Re: QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 1: Godsworn Valley]
05-19-2012, 12:31 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by One.
There was no point in stealth in the plains. Arokht’s dark blue armor, with its striking contrast to the wispy, golden grass, was impossible to conceal, though his sheer size made it difficult to find adequate cover anyways. Not that Arokht wanted to hide. According to his chronometer, he’d been wandering for slightly more than fourteen minutes, all without something to properly vent his frustration on. He’d tried, though. In the wake of his travels lay a trail of shattered trees and frozen earth.
Occasionally he’d stumble across the site of some recent skirmish, where the bodies were still fresh and the casings were still warm, but where the survivors had already moved on. In order to glean more information about this alien battleground, Arokht would pause in his wanderings at these sites to examine the corpses. They were humans, the same humans that his old enemy worshipped as gods. But here, instead of robes and linen, they wore armor and carried guns. Arokht thought it was strangely amusing to see their gods kill each other in such brutal ways.
The humans’ projectile-based weapons were strikingly primitive in Arokht’s eyes. His own armor was built to withstand them and more. It would take sustained fire for the humans to have a chance of wounding the iceworlder, long enough for Arokht to pulverize them. That is, if the humans could manage to focus on killing him instead of each other. He’d identified at least half a dozen different factions, all marked by their own unique armor and colors. Close by lay a soldier dressed in what seemed to be archaic medieval plate armor. A little ways away lay a soldier in a sand-colored uniform, his head blown clean off by a sniper’s round. In the distance was a tank, its chassis still burning, charring the ornate designs engraved into its hull. It was total war. Arokht found it beautiful.
But among all the human casualties were a few anomalies. On the site of some battles, where the fighting had been particularly pitched, lay unusual bodies. They were as varied as the humans themselves. On one such battlefield lay the disjointed parts of some sort of bronze and iron automaton. Its limbs had no apparent way of connecting to each other. A pair of tesla coils sprouted from its shoulders. Further off was the shattered corpse of a spider twelve feet across, its body made of coral and algae-covered rock. Arokht was currently poring over a humanoid giant that seemed to be made entirely out of jagged metal. While human soldiers posed little threat to him, these beasts would no doubt be fearsome opponents if the iceworlder ever had to fight them. His mandibles clacked in delight at the prospect.
While Arokht was certainly simple-minded, that was more a result of his military upbringing than any lack of intelligence. His thought process revolved around war, the fighting of. So while he appeared engrossed in the metal corpse before him, he always kept one eye on his motion sensor in case somebody tried to sneak up on him.
Then a voice just behind him called out, <font color="#008080">“Hail, son of—“
Arokht whirled around, bringing his cannon to bear at the undetected intruder. His mind raced into action. His four eyes, swiveling independently, swiftly brought his ambushers into focus.
There were four of them, each dressed in blue and teal uniforms that fully concealed their bodies. Three wore padded coats with plates of armor buckled to them, protecting their upper bodies. Similar plating was strapped to their knees and shins, over similarly padded pants and boots. They carried rifles. Arokht had seen corpses in similar armor scattered across the plains.
The fourth wore a heavy robe with a plastic sheen to it. Over the robe was armor similar to that of the other three, if slightly thinner. This one was strangely unarmed. All four wore gas masks that covered their faces, with bulky breathing apparatuses and opaque lenses. The robed one had a smaller, less cumbersome rebreather, although Arokht could not tell whether this was because it more advanced or because it was simply less armored.
“—Frigidus, Father Winter!” finished the robed one. “I am brother Gelu, chaplain of Section 23 of the Frostsworn Field Corps.”
Despite their sudden appearance, Arokht held his fire, intrigued by the humans’ curious behavior. The three in the combat armor were kneeling behind the robed one, whose arms were outstretched in a vaguely dramatic fashion. It stood tall and proud in front of the huge iceworlder, but the shaking of its limbs suggested nervousness, or fear. What really gave Arokht pause, however, was the fact that it was speaking his language. The iceworlder tongue was guttural and rough, usually impossible to pronounce with simian vocal chords. But here it was, being spoken like a native by a human.
