X'rael's War Teachings

Some writing I did for a thread on /tg/, I figured I might as well post it here too. It's a nice idea for a setting.

++ Translated from X'rael's War Teachings ++

And of the humans, there is but one piece of information. Do not antagonise them, do not aggravate them, do not under any circumstances attack them. Although they are small of stature, they have a bestial mentality. Logic would dictate that one of our [heavy infantry] with it's superior armaments, greater strength, size, durability and stealth capacity could overcome one of these humans. And for the most part that is true. But these humans are possessed of a spirit and a comradeship like nothing else. Outnumbered and out gunned they will hold ground selling their lives to give their comrades extra seconds. They will attack with ferocity unheard of, using their crude technologies to extra-ordinary usage.

They use tactics unthinkable to us, so suicidal yet effective. In the last (and thank Luck, only) war we had with them they passed nuclear weapons out in their trenches. As soon as one area was breached, they would activate it, and charge with a fury unknowable to a civilised species. The sight of these dead men walking, dead men fighting, knowing that they would die and fighting for glory was terrifying. Then their weapon would explode clearing the area of all forces. And even when radiation rendered the area unusable they would hide in it, safe in the knowledge we could not pursue them. They would launch guerrilla warfare campaigns out of these toxic wastelands.

Their suicidal techniques inspired so much fear that very few of our soldiers would attack their trenches, and when we did, even a feint of a charge was enough to sound the retreat in fear of their self-destruction.

And when we attacked their cities, every building was a fort held against us, every human hand held a weapon against us, ever road was booby trapped and held against us. Their crude technologies, although simple were turned into weapons. Their ancient electrical networks were torn down to create deadly shock traps. Every city we took was sabotaged, and crumbled around us, and from the ruins they would continue to fight. Even the children. Occasionally we would capture some, but they were not done yet. They would strain our resources, break out of our camps, half starved and flee into the forests - not to escape but to begin the guerrilla campaign anew.

I recall one boy, a mere child by their reckoning, 16 if their years. Captured and tortured for where his comrades were, he refused to give in. Instead he laughed. Then he spat something metal into my face. A small ring with a pin attached. Next thing I knew it was fire and shrapnel. I was lucky and escaped only with this scar.

Every natural feature housed humans who had adapted to live there. Some species live in deserts much hotter then theirs, and others in tundra much colder, but I have never seen a species that lived in such a wide range of environs. Ever forest was home to a family who knew its every path, and could hide there indefinitely, making whole units vanish in our attempts to capture them. When we attempted to conduct a sweep with a whole legion, they merely burnt the forest down around us, shooting us even as the inferno raged.

Then the war turned on us. If we thought them bestial before, we were mistaken. They became a truly mobilised species. Every human was a warrior, trained in the arts of war first hand. Fathers taught laughing children how to fire a missile, watching with fatherly pride as they shot their first airship down.

And these were only the normal ones amongst them. Some of them were much better, as skilled in war as some of our greatest artists are at their own arts. One sniper hid in one of our cities for months. We thought it was an elite infiltration unit, but once we captured this one the attacks stopped. He killed 189 soldiers, and 598 civilians.

The capital of our empire used to be Njol'naix. Yes the wasteland planet. It was once red with life, a thriving planet. The humans changed that. They destroyed all traces of life, salting the earth with chemical toxins, biological warheads and their crude nuclear weapons.

They gave us one offer. We were to live on this moon, never to attack them again. We would create vast numbers of weapons for their army and conscript one in ten of our children to their army. We taught them our technologies, and their scientists (who were also fearsome warriors) soon turned them all into weapons. Who would have thought that our farming technologies could be so destructive.

We created the humans, the scourge upon this world. And now you will go and fight in their armies, and you will fight alongside these beasts and gain their loyalty and trust. You will learn to fear them as do I, and if you survive 10 years in their war camps you shall return and spread your fear of them to the next generation to be conscripted. This way we shall remain safe, for the fury of every other civilisation is nothing next to the wrath of humanity.

Found: Part 1

Aaaaaand he's back. Finally got around to writing something, uni holidays are comming up, expect more.

A young boy ran down the dark alley, his puffing and panting loud in the otherwise quiet backstreets of Neotopia. Ducking behind a pile of waste, he held his breath, half attempting to avoid breathing the foul fumes from the refuse, but primarily trying to avoid detection from his pursuers. The quick click clack of boots running over the uneven pavement and junk that stew the back alley drew closer, and the boy drew even further within himself as he attempted to remain concealed. Time seemed to slow down, with the sound of perusers blacking out all other noise in the otherwise silent shadows. Suddenly, silence. Torchlight lit up the alley, and the boy barely stifled a scream in his surprise. Without warning the light vanished, and the sound of the chase resumed, this time away from the boy. Frozen in fear, the boy still didn’t move.

Suddenly lights flashed in the boy’s face, waking him. Squealing in panic, the boy realised he must have slept on the refuse, exhausted. “Please sir, don’t whip too hard. I’m still good, don’t bin me.” Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he looked up, and behind the light there was a face. But the overseers didn’t have faces. There was no brand on his forehead either, so it couldn’t be an escapee. So that could only mean an owner. Looking around he didn’t see any overseers. Maybe he could escape, there was a hole in the fence he didn’t see last night, and he was good at slipping through holes. There was no way an owner could fit through, although this one was skinny for an owner. Paying attention again he realised that the owner was holding out a red something. He had seen the overseers eat them from time to time, and one time he even got to taste one, after one of the other boys had stolen one. The other boy had given some to all of them in the same kennel, so they wouldn’t give him away. It was the most delicious thing he has ever eaten, even if he only gotten a bite. He couldn’t remember what it was called though.

The owner was still there, holding out the red thing. Maybe it was a trick. But he was a fast boy, to escape; maybe he could grab it and run. Grabbing it, he began to run, but the owner didn’t chase him. Instead the owner sat down and waited. Reaching into his tattered old coat the owner pulled out another red thing and sat down and began to eat his. This owner had a coat like nothing the boy had ever seen before. It wasn’t clean like most owners’ clothes, but it was better then any rags any of the other boys owned. The grey haired, odd owner called out, “There’s another apple in here if you want it, kid. What’s your name?” The boy stopped, looking back through the fence. Another apple? Maybe this was a trick. But he had never had a whole apple to himself before, and now this weird owner was offering him a second one. This was better then when he stole a bottle of rum from a drunken overseer, and brought it back to the kennel. He figured it was worth the risk. He stopped, finished his apple, and then walked back over, the whole time the old man simply watched him, saying nothing. “Here, catch.” The old man threw another apple, and asked again “What is your name, kid?”

“Name, Sir? I don’t got one.” The old man smiled and replied, “Well, you can pick one then. Any name you choose. My name’s Gaffer.” The boy blinked. “But, Sir. I ain’t no owner, I don’t get a name.” Gaffer smiled and said, “You’re out of The Kennels now kid, you can chose any name you like. But no rush. If you want a place to sleep and a meal, come with me. We got plenty more apples.”

The boy followed the man meekly though the back alleys. If there were more apples there, he’d work there. And if the work was too hard, or he was going to get thrown away, he could always escape again. He got away this time, so he was confident he could again.