to walk back to his camp like this, but as Mik'kika presses her much larger body against his, he knows he will not freeze. Wait…
Toba looks at Mik'kika, and a plan begins to form as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, throwing his good leg over her back.
"Fast." He barely manages to grunt, his hands clinging to the lioness' thick fur.
The Battle of Troy 1250 BCE
Hector watches the army amassing outside his city's walls, his body flat across the top of Storm, his lion mount. He would be leading a collection of his city's finest warriors this day. They would strike out from the wilderness atop their war-lions, harrying and bleeding the enemy then retreating back to the city.
"Charge!" He cries, lifting his spear and shield, as Storm bolts forth towards the invading army with a roar of challenge, the rest of the cavalry following in his wake.
Battle of Camlann 450 CE
Artorius wishes that this day had never come as he straps on his armor and buckles his sword belt, his lions Merlin and Nimue being places in similar accoutrements alongside him. The two of them had been at his side for as long as he had been a soldier, and now they would be joining him for what would surely be his last battle one way or another.
"One way or another." He promises himself, mounting onto Merlin's back with the ease of long practice, Artorius rubbed the head of the lion's mate as she bumped his thigh. These beasts would follow him even into their deaths, just as their cub even now followed his foolish son.
"For Camelot!" Roars Artorius to his army as Merlin stalks onto the battlefield, the call echoed back by each of their doomed souls.
The Trojan Blitz 1945 CE
Saber tanks roar with gunfire and Pride-class aeroplanes echo their defiance from overhead, dropping bombs and soldiers onto the city below. The invasion of Camelot was approaching its 720th hour. This battle would be a turning point in the War, as the men of Troy were finally driven off of British soil.
None of that matters to the young lioness called Margaret. For her, the most important thing is getting the small bundle carried in her jaws away from the noise, away from the roars of cub-killing males challenging one another for dominance. The pride's den had collapsed on top of the adult Two-Leggeds. It wasn't safe anymore, but thankfully the cub was still asleep, now if she could just find a place to hide the little one all would be well…
Hunter takes his water cup, venturing forth from his camp and out onto the grasslands for prey. He and his mate have lost their youngling, and she is still weak from the childbirth, he must find her food this day. Step, step, step, it is easy to find the rhythm out here, the long stride that devours the land and exhausts prey. Eventually, he spots what he wants, a deer, grazing alone and away from the herd. Hunter finds a large stone and hefts it, and then it is let fly, soaring through the air to impact the side of the beast, striking it true and causing the beast injury as it runs. The deer will die, most likely from exhaustion, but possibly from the injury, by nightfall, and he will carry it back to camp.
When Hunter finds the deer's corpse, he is shocked by what he sees: a grass lion has gotten to it first, but the deer's horn impaled the predator even as it snapped the deer's neck. He will bring the rest of the tribe here tomorrow, where the elders can debate of its meaning. For now, Hunter takes the dead deer, and brings it back to camp.
Arriving at camp, Hunter is again shocked by what he sees: his mate is sitting by the fire of their camp, and suckling at her breast is the cub of a grass lion! Hunter's mind flashes to the lion out on the savannah, and an understanding fills him. This cub is not their child, but for now, it will do.
The Winter of Long Hunts
Toba stalks quietly through the snow, holding a long spear in hand as he watches his prey. The white elk is said to be the king of the tundra, and if he can bring it back to the tribe, the elders will allow him to choose a mate. Toba's hand tightens around the haft of the spear as his vision focuses on the elk. The beast will not be able to escape, on one side there is a ledge, and on the other his lion Mik'kika stalks towards their chosen target.
Suddenly, the wind shifts, and the elk goes alert, it smells him! Toba must act fast, and so he hurls his spear at the elk, the signal for Mik'kika to charge at the prey. The spear strikes true, and momentarily stuns the beast. A moment is too long, for Mik'kika sets upon the elk before it can recover, and her powerful teeth and sharp claws find the great vein in the beast's neck. The hunt is a success, Mik'kika has already begun dragging the dying elk back to him. Then Toba hears the most terrifying sound: a crack from the ground beneath him. Toba shouts as the cliffside gives way and he begins to fall, then something strikes his head, and he knows no more.
When Toba awakes, the sky has gone dark, and snow covers him. Nearby, he can see Mik'kika, using her larger form to ward away the scavenging wolves from his body as the pack feasts on the white elk. He will have to find new prey another time, but for now he must get up.
Trying to stand up causes pain to spear through Toba like a bolt of sky fire, and his scream calls Mik'kika to him, the lioness growling at him to be still. He will not be able to walk back to his camp like this, but as Mik'kika presses her much larger body against his, he knows he will not freeze. Wait…
Toba looks at Mik'kika, and a plan begins to form as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, throwing his good leg over her back.
"Fast." He barely manages to grunt, his hands clinging to the lioness' thick fur.
The Battle of Troy 1250 BCE
Hector watches the army amassing outside his city's walls, his body flat across the top of Storm, his lion mount. He would be leading a collection of his city's finest warriors this day. They would strike out from the wilderness atop their war-lions, harrying and bleeding the enemy then retreating back to the city.
"Charge!" He cries, lifting his spear and shield, as Storm bolts forth towards the invading army with a roar of challenge, the rest of the cavalry following in his wake.
Battle of Camlann 450 CE
Artorius wishes that this day had never come as he straps on his armor and buckles his sword belt, his lions Merlin and Nimue being places in similar accoutrements alongside him. The two of them had been at his side for as long as he had been a soldier, and now they would be joining him for what would surely be his last battle one way or another.
"One way or another." He promises himself, mounting onto Merlin's back with the ease of long practice, Artorius rubbed the head of the lion's mate as she bumped his thigh. These beasts would follow him even into their deaths, just as their cub even now followed his foolish son.
"For Camelot!" Roars Artorius to his army as Merlin stalks onto the battlefield, the call echoed back by each of their doomed souls.
The Trojan Blitz 1945 CE
Saber tanks roar with gunfire and Pride-class aeroplanes echo their defiance from overhead, dropping bombs and soldiers onto the city below. The invasion of Camelot was approaching its 720th hour. This battle would be a turning point in the War, as the men of Troy were finally driven off of British soil.
None of that matters to the young lioness called Margaret. For her, the most important thing is getting the small bundle carried in her jaws away from the noise, away from the roars of cub-killing males challenging one another for dominance. The pride's den had collapsed on top of the adult Two-Leggeds. It wasn't safe anymore, but thankfully the cub was still asleep, now if she could just find a place to hide the little one all would be well…
Day 2
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
Torako was a noble and proud being, and how could she not be? She had razor sharp claws, great rending fangs, and the most beautiful silky, luxurious fur. She was everything that a noble tiger demon could aspire to be, and was surrounded only by beings that she could rightly consider her peers.
There was Miltia, a vampire of the venerable White Woman lineage, whose long black hair contrasted her white gown and pale skin beautifully, pulling attention away from her glimmering blue eyes and sharp fangs.
Sitting across from the vampire woman was Janni, a djinn from the Arabian deserts, dressed as she always was in the mornings in a diaphanous nightgown that showed her toned figure through its transparent fabrics.
And then there was Avani, a snake-woman from the jungles, with glimmering scales and a dark tan that she somehow managed to keep in this frigid northland they all lived. Currently she was dealing with the early-morning cold by coiling around her paramour, a brutish fire demon.
Said fire demon was named Svorg. With long copper hair and glimmering green eyes, he was of a decided minority in this domicile that the five of them shared during their "mandatory education" as her parents had termed it, given that he was in possession of a Y-chromosome, unlike the rest of the inhabitants, save one.
That thought brought a scowl to Torako's face, as she was forced to remember the only other male inhabitant of the dormitory, their "caretaker" as he had introduced himself, Johnathon. Why she had to put up with the presence of such a filthy and insignificant being as a mortal human was beyond her. If he were some magi of great renown, or a being who had transcended mortality through some great feat of skill, she would understand, she would at least find him *acceptable,* but no, Johnathon, or as he had repeatedly told them to call him "John," was nothing more than an ordinary mortal young man, whose only extraordinary trait was that he knew about the existence of beings like them, beings who lived in the darkness of Man's light.
Ugh, and of course, think of something unpleasant and it will appear without delay as though summoned by your thoughts. There was "John" now, carrying a massive platter on one shoulder.
"And breakfast is served, please enjoy," the human said as he placed the aforementioned platter on the table. On it was a wide variety of foods, mainly meats, each catered specifically to their individual tastes. Just looking at the feast nearly made the proud and noble tigress that she was drool a little bit. Okay, she supposed he was good for *something* if the sumptuous foods he made were any indication. Ugh… if she kept eating so many delicious meals she was going to need to go on a diet.
"I'll be in the kitchen. If you all need anything don't hesitate to let me know," "John" told them as they all started to claim a portion of the delicious dishes before them. Damnit, why did he have to speak and remind her of his presence? It almost killed her appetite. Unfortunately, the other inhabitants of the dorm showed no such hesitation, and so she was forced to hurry lest she be left with nothing but scraps, and that simply would not do.
The meal was exquisite of course, she would have accepted nothing less than a perfect feast. It was probably the only redeeming thing about the human Torako mused to herself as she looked over the work assignments that she had been assigned by the human university she was forced to attend. Currently she was seated in the commons area of the dorm, enjoying the warmth of the actual fireplace that was roaring to ward away the chill. It was a pleasant way to take her mind off of the disgusting condition her fur had been left in after being made to perform in that annoying physical education class. Honestly, what was the point of such a thing? Were humans so helpless and weak that they needed to be taught how to keep in shape? A majestic tiger demon needed no such thing, all it did was make her fur all stiff and coarse with the fabrics they had to use.
…
…
"Argh! It's impossible to concentrate when my fur's all in knots like this!" She roared with appalling inelegance as she tossed the pen and pad of paper aside.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance?" Inquired the human Johnathon's too-smooth voice from the doorway, catching her off-guard. Shit! Damnit, no one was supposed to have heard her shout like that, let alone see her! Wait, why was he walking closer? WHY WAS HE WALKING CLOSER?!
"Ah, I see what you mean, give me a second, I'll get a brush." Johnathon said, one hand holding his chin as he leaned into her personal space, staring at her head and the fur on her arms and legs. Then, before she could retort that she didn't need his help and she didn't want him anywhere near her he walked off, leaving her stunned.