As the chaplain continued to speak, Arokht let his cannon fall, settling into a more relaxed stance. Brother Gelu had piqued his curiosity. At the same time, the iceworlder tried to figure out why his motion sensor had not detected Gelu and his soldiers.
His sensor was not particularly sensitive, but it was quite advanced. Rather than tracking all motion on the battlefield, it only showed those that fell into a certain size and temperature range: the average for sentient carbon-based life. For these soldiers to have bypassed his sensor meant that either their armor completely masked their body heat or they were as cold as corpses.
“Of twelve crusaders, we four are all that remain. We are lost and afraid. We desire guidance, Son of Winter. I, Brother Gelu, humbly beg you for your aid, and to strike back at those who would destroy us.”
Brother Gelu knelt, bowing his head and extending a gloved hand, but was met with silence from the giant.
Arokht tilted his head quizzically. He had no idea what a Son of Winter was, but suspected that it was similar to one of the nonhuman corpses he’d seen. And these soldiers had mistaken him for one. Under normal circumstances, he would have crushed the humans and been done with it. Humans were aliens, and alliances or not, aliens were meant to be killed.
But these weren’t normal circumstances. Arokht was alone on this hostile world, so any offers of allegiance were a blessing. Not to mention that having a few natives around meant that they could serve as guides, thereby assuaging his complete lack of information.
Accepting Gelu’s offer seemed to be the most prudent course of action, but doing so would go against everything that Arokht knew.
There was silence for a few minutes more. Arokht tapped his secondary limbs’ fingers in indecision.
Gelu was undeterred. Demons of winter tended to give worshippers the cold shoulder at first.
Then Arokht extended one of his secondary arms, enclosing the chaplain’s hand in one four-fingered embrace.
“Very well,” rumbled the iceworlder.</font>
There was no point in stealth in the plains. Arokht’s dark blue armor, with its striking contrast to the wispy, golden grass, was impossible to conceal, though his sheer size made it difficult to find adequate cover anyways. Not that Arokht wanted to hide. According to his chronometer, he’d been wandering for slightly more than fourteen minutes, all without something to properly vent his frustration on. He’d tried, though. In the wake of his travels lay a trail of shattered trees and frozen earth.
Occasionally he’d stumble across the site of some recent skirmish, where the bodies were still fresh and the casings were still warm, but where the survivors had already moved on. In order to glean more information about this alien battleground, Arokht would pause in his wanderings at these sites to examine the corpses. They were humans, the same humans that his old enemy worshipped as gods. But here, instead of robes and linen, they wore armor and carried guns. Arokht thought it was strangely amusing to see their gods kill each other in such brutal ways.
The humans’ projectile-based weapons were strikingly primitive in Arokht’s eyes. His own armor was built to withstand them and more. It would take sustained fire for the humans to have a chance of wounding the iceworlder, long enough for Arokht to pulverize them. That is, if the humans could manage to focus on killing him instead of each other. He’d identified at least half a dozen different factions, all marked by their own unique armor and colors. Close by lay a soldier dressed in what seemed to be archaic medieval plate armor. A little ways away lay a soldier in a sand-colored uniform, his head blown clean off by a sniper’s round. In the distance was a tank, its chassis still burning, charring the ornate designs engraved into its hull. It was total war. Arokht found it beautiful.
But among all the human casualties were a few anomalies. On the site of some battles, where the fighting had been particularly pitched, lay unusual bodies. They were as varied as the humans themselves. On one such battlefield lay the disjointed parts of some sort of bronze and iron automaton. Its limbs had no apparent way of connecting to each other. A pair of tesla coils sprouted from its shoulders. Further off was the shattered corpse of a spider twelve feet across, its body made of coral and algae-covered rock. Arokht was currently poring over a humanoid giant that seemed to be made entirely out of jagged metal. While human soldiers posed little threat to him, these beasts would no doubt be fearsome opponents if the iceworlder ever had to fight them. His mandibles clacked in delight at the prospect.
