OOC THREAD LINK HERE: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?ns=1&f=5&t=47592
The fighting had grown intense, with the last remnants of defending forces finally falling back to their main command bunker after continuous attrition going nigh onto two months now. The structure was massive, far larger than any subterranean complex many of the soldiers had seen in their lives, and possibly even larger than the arcologies from whence those soldiers came. Consisting of a dozen massive reinforced caverns each containing what seemed to be automated manufactories, churning out mechanical warriors and siege vehicles with which to repel invaders, so long as the stockpiled resources lasted. The commanders had buried themselves in the lowest such reaches, watching the combat above with an ever more desperate eye upon the red button seated amongst them. If necessary, the bomb to which the button was connected would be sufficient to shatter the world from within, bringing fiery death to all who lived upon that planet.
But there would be no victory in such an act. The entire complex was intended originally to ensure compliance from a potentially rebellious population, but that was hundreds of years ago. The people who lived upon this world had long since been fully integrated into society, but nobody expected this war. Nobody expected to lose the capitol world first.
Nobody expected an enemy like this.
At first it seemed like some crackpot ascetic cult. It was suspected of corruption like any such cult, but for all of the scrutiny, the Servants of the True Way seemed to actually practice what they preached. They called themselves peaceful, and ‘beyond worldly things’, but like any cult attempting to bring forth change, conflict came. The government picked the fight, arresting and executing servants and passing repressive laws against them. For every move the government made, however, the Servants suddenly struck back. Assassinations and suicide bombings became shockingly commonplace, trusted friends became unrelenting foes, and what once called itself but a peaceful effort to spread the word turned into a crusade of unmatched ferocity. Civil war engulfed the capitol and before the military could react, a mob of people with sticks and stones had somehow managed to crush the planetary garrisons, and the flagship fleet was annihilated in a single battle by ships that nobody had seen before.
The Starfleet in tatters, the army in disarray, they had been forced to relocate their headquarters to this place, as all other worlds belonging to their nation seemingly rose up as one. This planet was too far removed from the unrest, and the ‘True Way’ had not yet arrived. It was thought safe.
It was… for a while.
The remnants of the fleet lasted mere hours against the onslaught, and the garrisons on the surface were wiped out almost immediately as columns of fire fell upon them from the heavens. Who could stand against such raw fury? The enemy, wielding spears and swords, was somehow punching through all resistance put forward by forces equipped with plasma rifles, body armor, and personal shields. By all rights it should not have been possible, but these Servants of the True way were… not possible.
Finally, as the forces of the True Way began forcing their way into the third cavern of the command bunker, the assorted commanders in the deepest reaches of the complex came to a consensus. There was no point in fighting anymore. Maybe something could be salvaged in dialogue. And so the white flag of truce was proverbially raised, and the Servants replied.
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General Herst managed to keep an air of dignity about himself as he was ushered further into the Servants’ side of the battle lines. Though haggard and in dire need of a shave, his uniform was crisp and fresh, and the hat helped conceal the bandage over his head. Two ‘Guardians’ flanked him on each side as he was ushered to the top of a hill made from the corpses of destroyed mechanoids and slain soldiers in the armament of those who still fought in his defense. At the top of the hill they waited, until the Servants’ commander arrived. Guardians waited at the bottom of the hill, clumped thick, listening.
Finally, one of the Guardians pointed towards the roof of the massive cavern. Though a bunker, each of the cavern complexes was nearly a mile in height, enabling a truly massive volume of material to be stored in the event of local rebellion. Now, it simply enabled the general to see his counterpart arrive from the sky.
The angel set down with remarkable grace, considering the strangely wizened look of him. Unlike most of the non-native ‘Servants’, who were all strikingly beautiful, this Servant had the form of a gaunt old man partially clad in plate armor. Though thin to an unhealthy degree and possessed of an appearance that suggested he should barely even be able to walk, he strode forward without difficulty despite his armor, and held his massive sword as if it were a simple toothpick. The most striking thing about him was his wings; great feathered wings with bits of jewelry and armor plate hanging hear and there. He stared at the general with unblinking red glowing eyes, and jammed his sword down into the chest of a droid at his feet.
He indicated himself with a thump on his shoulder armor. “Sivoth Lancathuel.” His voice came forth deep and authoritative, resonating with some inner power that somehow caused an echo even in this relatively open space.
The General introduced himself as well. “General Oscar Herst of the—“
“Speak.” Sivoth’s grip on the handle of his sword tightened.
Herst glared at the sword. “Is that some kind of threat? If you kill me the fighting keeps going.”
“There is always fighting,” the angel replied, his expression neutral. “Gave word. You will live.”
“So what is it then? Are you going to keep coming until the other generals and I are backed into a corner? We did not ask for this fight.”