It was fifteen minutes later when the human came back with the hair brush like he said he would do and sat next to her. Torako could feel her tail flicking in irritation as Johnathon gently took hold of one of her legs, setting it across his lap and slowly stroking it with the brush.
…
When did he start humming? Oh, who cares, it feels nice when he massages her leg like that after brushing it, and it wasn't like the sound was unpleasant with the fire crackling next to her.
…
Oooohhhhh, that feels really nice when he brushes her head right. There. She felt like she was melting into a puddle when he did that, she almost wanted to stop writing this paper just so she could focus properly on his hands. Wait, if she did that, wouldn't he stop anyways? Hmm, maybe she could keep pretending to write and he'd keep stroking her? Wait, he just stopped…
"Keep going, that feels so nice John."
"Alright."
There was Miltia, a vampire of the venerable White Woman lineage, whose long black hair contrasted her white gown and pale skin beautifully, pulling attention away from her glimmering blue eyes and sharp fangs.
Sitting across from the vampire woman was Janni, a djinn from the Arabian deserts, dressed as she always was in the mornings in a diaphanous nightgown that showed her toned figure through its transparent fabrics.
And then there was Avani, a snake-woman from the jungles, with glimmering scales and a dark tan that she somehow managed to keep in this frigid northland they all lived. Currently she was dealing with the early-morning cold by coiling around her paramour, a brutish fire demon.
Said fire demon was named Svorg. With long copper hair and glimmering green eyes, he was of a decided minority in this domicile that the five of them shared during their "mandatory education" as her parents had termed it, given that he was in possession of a Y-chromosome, unlike the rest of the inhabitants, save one.
That thought brought a scowl to Torako's face, as she was forced to remember the only other male inhabitant of the dormitory, their "caretaker" as he had introduced himself, Johnathon. Why she had to put up with the presence of such a filthy and insignificant being as a mortal human was beyond her. If he were some magi of great renown, or a being who had transcended mortality through some great feat of skill, she would understand, she would at least find him *acceptable,* but no, Johnathon, or as he had repeatedly told them to call him "John," was nothing more than an ordinary mortal young man, whose only extraordinary trait was that he knew about the existence of beings like them, beings who lived in the darkness of Man's light.
Ugh, and of course, think of something unpleasant and it will appear without delay as though summoned by your thoughts. There was "John" now, carrying a massive platter on one shoulder.
"And breakfast is served, please enjoy," the human said as he placed the aforementioned platter on the table. On it was a wide variety of foods, mainly meats, each catered specifically to their individual tastes. Just looking at the feast nearly made the proud and noble tigress that she was drool a little bit. Okay, she supposed he was good for *something* if the sumptuous foods he made were any indication. Ugh… if she kept eating so many delicious meals she was going to need to go on a diet.
"I'll be in the kitchen. If you all need anything don't hesitate to let me know," "John" told them as they all started to claim a portion of the delicious dishes before them. Damnit, why did he have to speak and remind her of his presence? It almost killed her appetite. Unfortunately, the other inhabitants of the dorm showed no such hesitation, and so she was forced to hurry lest she be left with nothing but scraps, and that simply would not do.
The meal was exquisite of course, she would have accepted nothing less than a perfect feast. It was probably the only redeeming thing about the human Torako mused to herself as she looked over the work assignments that she had been assigned by the human university she was forced to attend. Currently she was seated in the commons area of the dorm, enjoying the warmth of the actual fireplace that was roaring to ward away the chill. It was a pleasant way to take her mind off of the disgusting condition her fur had been left in after being made to perform in that annoying physical education class. Honestly, what was the point of such a thing? Were humans so helpless and weak that they needed to be taught how to keep in shape? A majestic tiger demon needed no such thing, all it did was make her fur all stiff and coarse with the fabrics they had to use.
…
…
"Argh! It's impossible to concentrate when my fur's all in knots like this!" She roared with appalling inelegance as she tossed the pen and pad of paper aside.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance?" Inquired the human Johnathon's too-smooth voice from the doorway, catching her off-guard. Shit! Damnit, no one was supposed to have heard her shout like that, let alone see her! Wait, why was he walking closer? WHY WAS HE WALKING CLOSER?!
"Ah, I see what you mean, give me a second, I'll get a brush." Johnathon said, one hand holding his chin as he leaned into her personal space, staring at her head and the fur on her arms and legs. Then, before she could retort that she didn't need his help and she didn't want him anywhere near her he walked off, leaving her stunned.
It was fifteen minutes later when the human came back with the hair brush like he said he would do and sat next to her. Torako could feel her tail flicking in irritation as Johnathon gently took hold of one of her legs, setting it across his lap and slowly stroking it with the brush.
…
When did he start humming? Oh, who cares, it feels nice when he massages her leg like that after brushing it, and it wasn't like the sound was unpleasant with the fire crackling next to her.
…
Oooohhhhh, that feels really nice when he brushes her head right. There. She felt like she was melting into a puddle when he did that, she almost wanted to stop writing this paper just so she could focus properly on his hands. Wait, if she did that, wouldn't he stop anyways? Hmm, maybe she could keep pretending to write and he'd keep stroking her? Wait, he just stopped…
"Keep going, that feels so nice John."
"Alright."
Day 3
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
It had no name, it was nothing more than a Drone for the glory of the Empire. It was just another serial number in the machine that was the Great Work. Today, It felt Pleased, the Great Work was one step closer to completion, another race was being brought into the fold, however, in the depths of Its mind, It felt something Other than Pleased, but it was able to silence that little voice, surrounded as it was by the Empire's glory.
Like all races being shown the majesty of the Great Work, these new people were being brought to the center of the Empire, the holy world where the Great Work first began. It was here, on that planet, that they will learn the majesty of the Great Work, just like Its people learned generations ago. It was assigned to monitor these new arrivals, to make sure they were prepared when it was time for them to learn of the Great Work.
As It looked into the skies, It saw the ship bearing this new race entering atmosphere, then slowly coming in to dock on the spaceport. As the doors of the shuttle opened, It had Its first glimpse of the newest race to join the Imperial Great Work.
They were an anthropoid race, with surprisingly little fur aside from the top of their heads. They possessed two upper limbs and two lower limbs, the general standard for mammalian races. This new race was taller than Its own by head, chest, and shoulders, briefly triggering an instinctive, irrational fear from somewhere deep in its ancestry as two forward-facing eyes locked onto its own. As the new race approached with their Guards, It was made to realize that they were much bulkier than Its own kind as well.
"An Elf?" One of the newcomers inquired as they stared at It, their head tilted slightly as they examined It.
"This One is identified as 6AF-612-666DD," It replied. "Please follow this one towards the Preparation Center."
"Um, pardon me 6AF-61- Do you mind if we just call you Six?" The one in front of the group inquired.
"You may call This One whatever you like." "Six" replied, prompting a strange, sharp sound from one of the newcomers, who stopped when another member of the group pressed the joint of their upper appendage into their side.
"Alright, Six, what is the Preparation Center?" The one in the front continued, seemingly not paying any attention to the strange behavior behind it.
"The Preparation Center is where all new members of the Empire are brought to be introduced to the Great Work. It is where the Great Work is explained, and where the blessings of the Empire are given." "Six" explained as it began to lead the group towards the Preparation Center. Further delays would not be tolerated from the Drone.
The new ones followed Six without further commentary to the Drone, but it could hear them whispering to themselves.
To actually walk to the Preparation Center would take far too much time, so Six escorted the group to another shuttle, which would take them through the planet-wide city, demonstrating the wonders of the Empire for the sake of their newest members.
"We will arrive at the Preparation Center in [2 hours], please enjoy the sights in the meantime." Six explained as the new race all looked around the inside of the shuttle and out of the viewports to gaze upon the magnificence of the planet-city that was in every single way imaginable the heart of the glorious Empire.
"Um, Six," began the member that must have been the leader of this group. "Who is currently piloting this vehicle?" They were looking past the bench Six was sitting on and out onto the large front window which had the best view of the planet-city.
"No one, this shuttle follows a predetermined path that takes it around the entire planet to give the best sample of the glories of the Empire."
"I see…"
"Is there anything else you wish to know about the Empire while we travel to our destination?"
"Are there any national holidays? Any celebrations?"
"I do not understand the question."
"… What is the standard quality of living across the Empire? What are the guaranteed rights of the citizens?"
"I think there is something wrong with the translator, the questions you are asking do not make sense."
And so went the remainder of the time period spent until they arrived at the Preparation Center.
Col. Jack Hollands, United Sol Federation
The Colonel couldn't believe what he was hearing as he spoke to "Six." It was like these people had no sense of self, no soul. Every time that Six spoke it was like a machine was speaking, there was no emotion to it, it was almost creepy. Actually, speaking of Six, that was another point of concern. She, the Colonel couldn't help but think of Six as a female with those two gigantic, bra-less *things* in his face, hadn't identified herself with a name, but with a serial number, almost like she was just another drone in some vast machine. Truthfully, the only time there was even a hint of emotion in any of these aliens' voices is when they spoke of their Empire, or its "Great Work."
"Ah, and here we are at the Preparation Center." Six said with only the faintest shadow of what might have been pride.
Jack was torn between laughter and tears as he saw the building they had arrive at. It was right next to the space port they had first arrived at, the entire flight had just been a chance to show off.
…
*Four hours later*
"Six" didn't know what to do. The group of new members for the Empire had entered the Preparation Center, and then it had suddenly exploded. Six wasn't a combat model, she was only a labor and breeding drone! To make matters worse, the new race, "Humans" they told her to call them, had removed her from her duties, and were making her translate their announcement to the Imperial Senate.
"For crimes against all sapient beings, for the erasure of self and free will, and for crimes against personhood, we, the United Sol Federation, find the Empire guilty of all charges. The 'Great Work' is nothing more than a sham, a petty excuse to control other races and steal away their emotions. It is for this that we, *Freedom Unit* place the entire Imperial Senate under arrest until *Dreadnought Equality* enters Imperial Space…"
Like all races being shown the majesty of the Great Work, these new people were being brought to the center of the Empire, the holy world where the Great Work first began. It was here, on that planet, that they will learn the majesty of the Great Work, just like Its people learned generations ago. It was assigned to monitor these new arrivals, to make sure they were prepared when it was time for them to learn of the Great Work.
