Post by draxinomen on Mar 4, 2013 20:18:07 GMT -5
Translation: To be the book of Draxinomen thinking.
--- The book is written in elegant, flowing, and correct gargyl script -----
The battle started like any other. The wingless under my command kept the void demons at bay with an orderly advancing line of long pikes, while the winged throwers and mystics of my squad raked the enemy with glaives and spell fire on their flanks and from above. The void creatures resisted, but in the end our advancing line left them only one choice: fall back into the nothingness or die. It was orderly. Everyone did their jobs. We functioned with one mind. My unit was that of precision, named for the virtue that combines of diligence and control. We were known for perfection, and flawless execution, at least until the dark wanderer took the field.
The tentacled horror tore into the line of the wingless with a ruthless abandon for its own life, rending our soldiers to pieces, and devouring those it captured in its vile appendages. The line broke as the creature barreled through, heading straight for the refugee encampments. I ordered my squad to pursue the monster, while throwing my own magical might into the fray. I felt a tug at my leg, and I stopped.
I knelt at his side as he grimaced in pain. His name was Brak-for (the strong arm), and he was hatched in the same clutch as me. Wingless and simple of mind, he looked up at me and asked if he would be all right. He desperately sought some kind of reassurance from me, his brother and sworn caretaker. I had none to give, because the void creature had taken his body from the waist down.
So I held my hatch-brother close, and I lied to him. Why would I do such a dishonorable thing? Because I knew his simple faith in me would make his passing easier. I said it. So it must be so. I told him to be here, to use his massive strength to help fight for our future. Thus it must be the right thing to do. He cannot comprehend more. He cannot imagine a world where I am wrong. So I lied, and told him that he needed to rest. He smiled and closed his eyes as I held him. Hours later I still held him, until the battlefield cleanup detail came to collect the fallen.
Something inside of me had broken, and everyone could read it in the sunken and erratic movements of my wings, for that is how gargyl show emotion. It happens from time to time with our kind, especially the soldiers. There are many names for it: Unbalance. Disharmony. Loss of singularity. Spirit death. The passion wanes, leaving the individual with only diligence and control. Suicide rates amongst the unbalanced are high, usually through heroic acts of recklessness on the battlefield. We just don’t care anymore. When a war goes on long enough, the reasons for it become less and less important. You fight to survive another day. You fight to keep your friends and squad mates alive. Take that away? There is simply nothing left.
Our unit pri-lem came with new instructions for me. I am to be a part of an experiment, to see if we can indeed work and cooperate with humans. He believes that it will be “for the greater good” for me to work with such a diverse and passionate species - and to take a break from the endless patrols and skirmishes of the front lines. I had my reservations, but I was told that much more is at stake. Singularity demands agreement, and thus our species survives.
--- The book is written in elegant, flowing, and correct gargyl script -----
The battle started like any other. The wingless under my command kept the void demons at bay with an orderly advancing line of long pikes, while the winged throwers and mystics of my squad raked the enemy with glaives and spell fire on their flanks and from above. The void creatures resisted, but in the end our advancing line left them only one choice: fall back into the nothingness or die. It was orderly. Everyone did their jobs. We functioned with one mind. My unit was that of precision, named for the virtue that combines of diligence and control. We were known for perfection, and flawless execution, at least until the dark wanderer took the field.
The tentacled horror tore into the line of the wingless with a ruthless abandon for its own life, rending our soldiers to pieces, and devouring those it captured in its vile appendages. The line broke as the creature barreled through, heading straight for the refugee encampments. I ordered my squad to pursue the monster, while throwing my own magical might into the fray. I felt a tug at my leg, and I stopped.
I knelt at his side as he grimaced in pain. His name was Brak-for (the strong arm), and he was hatched in the same clutch as me. Wingless and simple of mind, he looked up at me and asked if he would be all right. He desperately sought some kind of reassurance from me, his brother and sworn caretaker. I had none to give, because the void creature had taken his body from the waist down.
So I held my hatch-brother close, and I lied to him. Why would I do such a dishonorable thing? Because I knew his simple faith in me would make his passing easier. I said it. So it must be so. I told him to be here, to use his massive strength to help fight for our future. Thus it must be the right thing to do. He cannot comprehend more. He cannot imagine a world where I am wrong. So I lied, and told him that he needed to rest. He smiled and closed his eyes as I held him. Hours later I still held him, until the battlefield cleanup detail came to collect the fallen.
Something inside of me had broken, and everyone could read it in the sunken and erratic movements of my wings, for that is how gargyl show emotion. It happens from time to time with our kind, especially the soldiers. There are many names for it: Unbalance. Disharmony. Loss of singularity. Spirit death. The passion wanes, leaving the individual with only diligence and control. Suicide rates amongst the unbalanced are high, usually through heroic acts of recklessness on the battlefield. We just don’t care anymore. When a war goes on long enough, the reasons for it become less and less important. You fight to survive another day. You fight to keep your friends and squad mates alive. Take that away? There is simply nothing left.
Our unit pri-lem came with new instructions for me. I am to be a part of an experiment, to see if we can indeed work and cooperate with humans. He believes that it will be “for the greater good” for me to work with such a diverse and passionate species - and to take a break from the endless patrols and skirmishes of the front lines. I had my reservations, but I was told that much more is at stake. Singularity demands agreement, and thus our species survives.