“Yes you did. Burned our people like witches. We protect our own.”
“And you said you were a peaceful people! What is this?”
“Our response to you. Get to point.”
“We’re done, alright? We don’t want to fight anymore. You’ve won your little war. You took everything but this world, and we’re tired of it.”
“Not done.”
“Not done? What does that mean? We ask for an amicable surrender and you want to keep going? We have a bomb that could blow this planet up around your ears!”
“Who’s threatening who, now?”
“This is different—“
“No difference. I plant sword. Suggestion that I might kill you if displeased. You say you have device can kill us all. Suggestion you might kill me if displeased. Lived long life. Have many sons and daughters to carry on the cause after passing. Have spread the word. Have contributed. Will go without regret if must go. Can you say same for those of your own who die if bomb triggered? I stab into you, you only person dead. You order bomb activated, many die, more of your own than of us. Frightened people above. Innocents.”
“Then stop pushing! We’re willing to let bygones be bygones. Just leave us this planet, and you can go on your way.”
The index finger holding the planted sword extended toward herst. “Not in position to dictate terms. Assume we are ‘passing through’. Temporary.” Sivoth shook his head.
“Then what is left to discuss? We offer to cease hostilities and you wish to continue.”
Another shake of his head. “No. Gladly end fighting. War bad for all. Kills us and you. No winner. Saddened things had to be so. One problem: not done. Never done. Must spread word. Must bring freedom.”
“Freedom? Your people want us to just throw away our civilization!”
“Wrong.”
“What is it then?”
“Throw away technology. Civilization not technology. Civilization is community. Civilization is knowledge. Throw away technology, learn true strength. Learn strength of the Will. Mold universe, just need to know how.”
“And you know this?”
“Beat guns, shattered fleets, captured many worlds. Self-evident. Technology unnecessary. Technology like addiction. Self-destructive. Hard to part with. Understandable that some would fight. Many do. Part with technology. Throw away childish things. Come to true understanding. Find true strength. Earn freedom from chains of universe. Tell it what to do.”
“So you want us to just throw away the things that we’ve worked so hard to achieve? To toss away our greatest technologies as so much garbage? You want us to just throw away hundreds, thousands of years of progress?”
“What is progress? Inexorable pursuit of better tomorrow for those who follow. Even great prophets were slave to technology before came to true enlightenment. Better now. Have purpose. No longer at each other’s throats. No greed. No hate. No need. Why say no?”
“So you won’t stop until this planet’s taken?”
“Won’t stop… ever. Must free others. Have purpose. Have objective. Terms as follows: Unconditional Surrender. You will live. Option given to learn our ways. Option open. Say no, stay alive.
Live with worldly things for now. Live with computers and machines for remainder of life, unless choose to learn True Way. Must be optional.”
“So we’ll be allowed to just live out our lives on this planet? What if we want to leave?”
“No. Brought war to us. War is dead, stay where you fall. Agricultural world. Much to explore.”
“A cage by any other name.”
“Not make illusion. You will be contained. Only offer. Take or leave. Decline, we fight. You die. Me, maybe. You, certain. Think hard before say no.”
Herst bristled for a moment, then deflated, as if the supports holding him up in the face of the ongoing war had suddenly collapsed out from under him. With a sigh, he nodded. “I will need time to discuss your terms with the others. Will all of the troops be given the ‘choice’ to join or remain the rest of their lives on this planet?”
“Yes. All live out lives in comfort with trinkets and baubles. End lives in boring comfort if desire. Hope you seek something more.”
“Fine… I will put this out to them. I expect some will not be happy with this end, but it is something.”
“Fought well. Earned life. Misguided, but not beyond reach. End of war in best interest of all.” Sivoth’s expression finally changed to something else, a tired smile.
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Sivoth stepped into the sanctum of his master, walking along the ornate carpet with a purpose as he approached the great throne. The massive seat stood some fifteen feet tall, and sprawled upon it was a gaunt, vaguely humanoid statue of some esoteric form of alabaster. The marbled veins of the stone glowed with an inner light, and the room pulsed with sensations of warmth and serenity. The feet of the statue ended in formless stumps more reminiscent to hooves than feet, while the hands ended in wicked claws, each as long as a human stood tall. A pair of stone wings jutted from just behind the arms, folded but relaxed. The head of the statue was perhaps most disturbing to the common observer, as there was no face, just a pair of wicked horns jutting from the temples and a trio of red lights arranged vertically down the center of what would otherwise be where the face was.
Sivoth knelt before this statue and spoke in what would have seemed to casual observers as unintelligible gibberish. “Zin’rojn’an’savvos, My lord, the war is done. We are victorious once again.”