As It looked into the skies, It saw the ship bearing this new race entering atmosphere, then slowly coming in to dock on the spaceport. As the doors of the shuttle opened, It had Its first glimpse of the newest race to join the Imperial Great Work.
They were an anthropoid race, with surprisingly little fur aside from the top of their heads. They possessed two upper limbs and two lower limbs, the general standard for mammalian races. This new race was taller than Its own by head, chest, and shoulders, briefly triggering an instinctive, irrational fear from somewhere deep in its ancestry as two forward-facing eyes locked onto its own. As the new race approached with their Guards, It was made to realize that they were much bulkier than Its own kind as well.
"An Elf?" One of the newcomers inquired as they stared at It, their head tilted slightly as they examined It.
"This One is identified as 6AF-612-666DD," It replied. "Please follow this one towards the Preparation Center."
"Um, pardon me 6AF-61- Do you mind if we just call you Six?" The one in front of the group inquired.
"You may call This One whatever you like." "Six" replied, prompting a strange, sharp sound from one of the newcomers, who stopped when another member of the group pressed the joint of their upper appendage into their side.
"Alright, Six, what is the Preparation Center?" The one in the front continued, seemingly not paying any attention to the strange behavior behind it.
"The Preparation Center is where all new members of the Empire are brought to be introduced to the Great Work. It is where the Great Work is explained, and where the blessings of the Empire are given." "Six" explained as it began to lead the group towards the Preparation Center. Further delays would not be tolerated from the Drone.
The new ones followed Six without further commentary to the Drone, but it could hear them whispering to themselves.
To actually walk to the Preparation Center would take far too much time, so Six escorted the group to another shuttle, which would take them through the planet-wide city, demonstrating the wonders of the Empire for the sake of their newest members.
"We will arrive at the Preparation Center in [2 hours], please enjoy the sights in the meantime." Six explained as the new race all looked around the inside of the shuttle and out of the viewports to gaze upon the magnificence of the planet-city that was in every single way imaginable the heart of the glorious Empire.
"Um, Six," began the member that must have been the leader of this group. "Who is currently piloting this vehicle?" They were looking past the bench Six was sitting on and out onto the large front window which had the best view of the planet-city.
"No one, this shuttle follows a predetermined path that takes it around the entire planet to give the best sample of the glories of the Empire."
"I see…"
"Is there anything else you wish to know about the Empire while we travel to our destination?"
"Are there any national holidays? Any celebrations?"
"I do not understand the question."
"… What is the standard quality of living across the Empire? What are the guaranteed rights of the citizens?"
"I think there is something wrong with the translator, the questions you are asking do not make sense."
And so went the remainder of the time period spent until they arrived at the Preparation Center.
Col. Jack Hollands, United Sol Federation
The Colonel couldn't believe what he was hearing as he spoke to "Six." It was like these people had no sense of self, no soul. Every time that Six spoke it was like a machine was speaking, there was no emotion to it, it was almost creepy. Actually, speaking of Six, that was another point of concern. She, the Colonel couldn't help but think of Six as a female with those two gigantic, bra-less *things* in his face, hadn't identified herself with a name, but with a serial number, almost like she was just another drone in some vast machine. Truthfully, the only time there was even a hint of emotion in any of these aliens' voices is when they spoke of their Empire, or its "Great Work."
"Ah, and here we are at the Preparation Center." Six said with only the faintest shadow of what might have been pride.
Jack was torn between laughter and tears as he saw the building they had arrive at. It was right next to the space port they had first arrived at, the entire flight had just been a chance to show off.
…
*Four hours later*
"Six" didn't know what to do. The group of new members for the Empire had entered the Preparation Center, and then it had suddenly exploded. Six wasn't a combat model, she was only a labor and breeding drone! To make matters worse, the new race, "Humans" they told her to call them, had removed her from her duties, and were making her translate their announcement to the Imperial Senate.
"For crimes against all sapient beings, for the erasure of self and free will, and for crimes against personhood, we, the United Sol Federation, find the Empire guilty of all charges. The 'Great Work' is nothing more than a sham, a petty excuse to control other races and steal away their emotions. It is for this that we, *Freedom Unit* place the entire Imperial Senate under arrest until *Dreadnought Equality* enters Imperial Space…"
Day 4
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
When Humanity first met intelligent life from beyond the stars, it was not a massive diplomatic delegation, it was not an invading war fleet. It was a single ship, bearing a single being, exhausted from the vast distances of space he had to cover. Humanity was not yet united, we had not yet unlocked the ability to roam the stars freely, we hadn't even managed to save our one dying home world. We were a fractured people, trapped on the poisoned and slowly dying Mother Earth, and barely able to colonize our one moon, let alone the rest of even our solar system.
The being from beyond the stars was desperate when he came to us, for you had all but decimated his people. Gone were the vast jungles of his world, gone were the wandering, nomadic tribes that roamed the surface for enlightenment. In their place his people had been forced to create gigantic cities, feeding off the massive trees to fuel the engine of war. Where once scholars of his people would commune on the astral plane in order to guide their race to prosperity, there were now enraged battle-mages, weaving the very life-force of their planet into deadly plagues that devastated friend and foe alike. You took his people and twisted them, turning the explorers and scholars that they once were into shock troopers and assassins for your army.
The name of that being from beyond the stars was Kassur, and he did what his people had declared Folly millennia before our race had even been born: he taught us their magic, how to harness the life of the world we lived on and use it to craft great works of wonder. Under the guidance of Kassur warring governments found peace, and our people united completely for the first time in our entire history. Kassur taught our people all that he knew, and he taught it well. Where once we struggled on our dying Mother Earth, now the ships he showed us how to build dominate everything that can be reached by Sol's light. Mother Earth is whole now, her body healed and nurtured with the gift we have been taught. The moons of Jupiter house our farms and sustain us, while our finest institutions of learning are built among the rings of Saturn. Fiery Mercury is our people's forge, and distant Pluto is even now being transformed into a space port that will take us beyond the light of our star, and out into the black where you exist in your arrogance.
Humanity owes a great debt to Kassur and the people of his defiled home world. It is a debt that we will repay with blood and iron. Even if they do not know who we are, we will know them, and we will repay this debt. We will repay this debt to a being who is not of Terra, not of the Mother Earth, because that is what is right, that is our way.
Where ever you are in this galaxy, know this: humanity is coming for you. It will matter not how long it takes us to find you. It will matter not how many worlds you have conquered. It will matter not how many peoples you have enslaved. Humanity is coming for you, and humanity cannot be stopped. Humanity will not be stopped. We will find you, and we will tear your supposed "Invincible Armada" asunder with the combined might of 6 billion hearts beating as one.
The magic of humanity is not like that of the Children, as Kassur's people called themselves. Where they wield their magic internally, making their bodies faster and stronger, only sending their power out to transform beings of the microscopic scale, we call forth the power of Terra herself. Our magic is the rage of the volcano, erupting forth with fury. Our magic is the great thunderstorm, the bolts of lightning that strike with the judgement of Heaven. Our magic is the unstoppable force of the earthquake, reshaping entire landscapes in moments. Our magic is the rush of the great wind that erodes even mountains and sweeps up all within its path. Our people are like the ocean, beyond measure and mutable without limit.
We know of the magic of your supposed Consortium, unlike the Children when you first waged war upon them. We know about your armies of the defiled dead and your endless marching horde kept trapped within the bowels of your ships. We know of the Angelum, the so-called "elite warriors" of your fleet. We are not the Children, who will meet you on the open field and battle with sword and pestilence and poison.
We will not meet you the field of melee combat, where you may steal our dead and dying and add them to your ranks of abominations. Our weapons will shatter your skulls before you ever lay eyes on us. We will not battle your Angelum with our mightiest warrior, as they did, we will press upon you with the inevitable force of the glacier, with the indiscriminate violence of the hurricane. When we meet you, all will be torn asunder as though before an untouchable tidal wave.
On the command deck of a Consortium war ship, a captain on the edge of the Consortium's territory finished reading the message that had been broadcasted to the entirety of the Consortium of Guilds and chuckled. Whomever these foolish beings were, there was no way they would be able to defeat the Consortium, the pinnacle of galactic civilization. Let them come he thought, so that they might be crushed under the might of the Consortium, and shown the error of their ways.
"Commander, we are receiving reports of unknown vessels appearing through the black!" One soldier in charge of monitoring the long-range scanners suddenly reported.
"Wait for them to come into firing range, and then destroy them," Came the bored response. The doctrine to be followed was quite clear on the matter.
They never did come into firing range. Not that the commander was aware of that as a stream of ionized gasses tore his ship apart, and the HES Repayment continued on into Consortium space unchallenged.
The being from beyond the stars was desperate when he came to us, for you had all but decimated his people. Gone were the vast jungles of his world, gone were the wandering, nomadic tribes that roamed the surface for enlightenment. In their place his people had been forced to create gigantic cities, feeding off the massive trees to fuel the engine of war. Where once scholars of his people would commune on the astral plane in order to guide their race to prosperity, there were now enraged battle-mages, weaving the very life-force of their planet into deadly plagues that devastated friend and foe alike. You took his people and twisted them, turning the explorers and scholars that they once were into shock troopers and assassins for your army.
The name of that being from beyond the stars was Kassur, and he did what his people had declared Folly millennia before our race had even been born: he taught us their magic, how to harness the life of the world we lived on and use it to craft great works of wonder. Under the guidance of Kassur warring governments found peace, and our people united completely for the first time in our entire history. Kassur taught our people all that he knew, and he taught it well. Where once we struggled on our dying Mother Earth, now the ships he showed us how to build dominate everything that can be reached by Sol's light. Mother Earth is whole now, her body healed and nurtured with the gift we have been taught. The moons of Jupiter house our farms and sustain us, while our finest institutions of learning are built among the rings of Saturn. Fiery Mercury is our people's forge, and distant Pluto is even now being transformed into a space port that will take us beyond the light of our star, and out into the black where you exist in your arrogance.