While Arokht was certainly simple-minded, that was more a result of his military upbringing than any lack of intelligence. His thought process revolved around war, the fighting of. So while he appeared engrossed in the metal corpse before him, he always kept one eye on his motion sensor in case somebody tried to sneak up on him.
Then a voice just behind him called out, <font color="#008080">“Hail, son of—“
Arokht whirled around, bringing his cannon to bear at the undetected intruder. His mind raced into action. His four eyes, swiveling independently, swiftly brought his ambushers into focus.
There were four of them, each dressed in blue and teal uniforms that fully concealed their bodies. Three wore padded coats with plates of armor buckled to them, protecting their upper bodies. Similar plating was strapped to their knees and shins, over similarly padded pants and boots. They carried rifles. Arokht had seen corpses in similar armor scattered across the plains.
The fourth wore a heavy robe with a plastic sheen to it. Over the robe was armor similar to that of the other three, if slightly thinner. This one was strangely unarmed. All four wore gas masks that covered their faces, with bulky breathing apparatuses and opaque lenses. The robed one had a smaller, less cumbersome rebreather, although Arokht could not tell whether this was because it more advanced or because it was simply less armored.
“—Frigidus, Father Winter!” finished the robed one. “I am brother Gelu, chaplain of Section 23 of the Frostsworn Field Corps.”
Despite their sudden appearance, Arokht held his fire, intrigued by the humans’ curious behavior. The three in the combat armor were kneeling behind the robed one, whose arms were outstretched in a vaguely dramatic fashion. It stood tall and proud in front of the huge iceworlder, but the shaking of its limbs suggested nervousness, or fear. What really gave Arokht pause, however, was the fact that it was speaking his language. The iceworlder tongue was guttural and rough, usually impossible to pronounce with simian vocal chords. But here it was, being spoken like a native by a human.
As the chaplain continued to speak, Arokht let his cannon fall, settling into a more relaxed stance. Brother Gelu had piqued his curiosity. At the same time, the iceworlder tried to figure out why his motion sensor had not detected Gelu and his soldiers.
His sensor was not particularly sensitive, but it was quite advanced. Rather than tracking all motion on the battlefield, it only showed those that fell into a certain size and temperature range: the average for sentient carbon-based life. For these soldiers to have bypassed his sensor meant that either their armor completely masked their body heat or they were as cold as corpses.
“Of twelve crusaders, we four are all that remain. We are lost and afraid. We desire guidance, Son of Winter. I, Brother Gelu, humbly beg you for your aid, and to strike back at those who would destroy us.”
Brother Gelu knelt, bowing his head and extending a gloved hand, but was met with silence from the giant.
Arokht tilted his head quizzically. He had no idea what a Son of Winter was, but suspected that it was similar to one of the nonhuman corpses he’d seen. And these soldiers had mistaken him for one. Under normal circumstances, he would have crushed the humans and been done with it. Humans were aliens, and alliances or not, aliens were meant to be killed.
But these weren’t normal circumstances. Arokht was alone on this hostile world, so any offers of allegiance were a blessing. Not to mention that having a few natives around meant that they could serve as guides, thereby assuaging his complete lack of information.
Accepting Gelu’s offer seemed to be the most prudent course of action, but doing so would go against everything that Arokht knew.
There was silence for a few minutes more. Arokht tapped his secondary limbs’ fingers in indecision.
Gelu was undeterred. Demons of winter tended to give worshippers the cold shoulder at first.
Then Arokht extended one of his secondary arms, enclosing the chaplain’s hand in one four-fingered embrace.
“Very well,” rumbled the iceworlder.</font>