Silence reigned as he held position before the statue. Other Avengers, winged warriors much like himself, stood guard in the room, dispassionate in their dedication. The process of becoming an Avenger disrupted thought processes. Their bodies were altered to such an extent that their concentration was severely taxed, causing them difficulty with much beyond simple orders. They were tough, stronger than many wonders of technology any other nation could possess for the size of the individual, fast and capable of that human intuitive spark, but beyond the faculties of violence, their mental strength faltered. Sivoth was a rare and precious exception, however. An Avenger that maintained his faculties in the wake of all the modifications he sustained on himself. Not even genetics could explain what it was that kept his mental acuity, though he himself believed that some part of his archivist training from before his recruitment enabled him to ‘multitask’ away the vast majority of the alterations an Avenger needed. In most cases, he was employed as a field commander in any campaign where war had broken out.
Today would be different.
The three lights on the statue’s face angled down slightly, and the Avenger closed his eyes, feeling the presence of his master as it looked through his mind. He mentally recounted the end of the war, and the final agreement that enabled them to put away their spears… for the time being.
As always, my child, you are a staunch and merciful commander. A voice spoke in his mind, deep and resonant, like Sivoth’s own voice but much more so. The voice spoke with power and wisdom, soft but unyielding. The great teachers smile upon you this day, for your dedicated service… and sacrifice.
“My lord?”
This war was hard on you, I can see. The way our acolytes were treated was abominable, and you had to respond. A sad day. Any war is a sad time. So many dead, on both sides. We are pleased that it is over, and that it was ended peacefully, however belated such peace was. They could have ended it when the capitol fell, but still they fought. When we came to the last world, still they fought. While they fought, people died. It is confusing to many why others choose to fight so. They fought beyond the limits of human endurance, and we recognize your sacrifice in fighting further still.
Sivoth shuddered slightly as revitalizing warmth passed through him, reassuring him, healing him. “The war did prove taxing, my lord. I am honored at your recognition. In the service of the Shirassi, I would gladly give my life.”
Truly you are loyal. Let us hope that it simply never comes to that eventuality, shall we? We are not heartless overseers. We would not seek to drive those who spread the word into such lengths of self-sacrifice.
“Yes, my lord.”
In fact, we wish to reward you for your success, and acknowledge your weariness of war. Let us discuss the particulars of your next assignment.
“As you wish my lord. I am eager to contribute.”
There is a stellar nation on the other side of this galaxy that we wish to extend our hand to. They are… an interesting folk, according to our sources. Gifted with some degree of psionic capacity, their potential for mental discipline would make them potent practitioners of the will indeed. They could be a great contributor to the Great Purpose.
“And you wish me to support this effort?”
No. We wish you to lead it.
Sivoth rocked back for a moment, but kept his composure. “My lord, are you certain I would be the proper assignment to command this effort? I am a soldier, not an outreach advocate.”
What you are is a being who knows war and that the best way to end a war is for one never to be started in the first place. Some of our outreach advocates lose sight of this fact and push our targets too hard, causing the situation that you were called in to resolve. Thus, I have decided that this outreach should employ somebody that would be wary of conflict, and logically, the best choice in that matter is one who has experienced it. Archivists are kept far from combat, and the Lords and Ladies only know targeted slayings, not the outright chaos that is war. Your experience overshadows theirs greatly. Some of these others will be sent as well, but they will answer to you. We will also be sending a couple Gronid ambassadors, and possibly an Orn.
“Why an orn? Would they not be seen as a savage attacker?”
They will show that anything can come to the True Way, the orn will be proof of our… ‘inclusiveness’. In addition, anyone who strikes out at an orn without first asking if it is a sentient creature with feelings of its own is the true savage.
“I understand. It is to be a gauge of their tolerance then.”
A gauge of their openness.
“I see. I recognize that you have taken care of everything, my lord.”
Does this assignment displease you?
“It is… irregular to me, if I might be blunt. I accept the assignment, but I am… uncertain about what to do.”
Many warriors go into battle knowing exactly what to do, and they die because of it. Plans are ruinous. You know where you stand, and you know where you need to be. Uncertainty is a reassurance to us. We do not expect war, and we send you because we do not wish for war. You have fought war, and we wish to reward you with a peaceable pursuit.
“I… thank you my lord. I will work to ensure that your confidence is not misplaced. And… thank you.”
Go now. The future awaits.
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Telrosian Dominion Space
Long-range Telrosian scanners would suddenly have something strange to talk about, as for some curious reason, they would begin receiving a real-time signature of a strange rocky object approaching Telrosian space at several dozen times the speed of light. No recognizable power signatures would be noted, nor would any signal. By all accounts, the object massed no more than a typical freighter. At the approximate edge of the system, the object began to decelerate to a speed more relativistic in nature, slowing down further as it got further in.