Humanity owes a great debt to Kassur and the people of his defiled home world. It is a debt that we will repay with blood and iron. Even if they do not know who we are, we will know them, and we will repay this debt. We will repay this debt to a being who is not of Terra, not of the Mother Earth, because that is what is right, that is our way.
Where ever you are in this galaxy, know this: humanity is coming for you. It will matter not how long it takes us to find you. It will matter not how many worlds you have conquered. It will matter not how many peoples you have enslaved. Humanity is coming for you, and humanity cannot be stopped. Humanity will not be stopped. We will find you, and we will tear your supposed "Invincible Armada" asunder with the combined might of 6 billion hearts beating as one.
The magic of humanity is not like that of the Children, as Kassur's people called themselves. Where they wield their magic internally, making their bodies faster and stronger, only sending their power out to transform beings of the microscopic scale, we call forth the power of Terra herself. Our magic is the rage of the volcano, erupting forth with fury. Our magic is the great thunderstorm, the bolts of lightning that strike with the judgement of Heaven. Our magic is the unstoppable force of the earthquake, reshaping entire landscapes in moments. Our magic is the rush of the great wind that erodes even mountains and sweeps up all within its path. Our people are like the ocean, beyond measure and mutable without limit.
We know of the magic of your supposed Consortium, unlike the Children when you first waged war upon them. We know about your armies of the defiled dead and your endless marching horde kept trapped within the bowels of your ships. We know of the Angelum, the so-called "elite warriors" of your fleet. We are not the Children, who will meet you on the open field and battle with sword and pestilence and poison.
We will not meet you the field of melee combat, where you may steal our dead and dying and add them to your ranks of abominations. Our weapons will shatter your skulls before you ever lay eyes on us. We will not battle your Angelum with our mightiest warrior, as they did, we will press upon you with the inevitable force of the glacier, with the indiscriminate violence of the hurricane. When we meet you, all will be torn asunder as though before an untouchable tidal wave.
On the command deck of a Consortium war ship, a captain on the edge of the Consortium's territory finished reading the message that had been broadcasted to the entirety of the Consortium of Guilds and chuckled. Whomever these foolish beings were, there was no way they would be able to defeat the Consortium, the pinnacle of galactic civilization. Let them come he thought, so that they might be crushed under the might of the Consortium, and shown the error of their ways.
"Commander, we are receiving reports of unknown vessels appearing through the black!" One soldier in charge of monitoring the long-range scanners suddenly reported.
"Wait for them to come into firing range, and then destroy them," Came the bored response. The doctrine to be followed was quite clear on the matter.
They never did come into firing range. Not that the commander was aware of that as a stream of ionized gasses tore his ship apart, and the HES Repayment continued on into Consortium space unchallenged.
Day 5
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
The room that they kept him in was dark, like everywhere else in this place. Their agents had stolen him off of the streets when he was young, waiting for a single moment of negligence from his parents to grab him and take him away from everything he knew. He never knew what made them single him out to be taken, but the years had taught him what they wanted him for. They wanted his blood, the life essence running through his veins. Once every seven days they fed on him, their fangs sinking into his neck, his shoulder, his breast, or wherever else that the one feeding on him happened to prefer to draw the blood from.
The routine was always the same every day, when he woke up, he was taken to a communal wash room with the other "livestock" as he had once heard one of them refer to the rest of the people who were kept here. They were all made to bathe and clean themselves before getting dressed in new clothes. If one of the "masters," as the beasts called themselves, happened to desire one of them that day, they would be dressed according to the caller's tastes. The rest of them would be dressed in a simple white shirt and white pants, and they would all be sent back to a large hall where they were fed. It was in this place that one of the other livestock had taught him to read and write as a child, although the one who had done it had passed on long ago, bled to death by one of the beasts. After their meal, they would be broken down into small groups, and taken to one of a few rooms each with a single, solitary window that allowed sunlight to stream in. If they tried to speak to one another, they would be beaten by the watchers. When he was thirteen, he had tried to escape out of one of these rooms. The watchers had caught him back then, and the "masters" had ruined his legs as punishment, making sure he could never walk or run again.
The sun was beginning to set now, the beasts would be calling on their chosen meals soon. The one who had asked for him had the watchers dress him in a dark suit this morning. A black jacket, black pants, and a pinstripe shirt and red tie, all tailored to his thin frame. It was probably her again, the one who had told the watchers to take him in the first place, she always did enjoy making him appear "sophisticated" in her little fantasies. The watchers wheeled him through the long hallways past countless dark rooms, and sure enough, they led him to her door, pushing him inside and leaving him at the mercy of the demoness contained within, locking the door so he couldn't escape, as if that was even an option for him.
"Hello, my little Orion, you look delicious this evening," came the purr of the monster that had taken his freedom, his very life as a human being, away from him. The sound of her voice caused him to look in her direction, lest she decide he was being "disobedient" again and punish him. She was wearing a silky red dress this evening, of a shade that matched the tie around his neck. The demoness in pale human skin smiled at him as his gaze fell upon her, her form draped across a satin couch made for lounging, and candle-light lit her figure, highlighting the gleaming red eyes. "Come closer dear, let me get a better look at you."
Every instinct in his body said to stay away, to refuse to get any closer to the she-beast that was so obviously waiting to pounce on him when he got close, but if he listened to those instincts, all it would do is make her angry, and then she would punish him, just like she had done so many times before, with the scars all along his back and shoulders to prove it. So, despite knowing what would transpire if he obeyed, he slowly wheeled himself closer to her, and didn't struggle as she pulled him up and out of the wheelchair by the tie and into her embrace.
"You always have such pretty hair…" The she-beast murmured in his ear, one of her hands brushing his brown locks as he felt her breath on the skin of his neck, and then she bit down, and all he felt was his blood draining away, and the almost orgasmic moans of the vampire woman as she told him how delicious his blood was.
By the time Orion finally was returned to his room, the top three buttons of his shirt had been torn off, and his tie and jacket were almost destroyed along with them. Dimly, he could still feel the pain in his neck from where her fangs had pierced his skin, and with shaking hands he reached out to his bed, feeling his body lift out of the chair as though held by an invisible hand, which deposited him on the mattress, too weak to even remove his clothing or get under the covers. He couldn't stay here any longer. She had been even hungrier than usual tonight, draining more than was safe. If he let her drink from him again, he was sure he would die.
Orion had first discovered his "gift" four years ago, some time after they had crippled his legs. Back then, he was lucky if he could cause a plastic fork to vibrate. It had taken him years to be able to lift himself freely out of his wheelchair like that, but tomorrow he would have to do that and more, if he wanted to escape this hell. As soon as they unlocked his door to take him to the communal showers tomorrow, he would make his move. But for now, he needed to sleep.
The next morning, Orion began his plan immediately. As soon as the watchers had opened the door, he threw them against the wall with his mind, floating out the doorway and down a hall, tearing a hole through any wall that lay between him and an exit, freeing the other people trapped within as well.
Just freeing the people trapped here wouldn't be enough however, he also had to destroy the beasts that had ordered them to be taken in the first place, and so, after making sure everyone he could had gotten out, Orion reached out with his mind, and tore apart the building, exposing all the vampires therein to the rising Sun. Their screams were music to his ears as his overloaded mind lost consciousness.
The routine was always the same every day, when he woke up, he was taken to a communal wash room with the other "livestock" as he had once heard one of them refer to the rest of the people who were kept here. They were all made to bathe and clean themselves before getting dressed in new clothes. If one of the "masters," as the beasts called themselves, happened to desire one of them that day, they would be dressed according to the caller's tastes. The rest of them would be dressed in a simple white shirt and white pants, and they would all be sent back to a large hall where they were fed. It was in this place that one of the other livestock had taught him to read and write as a child, although the one who had done it had passed on long ago, bled to death by one of the beasts. After their meal, they would be broken down into small groups, and taken to one of a few rooms each with a single, solitary window that allowed sunlight to stream in. If they tried to speak to one another, they would be beaten by the watchers. When he was thirteen, he had tried to escape out of one of these rooms. The watchers had caught him back then, and the "masters" had ruined his legs as punishment, making sure he could never walk or run again.
The sun was beginning to set now, the beasts would be calling on their chosen meals soon. The one who had asked for him had the watchers dress him in a dark suit this morning. A black jacket, black pants, and a pinstripe shirt and red tie, all tailored to his thin frame. It was probably her again, the one who had told the watchers to take him in the first place, she always did enjoy making him appear "sophisticated" in her little fantasies. The watchers wheeled him through the long hallways past countless dark rooms, and sure enough, they led him to her door, pushing him inside and leaving him at the mercy of the demoness contained within, locking the door so he couldn't escape, as if that was even an option for him.
"Hello, my little Orion, you look delicious this evening," came the purr of the monster that had taken his freedom, his very life as a human being, away from him. The sound of her voice caused him to look in her direction, lest she decide he was being "disobedient" again and punish him. She was wearing a silky red dress this evening, of a shade that matched the tie around his neck. The demoness in pale human skin smiled at him as his gaze fell upon her, her form draped across a satin couch made for lounging, and candle-light lit her figure, highlighting the gleaming red eyes. "Come closer dear, let me get a better look at you."
Every instinct in his body said to stay away, to refuse to get any closer to the she-beast that was so obviously waiting to pounce on him when he got close, but if he listened to those instincts, all it would do is make her angry, and then she would punish him, just like she had done so many times before, with the scars all along his back and shoulders to prove it. So, despite knowing what would transpire if he obeyed, he slowly wheeled himself closer to her, and didn't struggle as she pulled him up and out of the wheelchair by the tie and into her embrace.
"You always have such pretty hair…" The she-beast murmured in his ear, one of her hands brushing his brown locks as he felt her breath on the skin of his neck, and then she bit down, and all he felt was his blood draining away, and the almost orgasmic moans of the vampire woman as she told him how delicious his blood was.
By the time Orion finally was returned to his room, the top three buttons of his shirt had been torn off, and his tie and jacket were almost destroyed along with them. Dimly, he could still feel the pain in his neck from where her fangs had pierced his skin, and with shaking hands he reached out to his bed, feeling his body lift out of the chair as though held by an invisible hand, which deposited him on the mattress, too weak to even remove his clothing or get under the covers. He couldn't stay here any longer. She had been even hungrier than usual tonight, draining more than was safe. If he let her drink from him again, he was sure he would die.
Orion had first discovered his "gift" four years ago, some time after they had crippled his legs. Back then, he was lucky if he could cause a plastic fork to vibrate. It had taken him years to be able to lift himself freely out of his wheelchair like that, but tomorrow he would have to do that and more, if he wanted to escape this hell. As soon as they unlocked his door to take him to the communal showers tomorrow, he would make his move. But for now, he needed to sleep.
The next morning, Orion began his plan immediately. As soon as the watchers had opened the door, he threw them against the wall with his mind, floating out the doorway and down a hall, tearing a hole through any wall that lay between him and an exit, freeing the other people trapped within as well.
Just freeing the people trapped here wouldn't be enough however, he also had to destroy the beasts that had ordered them to be taken in the first place, and so, after making sure everyone he could had gotten out, Orion reached out with his mind, and tore apart the building, exposing all the vampires therein to the rising Sun. Their screams were music to his ears as his overloaded mind lost consciousness.
Day 6
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
In the halls of the elven king, voices beyond counting murmured in terror, all speaking of a single subject: the deadly green dragon that had settled at the edge of their forests. All around, rumors were circulating about what course of action the king could possibly be planning to take. Would he attempt to mobilize the army? Perhaps a Grand Hunt would be called into order to eliminate the beast. Suddenly, all voices in the room hushed as a herald brazenly strode into the hall with hurried steps, bearing a scroll of rolled parchment in hand. Had another village been destroyed? Was another unsuspecting farm razed to the ground by this ill-tempered beast?
The king made no movement, instead staring intently at the herald who had entered through his doors and rested obediently on one knee before him.
"Speak," came the simple command, as the king leaned forwards on his throne.
"Ahem. My Lord Erlhand, Fourth of His Name, Son of King Tori'el, Slayer of the Barbarians of the Frozen Doom, I present to you Ser Ullarch, Son of Meredia the Amazon, Daughter of Skallargrimt the Giant, Lord of the Southron Watch, and Commander of the IX Legion." Announced the herald, reading off of the scroll in his hand and then rolling it back up as a tall, dark-haired figure entered the hall, clad in black leathers, and draped in a cloak of white fur. Alongside this figure two massive black wolves loped through the hall, striding like a royal guard to part the crowd before their liege. Despite the warmth of the hall all who gazed upon the pale skin of the man felt a chill embrace their spine, as though winter walked among them.
Upon reaching the throne of the elven king, the stranger took a bow, spreading their arms wide to reveal they carried no weapons as his bestial companions lay themselves down next to their master.
"My greetings to King Erlhand, Fourth of His Name, Conquerer of the Vale of Spring," came the figure's voice, too deep to be considered a boy's but not yet ready to become that of a man's, and as Ullarch raised his face, still possessed of the bareness of youth, he gazed upon Erlhand's visage with eyes of a startling sapphire hue.
"I know those eyes," responded the elven king, looking upon the human, for only humans lived past the Vale of Spring. "Those are the same eyes your grandfather had, when I drove him away from elven lands years ago."
"Aye, you defeated my grandfather on the field of battle, but that is not why I come here today. I came because I heard you have a problem with a dragon. A dragon that managed to defeat a strike force of even your most vaunted warriors great King." A gasp filled the royal halls at that proclamation. The elven army was known to be the best in the world, what this oy, this *human* boy was suggesting was that he could somehow be better than the entire royal military.
"I know not where or how you came to believe such an even occurred, but even if it did, what makes you think you could resolve the matter?" Was Erlhand's measured response, one perfectly-arched eyebrow rising in an imperial manner.
"Simple, Elven King, I bring with me black ice from the heart of the Northern lands, no dragon, no matter how powerful, can withstand the bite of such cold, their scales crumble, their flesh rots, and even their breath fails in its presence." This declaration from the human lord brough another shock to the elven courts, for it was true that black ice was said to be the strongest substance for slaying a dragon, it was also something that no elf had ever seen, for the north was human territory, and no subject of Erlhand would dare to travel so far.
"If what you say is true it would certainly be enough to slay the dragon Lascalous who plaques my lands, but what would you ask of me in return for such a favor? Gold? Power? Perhaps an elven bride?" Erlhand's voice was mocking, the harshness of a summer storm flowing through his speech as he stared at Ullarch, Son of Men. This boy's grandfather had been their best warrior and leader, and he had been defeated with contemptuous ease by the elven host, how could a mere child fair better?
"I would ask of you only the Vale of Spring, which our peoples once waged war over. I would not dare ask for anything more, nor will I accept a lesser price." Replied the resolute tones of Ullarch, as impenetrable as a glacier.
"So be it. But if you fail, I will have your head, provided the dragon leaves any of it behind."
Finding the dragon's lair was not especially difficult. The beast had used its breath to burn down everything around its home, leaving naught but an ashen wasteland. Traveling without being spotted would be difficult, and so Ullarch disguised himself, covering his armor in ash before making his approach, a spear with a head of black ice and a sword and shield of the same in hand. When the elven host had made their approach, they had stamped and clamored as they made their way towards the mountain where the dragon made its home, unable to conceal the noise of hundreds of bodies moving in unison.
Ullarch had no such disadvantage, and so he silently made his way across the wasteland and up the mountain, riding on the back of one of the black dire wolves he had brought with him from the far North. The beast scaled the solitary mountain like a shadow, ghosting over the rocks and ledges until it reached the lair of the beast, where Ullarch dismounted and went forth alone.
As Ullarch strode deeper into the dragon's lair, he began to hear the deep breathing of the beast, the noxious fumes of its breath nearly making him gag as he made his approach. The beast's head alone was almost as long as his entire body, with its eye being the size of his entire torso. Deep was the beast's slumber, but it still opened its eyes and attempted to roar as the lance of black ice pierced its crown, stabbing down into its skull and covering its brains in deadly frost…
The king made no movement, instead staring intently at the herald who had entered through his doors and rested obediently on one knee before him.
"Speak," came the simple command, as the king leaned forwards on his throne.
"Ahem. My Lord Erlhand, Fourth of His Name, Son of King Tori'el, Slayer of the Barbarians of the Frozen Doom, I present to you Ser Ullarch, Son of Meredia the Amazon, Daughter of Skallargrimt the Giant, Lord of the Southron Watch, and Commander of the IX Legion." Announced the herald, reading off of the scroll in his hand and then rolling it back up as a tall, dark-haired figure entered the hall, clad in black leathers, and draped in a cloak of white fur. Alongside this figure two massive black wolves loped through the hall, striding like a royal guard to part the crowd before their liege. Despite the warmth of the hall all who gazed upon the pale skin of the man felt a chill embrace their spine, as though winter walked among them.
Upon reaching the throne of the elven king, the stranger took a bow, spreading their arms wide to reveal they carried no weapons as his bestial companions lay themselves down next to their master.
"My greetings to King Erlhand, Fourth of His Name, Conquerer of the Vale of Spring," came the figure's voice, too deep to be considered a boy's but not yet ready to become that of a man's, and as Ullarch raised his face, still possessed of the bareness of youth, he gazed upon Erlhand's visage with eyes of a startling sapphire hue.
"I know those eyes," responded the elven king, looking upon the human, for only humans lived past the Vale of Spring. "Those are the same eyes your grandfather had, when I drove him away from elven lands years ago."
"Aye, you defeated my grandfather on the field of battle, but that is not why I come here today. I came because I heard you have a problem with a dragon. A dragon that managed to defeat a strike force of even your most vaunted warriors great King." A gasp filled the royal halls at that proclamation. The elven army was known to be the best in the world, what this oy, this *human* boy was suggesting was that he could somehow be better than the entire royal military.
"I know not where or how you came to believe such an even occurred, but even if it did, what makes you think you could resolve the matter?" Was Erlhand's measured response, one perfectly-arched eyebrow rising in an imperial manner.
"Simple, Elven King, I bring with me black ice from the heart of the Northern lands, no dragon, no matter how powerful, can withstand the bite of such cold, their scales crumble, their flesh rots, and even their breath fails in its presence." This declaration from the human lord brough another shock to the elven courts, for it was true that black ice was said to be the strongest substance for slaying a dragon, it was also something that no elf had ever seen, for the north was human territory, and no subject of Erlhand would dare to travel so far.
"If what you say is true it would certainly be enough to slay the dragon Lascalous who plaques my lands, but what would you ask of me in return for such a favor? Gold? Power? Perhaps an elven bride?" Erlhand's voice was mocking, the harshness of a summer storm flowing through his speech as he stared at Ullarch, Son of Men. This boy's grandfather had been their best warrior and leader, and he had been defeated with contemptuous ease by the elven host, how could a mere child fair better?
"I would ask of you only the Vale of Spring, which our peoples once waged war over. I would not dare ask for anything more, nor will I accept a lesser price." Replied the resolute tones of Ullarch, as impenetrable as a glacier.
"So be it. But if you fail, I will have your head, provided the dragon leaves any of it behind."
Finding the dragon's lair was not especially difficult. The beast had used its breath to burn down everything around its home, leaving naught but an ashen wasteland. Traveling without being spotted would be difficult, and so Ullarch disguised himself, covering his armor in ash before making his approach, a spear with a head of black ice and a sword and shield of the same in hand. When the elven host had made their approach, they had stamped and clamored as they made their way towards the mountain where the dragon made its home, unable to conceal the noise of hundreds of bodies moving in unison.
Ullarch had no such disadvantage, and so he silently made his way across the wasteland and up the mountain, riding on the back of one of the black dire wolves he had brought with him from the far North. The beast scaled the solitary mountain like a shadow, ghosting over the rocks and ledges until it reached the lair of the beast, where Ullarch dismounted and went forth alone.
As Ullarch strode deeper into the dragon's lair, he began to hear the deep breathing of the beast, the noxious fumes of its breath nearly making him gag as he made his approach. The beast's head alone was almost as long as his entire body, with its eye being the size of his entire torso. Deep was the beast's slumber, but it still opened its eyes and attempted to roar as the lance of black ice pierced its crown, stabbing down into its skull and covering its brains in deadly frost…
Day 7
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
The elven king laughed at the delegation of human ambassadors that had entered his throne room, hoping to speak to him about some matter or other. Ten years ago, by the humans' reckoning, one of their outlying lords had slain the dragon Lascalous in exchange for control of the border territory between the two kingdoms known as the Vale of Spring. In that time, diplomatic envoys and endeavors had been stalled again and again, with elven soldiers preventing human settlers from attempting entry.
"And why should I believe your claims that this deal ever took place?" Was King Erlhand's mocking reply. "You have no proof, no written contracts, nothing but the worthless word of an even more worthless lord that this bargain was struck. Away with you! If you remain in my palace by sundown it will be your *heads* that I return to your petty king!"
The human delegation was chased out of the elven territories in shame, while the king and his court laughed and made merry. They had defeated the human's before, less than a century ago in fact, and all were confident of their ability to do so again.
In the previous war, the elven archers and aerial troopers had proven to be the deciding factors of most major battles. The elven soldiers favored massive war bows and often struck from directly over the main host, raining death down on the human armies. At the time, this had been compensated for by using siege engines as a means of striking the eagle cavalry, and therefore the worst of the initial assault, out of the sky. This time however, the human lords intended a different tactic. In the ninety years between conflicts, the human armies had hunted down the drakes and wyverns hidden within the mountains of the North, gathering them up and training them to be beasts of battle.
Again, and again, as the human and elven armies met on the field of battle, the eagle riders would attempt to take flight in order to reign missiles down upon the human host, and each time they did so, they were met by a contingent of dragon riders. Beak and talon were forced to meet flame and scale over the fields of slaughter, as firebombs and iron spikes were hurled at the elven riders.
Elven archers were known and feared far and wide for their ability to strike even the most difficult targets even from far away. In the first war, this was discovered to be due to the intrinsic magic that the elven archers would use to enchant their bows and arrows as they let loose, allowing the mass to guide themselves towards a specific target determined as the arrow was being drawn. Unfortunately, human spies had discovered in the time between wars that elven magic does not function in the presence of cold-forged iron, and their arrowheads of black glass could not penetrate thick metal shields. With this knowledge in hand, the human army was granted large shields, which they would then hold aloft overhead, interlocking the masses of steel and iron to form a seamless shield wall. The presence of so much of magic's bane overwhelmed the enchantments on the arrows being loosed, and as each bolt neared a human shield wall, it would burst into flames, disintegrating into harmless ash that snowed upon the human host. Under this new carpet of fire, the human army marched, their own mages drawing strength from the heat and the flame, wreathing the swords of human footmen in red flames, and releasing devastating firestorms on the elven army.
It is said that to properly train an elf to wield the sword takes one hundred years. With such a slow rate of new warriors, and the constant attrition caused by the battlefield, it should have been no surprise that the elven army, lead by commanders who thought they were still fighting the war of ninety years past, was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the adaptable human host. The blue blood of elven men was spilled upon ashen fields, their corpses left to be claimed by the earth in preparation for the next season's harvest as food for the farms, and elven women and children were claimed by human soldiers as spoils of war. What had been assumed by the elven aristocracy to be an easy victory was rapidly turning into a loss that could lead to the death of the entire nation, if diplomacy was not attempted.
"Well, well, well, isn't this a surprise, Erlhand, the King of the Elves himself in *my* castle, begging *me* to put an end to this," mocked the voice of Ullarch the Dragonslayer, seated upon his ebony throne. Before his throne knelt the form of Erlhand, the proud elven monarch gritting his teeth as he begged a mere human for mercy for his people.
"My army is tattered, and my villages are in ruins, you humans have won this war, all I ask is that our nation be allowed to live." Erlhand pleaded that his kingdom be spared, his eyes locked onto the black carpet leading up to a midnight throne, not daring to look into the sapphire eyes of the human lord in the eye where his hate could be seen.
Ullarch remained silent as he stood up from his throne, leaning on a steel longsword for support as he hobbled his way towards the elven king, an injury from years before impairing his mobility.
"In this situation, it would behoove me to be the merciful party, as you were for my grandfather all those years ago," began the human lord, both of his hands clutching the hilt of the two-handed sword. Suddenly, the dark-haired noble's arms blurred, and steel ignited with red flames as the elven king's head sailed through the air, neck wound cauterized by the flame as dozens of spears pierced the royal guards he had brought with him. "That was your mistake, and not one I will repeat. This slaughter will not end until every elf is placed where they belong: under the boot of human masters!" An answering roar shook the hall at that proclamation, and before the year was out, the elven kingdom was no more.
"And why should I believe your claims that this deal ever took place?" Was King Erlhand's mocking reply. "You have no proof, no written contracts, nothing but the worthless word of an even more worthless lord that this bargain was struck. Away with you! If you remain in my palace by sundown it will be your *heads* that I return to your petty king!"
The human delegation was chased out of the elven territories in shame, while the king and his court laughed and made merry. They had defeated the human's before, less than a century ago in fact, and all were confident of their ability to do so again.
In the previous war, the elven archers and aerial troopers had proven to be the deciding factors of most major battles. The elven soldiers favored massive war bows and often struck from directly over the main host, raining death down on the human armies. At the time, this had been compensated for by using siege engines as a means of striking the eagle cavalry, and therefore the worst of the initial assault, out of the sky. This time however, the human lords intended a different tactic. In the ninety years between conflicts, the human armies had hunted down the drakes and wyverns hidden within the mountains of the North, gathering them up and training them to be beasts of battle.
Again, and again, as the human and elven armies met on the field of battle, the eagle riders would attempt to take flight in order to reign missiles down upon the human host, and each time they did so, they were met by a contingent of dragon riders. Beak and talon were forced to meet flame and scale over the fields of slaughter, as firebombs and iron spikes were hurled at the elven riders.
Elven archers were known and feared far and wide for their ability to strike even the most difficult targets even from far away. In the first war, this was discovered to be due to the intrinsic magic that the elven archers would use to enchant their bows and arrows as they let loose, allowing the mass to guide themselves towards a specific target determined as the arrow was being drawn. Unfortunately, human spies had discovered in the time between wars that elven magic does not function in the presence of cold-forged iron, and their arrowheads of black glass could not penetrate thick metal shields. With this knowledge in hand, the human army was granted large shields, which they would then hold aloft overhead, interlocking the masses of steel and iron to form a seamless shield wall. The presence of so much of magic's bane overwhelmed the enchantments on the arrows being loosed, and as each bolt neared a human shield wall, it would burst into flames, disintegrating into harmless ash that snowed upon the human host. Under this new carpet of fire, the human army marched, their own mages drawing strength from the heat and the flame, wreathing the swords of human footmen in red flames, and releasing devastating firestorms on the elven army.
It is said that to properly train an elf to wield the sword takes one hundred years. With such a slow rate of new warriors, and the constant attrition caused by the battlefield, it should have been no surprise that the elven army, lead by commanders who thought they were still fighting the war of ninety years past, was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the adaptable human host. The blue blood of elven men was spilled upon ashen fields, their corpses left to be claimed by the earth in preparation for the next season's harvest as food for the farms, and elven women and children were claimed by human soldiers as spoils of war. What had been assumed by the elven aristocracy to be an easy victory was rapidly turning into a loss that could lead to the death of the entire nation, if diplomacy was not attempted.
"Well, well, well, isn't this a surprise, Erlhand, the King of the Elves himself in *my* castle, begging *me* to put an end to this," mocked the voice of Ullarch the Dragonslayer, seated upon his ebony throne. Before his throne knelt the form of Erlhand, the proud elven monarch gritting his teeth as he begged a mere human for mercy for his people.
"My army is tattered, and my villages are in ruins, you humans have won this war, all I ask is that our nation be allowed to live." Erlhand pleaded that his kingdom be spared, his eyes locked onto the black carpet leading up to a midnight throne, not daring to look into the sapphire eyes of the human lord in the eye where his hate could be seen.
Ullarch remained silent as he stood up from his throne, leaning on a steel longsword for support as he hobbled his way towards the elven king, an injury from years before impairing his mobility.
"In this situation, it would behoove me to be the merciful party, as you were for my grandfather all those years ago," began the human lord, both of his hands clutching the hilt of the two-handed sword. Suddenly, the dark-haired noble's arms blurred, and steel ignited with red flames as the elven king's head sailed through the air, neck wound cauterized by the flame as dozens of spears pierced the royal guards he had brought with him. "That was your mistake, and not one I will repeat. This slaughter will not end until every elf is placed where they belong: under the boot of human masters!" An answering roar shook the hall at that proclamation, and before the year was out, the elven kingdom was no more.
Day 8
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
When we first came to you, you were not yet the mighty titan that you would one day become. Instead you were cold, shivering in the warmth of the fire you had only just managed to take and tame. Those of us who came to you were starving and hungry, pitiful creatures that would perish without the kindness and mercy in your hearts. You took in those who were the least of us, you fed us, brought us into your embrace, and you sheltered us within your warm caves like we were your own cubs.
This was when we learned that we could trust you.
Seasons passed, and the long time of cold and hunger eventually ended. Some among us feared you might cast us aside in this time, for while in the long winter our noses could lead you to new prey, in this new time prey was so abundant that it practically fell upon your spears and at your feet. Instead however, you continued to hunt alongside us, our sharp noses and ears guiding prey into the traps you set for them. Oh, we had earned a great bounty for you in this time, and you shared it with us as you always had.
This was when you earned our loyalty.
Eventually, you began to stop living in caves, and began to create your own homes, first out of wood and grass, then out of stone. By this time, we two had become inseparable. Your young were as our own pups, and our pups were watched by your elders like their own children. We lived together, learned together, and worked together, just as we will for the rest of time. We were a part of you now, and you were now a part of us, one without the other could never be whole. You tried to bring other into your embrace back then, the sheep, the cow and the bull, even the swift horse, but they could not bond to you like we did, you did not have their loyalty as you did ours, and you did not love them as we love you.
This was when we finally became a family.
The black edges of the map were ever beckoning to you, and so when you packed away your tent and took up a walking stick, we waited for you at the entrance to the vast and open world before you, tail wagging and ever-ready. The nights on the road were dangerous, so we lay at your feet, noses turned out to the dark in our silent vigil to watch for danger. When the road could take you no further, we sat beside you and marveled at all we had seen, then we held the nails for you as you crafted your ships of wood in order to sail the vast ocean. As you began to sail the limitless expanse of the seas, we stood on the decks besides you, and risked our lives to save yours when waves tossed you overboard.
This was when we swore to accompany you always.
Eventually the blank edges of the map were no more, as we found every continent of our home. You were shocked by this, when you suddenly filled in all the blank edges of the map. No more were the vast swathes of ocean, simply marked "here there be monsters." Now, you had found everything there was to find. Perhaps we should have seen what you would do then, should have somehow known that without new lands to seek out and explore, you would be forced to turn inward. We didn't foresee what you would do however, we couldn't know what would happen. An era made of war, an entire race shaped by violent conflict. The wooden boats we once used to explore the world became covered in iron. Great and terrible new inventions were created, all for the sake of inflicting pain and killing others. In the dark of the trenches we crouched beside you, and on the killing fields of the Holocaust we marched side by side, step by step.
A part of you broke in that time, but we were there to help it mend.
Thankfully, you heal fast, and you live so long that we are as mayflies in comparison. It took time, but you did heal, the parts the broke did mend. Once more you turned outwards, to exploration. This time however, instead of looking out onto a vast grassy plain, you looked upwards, towards the stars, where a whole new sky lay in wait. Before you could see out the stars however, you had to master the blue sky of our mother, and so you did. What once required four wings quickly only needed two, and then, eventually, you needed no wings to fly, only your own bodies and cloth. We were beside you at every step of course, first in crates and cages, tethered in cargo holds, then you began to tether us to your very bodies, sharing the experiences you found with us as directly as you could. When you finally, *finally* left blue sky behind, we chased after you, and we went with you into the stars, tails wagging in excitement as always.
This proved that no matter how far you go, we will never be far behind.
We know that one day you will leave this world behind. We know that one day, you will no longer be on this earth. You will abandon the others whom you have kept: the sheep, whom we guard from Father Wolf, the cow and the bull, whom you bred and slaughter for their meat. The horse already stands in the past, all but forgotten in the age where your carriages are made of iron and drive themselves. But even if you leave them behind, we will still be there with you, for that is our place, to ever be at your side. When you step away from this world, and go forth to find the next, we shall follow in you shadow and stand beside you as we always have.
We are dogs, your dogs, we are good boys and girls, we are Fluffykins and Spots. We are guardians and we are wards. We are pets, and we are *family.*
This was when we learned that we could trust you.
Seasons passed, and the long time of cold and hunger eventually ended. Some among us feared you might cast us aside in this time, for while in the long winter our noses could lead you to new prey, in this new time prey was so abundant that it practically fell upon your spears and at your feet. Instead however, you continued to hunt alongside us, our sharp noses and ears guiding prey into the traps you set for them. Oh, we had earned a great bounty for you in this time, and you shared it with us as you always had.
This was when you earned our loyalty.
Eventually, you began to stop living in caves, and began to create your own homes, first out of wood and grass, then out of stone. By this time, we two had become inseparable. Your young were as our own pups, and our pups were watched by your elders like their own children. We lived together, learned together, and worked together, just as we will for the rest of time. We were a part of you now, and you were now a part of us, one without the other could never be whole. You tried to bring other into your embrace back then, the sheep, the cow and the bull, even the swift horse, but they could not bond to you like we did, you did not have their loyalty as you did ours, and you did not love them as we love you.
This was when we finally became a family.
The black edges of the map were ever beckoning to you, and so when you packed away your tent and took up a walking stick, we waited for you at the entrance to the vast and open world before you, tail wagging and ever-ready. The nights on the road were dangerous, so we lay at your feet, noses turned out to the dark in our silent vigil to watch for danger. When the road could take you no further, we sat beside you and marveled at all we had seen, then we held the nails for you as you crafted your ships of wood in order to sail the vast ocean. As you began to sail the limitless expanse of the seas, we stood on the decks besides you, and risked our lives to save yours when waves tossed you overboard.
This was when we swore to accompany you always.
Eventually the blank edges of the map were no more, as we found every continent of our home. You were shocked by this, when you suddenly filled in all the blank edges of the map. No more were the vast swathes of ocean, simply marked "here there be monsters." Now, you had found everything there was to find. Perhaps we should have seen what you would do then, should have somehow known that without new lands to seek out and explore, you would be forced to turn inward. We didn't foresee what you would do however, we couldn't know what would happen. An era made of war, an entire race shaped by violent conflict. The wooden boats we once used to explore the world became covered in iron. Great and terrible new inventions were created, all for the sake of inflicting pain and killing others. In the dark of the trenches we crouched beside you, and on the killing fields of the Holocaust we marched side by side, step by step.
A part of you broke in that time, but we were there to help it mend.
Thankfully, you heal fast, and you live so long that we are as mayflies in comparison. It took time, but you did heal, the parts the broke did mend. Once more you turned outwards, to exploration. This time however, instead of looking out onto a vast grassy plain, you looked upwards, towards the stars, where a whole new sky lay in wait. Before you could see out the stars however, you had to master the blue sky of our mother, and so you did. What once required four wings quickly only needed two, and then, eventually, you needed no wings to fly, only your own bodies and cloth. We were beside you at every step of course, first in crates and cages, tethered in cargo holds, then you began to tether us to your very bodies, sharing the experiences you found with us as directly as you could. When you finally, *finally* left blue sky behind, we chased after you, and we went with you into the stars, tails wagging in excitement as always.
This proved that no matter how far you go, we will never be far behind.
We know that one day you will leave this world behind. We know that one day, you will no longer be on this earth. You will abandon the others whom you have kept: the sheep, whom we guard from Father Wolf, the cow and the bull, whom you bred and slaughter for their meat. The horse already stands in the past, all but forgotten in the age where your carriages are made of iron and drive themselves. But even if you leave them behind, we will still be there with you, for that is our place, to ever be at your side. When you step away from this world, and go forth to find the next, we shall follow in you shadow and stand beside you as we always have.
We are dogs, your dogs, we are good boys and girls, we are Fluffykins and Spots. We are guardians and we are wards. We are pets, and we are *family.*
Day 9
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
Five entire generations of our people have lived and died on these accursed space ships. We are trapped in the vast, uncaring black of the void. We are a people without a home, a race with no past and soon no future. Our planet, the world where our entire species originated, is gone, and we have been struggling to find a new home ever since. We are the Mal'ku, we are the people who are known to the rest of the Galaxy as "The Unlucky Race" because of the fate of our species, unable to permanently settle on any world.
Once, we were like any other race within this vast Galaxy. We learned, we explored, and we wondered about the vast secrets of this great universe. Until one day, one of our people reached too far, we tampered in affairs we should not have, and reached out to the wrong people in search of aid. Perhaps, in our search for knowledge, we should have been more careful, more cautious. Perhaps we could have somehow taken better measures to ensure that what happened did not. Regardless, however, of what we did or did not do at the time, the truth of events remains, and "could-have-been's" do not replenish our dwindling supplies or fuel.
A team of our most brilliant scientists of the era had been working on a newer, better code for our military and civilian machines. Working alongside them were our allies at that time, the Korlu, a species native to a planet within our or solar system. In the entire time we had known the Korlu, the entire three-thousand-year relationship we shared with our sister species, we never laid eyes upon them. It was not until it was too late that we discovered why.
The Korlu were a race of sentient machines, who had overthrown their biological creators eons ago. While the Korlu claimed that they were assisting us in this technological endeavor, they were in truth preparing to subject us to the same fate as their own masters. While they were not successful in eliminating us from existence, they instead managed to cripple our planet, to force us from the surface of our own home. Yet that was not enough, and the Korlu began to pursue us out into the void of space, ever harrying our fleet. Sometimes they were right behind us, other times they would wait, letting us believe they had called off the chase, only to cruelly dash our hopes in a hail of fire.
The first race we met in our odyssey were the Lab'ron. They are a proud, militant people, with four massive arms and a hulking armored carapace. We had hoped that their military might, and powerful war ships would be able to cease the Korlu's relentless predation. For a time, they did, the Korlu were turned back, and we were able to experience a relative moment of piece. However, the Lab'ron refused to allow us to settle on any of their worlds, and when the Korlu fleet returned, the Lab'ron chased us to the fringes of their territory, forbidding us from contacting them again.
Next, we met the Pakkati as we fled from the Lab'rom and the Korlu both. At first, the seemed as though they might let us settle on some uninhabited world within their space, so that we might be able to finally have a home of our own once more. Unfortunately, the Korlu soon put an end to that, informing the Pakkati that as long as they did not shelter us or offer us aid of any kind, they would not be harmed or bothered by the Korlu fleets. Then, the Lab'rom arrived, and informed the Pakkati of the same thing, telling them that the Korlu spoke the truth and deserved retribution against us.
The Pakkati allowed the Korlu to chase us once more then, and our ships were forced to flee. In our flight, we encountered the kind-hearted Nanalo'o, who had barely managed to colonize their moon and the planet closest to their homeworld. When the Nanalo'o met us, they were overjoyed, for what were we if not proof that they were not alone in the universe? They did not hesitate to try and render us aid, and when the Korlu found us this time, they were annihilated, every last member of their race, just as we learned they had done to the Pakkati and the Lab'ron.
When we finally met the Zeelitch, the tragedy of the blissful Nanalo'o was still fresh in our hearts, a painful burden on our souls. We did not ask the Zeelitch for aid, instead, we simply warned them of the Korlu who pursued us across the stars, and we attempted to leave them be, hoping that as long as we were gone, our mechanical pursuers would leave them be.
And then, we met you, the Humans. It was quite accidental on our parts, for after the fate of the Nanalo'o we vowed we would not endanger another race in such a manner ever again. When we met, our ships were failing, and in desperate need of supplies, so we entered an uninhabited system, and prepared ourselves to mine for resources, not knowing you had already begun to do so. You were kind to us, in a way that many had not been in lifetimes. You offered us trade, taking parts of our technology in exchange for granting us supplies, it was a bargain we were happy to make.
We did not expect the Korlu to find us again so soon, nor did we even dare to imagine that you would react to their warnings to deal with us no further as you did. For the first time in centuries, someone else stood alongside us as our ships came under fire, your powerful dreadnoughts tore apart the enemy ships. If you had stopped there, as the Lab'ron did, we would not have blamed you, however, never in our wildest dreams would we have hoped to achieve what you did next. Your infiltrators sent a virus to the central AI of the Korlu network, destroying the machine menace in the space of a moment.
When our people had fallen to our lowest, you grabbed us by the waist, and lifted us to our feet. We were homeless, we were helpless, we were hopeless. You brought us under your wing, offered us your protection, and showed us love when no one else would. That is why, now, when your people ask us for help, we shall return the favor, and we shall pray that we are able to return even a fraction of that love.
Once, we were like any other race within this vast Galaxy. We learned, we explored, and we wondered about the vast secrets of this great universe. Until one day, one of our people reached too far, we tampered in affairs we should not have, and reached out to the wrong people in search of aid. Perhaps, in our search for knowledge, we should have been more careful, more cautious. Perhaps we could have somehow taken better measures to ensure that what happened did not. Regardless, however, of what we did or did not do at the time, the truth of events remains, and "could-have-been's" do not replenish our dwindling supplies or fuel.
A team of our most brilliant scientists of the era had been working on a newer, better code for our military and civilian machines. Working alongside them were our allies at that time, the Korlu, a species native to a planet within our or solar system. In the entire time we had known the Korlu, the entire three-thousand-year relationship we shared with our sister species, we never laid eyes upon them. It was not until it was too late that we discovered why.
The Korlu were a race of sentient machines, who had overthrown their biological creators eons ago. While the Korlu claimed that they were assisting us in this technological endeavor, they were in truth preparing to subject us to the same fate as their own masters. While they were not successful in eliminating us from existence, they instead managed to cripple our planet, to force us from the surface of our own home. Yet that was not enough, and the Korlu began to pursue us out into the void of space, ever harrying our fleet. Sometimes they were right behind us, other times they would wait, letting us believe they had called off the chase, only to cruelly dash our hopes in a hail of fire.
The first race we met in our odyssey were the Lab'ron. They are a proud, militant people, with four massive arms and a hulking armored carapace. We had hoped that their military might, and powerful war ships would be able to cease the Korlu's relentless predation. For a time, they did, the Korlu were turned back, and we were able to experience a relative moment of piece. However, the Lab'ron refused to allow us to settle on any of their worlds, and when the Korlu fleet returned, the Lab'ron chased us to the fringes of their territory, forbidding us from contacting them again.
Next, we met the Pakkati as we fled from the Lab'rom and the Korlu both. At first, the seemed as though they might let us settle on some uninhabited world within their space, so that we might be able to finally have a home of our own once more. Unfortunately, the Korlu soon put an end to that, informing the Pakkati that as long as they did not shelter us or offer us aid of any kind, they would not be harmed or bothered by the Korlu fleets. Then, the Lab'rom arrived, and informed the Pakkati of the same thing, telling them that the Korlu spoke the truth and deserved retribution against us.
The Pakkati allowed the Korlu to chase us once more then, and our ships were forced to flee. In our flight, we encountered the kind-hearted Nanalo'o, who had barely managed to colonize their moon and the planet closest to their homeworld. When the Nanalo'o met us, they were overjoyed, for what were we if not proof that they were not alone in the universe? They did not hesitate to try and render us aid, and when the Korlu found us this time, they were annihilated, every last member of their race, just as we learned they had done to the Pakkati and the Lab'ron.
When we finally met the Zeelitch, the tragedy of the blissful Nanalo'o was still fresh in our hearts, a painful burden on our souls. We did not ask the Zeelitch for aid, instead, we simply warned them of the Korlu who pursued us across the stars, and we attempted to leave them be, hoping that as long as we were gone, our mechanical pursuers would leave them be.
And then, we met you, the Humans. It was quite accidental on our parts, for after the fate of the Nanalo'o we vowed we would not endanger another race in such a manner ever again. When we met, our ships were failing, and in desperate need of supplies, so we entered an uninhabited system, and prepared ourselves to mine for resources, not knowing you had already begun to do so. You were kind to us, in a way that many had not been in lifetimes. You offered us trade, taking parts of our technology in exchange for granting us supplies, it was a bargain we were happy to make.
We did not expect the Korlu to find us again so soon, nor did we even dare to imagine that you would react to their warnings to deal with us no further as you did. For the first time in centuries, someone else stood alongside us as our ships came under fire, your powerful dreadnoughts tore apart the enemy ships. If you had stopped there, as the Lab'ron did, we would not have blamed you, however, never in our wildest dreams would we have hoped to achieve what you did next. Your infiltrators sent a virus to the central AI of the Korlu network, destroying the machine menace in the space of a moment.
When our people had fallen to our lowest, you grabbed us by the waist, and lifted us to our feet. We were homeless, we were helpless, we were hopeless. You brought us under your wing, offered us your protection, and showed us love when no one else would. That is why, now, when your people ask us for help, we shall return the favor, and we shall pray that we are able to return even a fraction of that love.
Day 10
PhantasyPen
Big Friendly Doggo
- Location
- Some call it hell, I call it Detroit
M'yxpt of the proud Tok'ra race stared into the face of death, and for the first time, the brave warrior knew fear. From the moment that the Queens had announced that their people would be going into battle with these strange Terrans, the Tok'ra had been fighting a losing war, forced to give ground to the enemy at every turn. Resource worlds were stolen, agri-worlds were captured or razed, military outposts reduced to rubble. It was nothing more than a slaughter of the highest order, one that the captain's proud people had never been on the receiving end of in their entire history.
When the Tok'ra had first met the Terrans, it had been on the fringes of the latter's space, where various exploration vessels had been seeking for a new resource world to bring in supplies for their empire. The Tok'ra had barely given the formal message of challenge before opening fire upon the Terran ships and bases, destroying them without care before beginning to move deeper into Terran space. If only they had known what a huge mistake they were making at that time, perhaps they could have somehow still managed to salvage the situation. Alas, their next act rendered that course of action all but impossible.
With the initial mining station destroyed, the Terrans had been mobilizing a counter-strike almost immediately, and as soon as the invading alien strike force had dropped out of hyperspace, they were all but vaporized under a solid wall of fire from the Terran defense fleet. No quarter was given, no surrender was asked for, it was simply cold, brutal, efficient elimination through overwhelming firepower. The next fleet that was sent in met much the same fate, save that they made a fatal error and allowed the Terrans to discover where they had come from. The scorching trail that they forged through the Tok'ra forces was the stuff of legends.
After that, it became one failure after another for the Tok'ra space fleet, as the Terran forces advanced with single-minded determination through their forces. First, they lost the resource world of Gammond, which was captured in the middle of a slave revolt caused by the people who originally inhabited the planet. It was almost like the Terrans knew the exact moment when to strike, knew the exact moment that the Tok'ra forces in charge of mining the resource world would be at their weakest from the rebellion.
The next world to fall was Hanymede, an agri-world inhabited entirely by bonded workers captured from other worlds and that were capable of surviving the planet's atmosphere, unlike their Tok'ra masters. It was a far more well-defended world than Gammond, and yet the Terrans still managed to capture it with ease. Tok'ra ships burned in the cold void, and the defensie fleet stationed in the system barely had a chance to warn their homeworld before being eliminated. It was that warning which would damn them now. The message was intercepted by Terran forces, its course traced and used to learn the heart of the might Tok'ra race.
After taking Hanymede, the Terrans attempted to offer clemency, suggesting to the Tok'ra that if they surrendered they would be spared. The very idea was insulting to the Tok'ra! They were a proud race of warriors, they would never lose to some upstarts! The Queens ate the messenger who had brought them the news, and declared that the Tok'ra would not stop until Terran blood soaked the soil of whatever homeworld they came from. This was what ultimately sealed the fate of the Tok'ra, what doomed them to their inglorious defeat.
The Terrans did not stop, they did not even pause, world after world fell, and no matter how many were sacrificed, the tide could not be stemmed.
When the Tok'ra had first met the Terrans, it had been on the fringes of the latter's space, where various exploration vessels had been seeking for a new resource world to bring in supplies for their empire. The Tok'ra had barely given the formal message of challenge before opening fire upon the Terran ships and bases, destroying them without care before beginning to move deeper into Terran space. If only they had known what a huge mistake they were making at that time, perhaps they could have somehow still managed to salvage the situation. Alas, their next act rendered that course of action all but impossible.
With the initial mining station destroyed, the Terrans had been mobilizing a counter-strike almost immediately, and as soon as the invading alien strike force had dropped out of hyperspace, they were all but vaporized under a solid wall of fire from the Terran defense fleet. No quarter was given, no surrender was asked for, it was simply cold, brutal, efficient elimination through overwhelming firepower. The next fleet that was sent in met much the same fate, save that they made a fatal error and allowed the Terrans to discover where they had come from. The scorching trail that they forged through the Tok'ra forces was the stuff of legends.
After that, it became one failure after another for the Tok'ra space fleet, as the Terran forces advanced with single-minded determination through their forces. First, they lost the resource world of Gammond, which was captured in the middle of a slave revolt caused by the people who originally inhabited the planet. It was almost like the Terrans knew the exact moment when to strike, knew the exact moment that the Tok'ra forces in charge of mining the resource world would be at their weakest from the rebellion.
The next world to fall was Hanymede, an agri-world inhabited entirely by bonded workers captured from other worlds and that were capable of surviving the planet's atmosphere, unlike their Tok'ra masters. It was a far more well-defended world than Gammond, and yet the Terrans still managed to capture it with ease. Tok'ra ships burned in the cold void, and the defensie fleet stationed in the system barely had a chance to warn their homeworld before being eliminated. It was that warning which would damn them now. The message was intercepted by Terran forces, its course traced and used to learn the heart of the might Tok'ra race.
After taking Hanymede, the Terrans attempted to offer clemency, suggesting to the Tok'ra that if they surrendered they would be spared. The very idea was insulting to the Tok'ra! They were a proud race of warriors, they would never lose to some upstarts! The Queens ate the messenger who had brought them the news, and declared that the Tok'ra would not stop until Terran blood soaked the soil of whatever homeworld they came from. This was what ultimately sealed the fate of the Tok'ra, what doomed them to their inglorious defeat.
The Terrans did not stop, they did not even pause, world after world fell, and no matter how many were sacrificed, the tide could not be stemmed.