Bug-Blair
Moon
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2019
The vastness of space looms large over every creature, all of us living and dying under the same unchanging sky, able to bend anything to our will but those glistening stars in the sky of deepest black. They might as well be Gods, omnipotent and all-seeing, giving life to billions upon billions of lifeforms who can only worship and be grateful for the light bestowed upon them. So what if one was to harness enough power to rival that of stars? They'd be Gods unto-themselves, and how would they use such power?
For the Arakβnur, they chose to eat the very stars which ones blessed their crops with enough vitality to build their ravenous empire. They harvested sun after sun to fuel their war-machines, turns countless vibrant paradise-worlds into rocky husks in the name of their endless conquest. Their fleet numbered in the billions, each powered by pure sunlight and captained by the most ruthless warlords one could imagine. The only species they let live were the ones cunning enough to pledge their servitude, but even these ones had their homes taken from them. Instead they'd serve in endless toil for their masters; providing their drink, warming their beds, acting as cannon-fodder when needed. Each devestated system left their empire ever-stronger, with more servants and offspring than they could count. So what could cause such a force to crumble?
The answer is the same for every Empire: A house divided against itself cannot stand.
A jolt within the troop-carrier rocked Zephyr back to life, his tawny eyes fluttering for a moment before a large thud almost shakes him to the ground! He stumbles, his bare shoulder smashing against the one of the metal walls as a cruel laugh sounds from behind him. His fingers clench into a fist at that, but even without the bolt-cuffs keeping him tightly he would hardly stand a chance against Wrexham Colt. The man had survived the most bloody theaters in the war and had the age to show for it, with a laugh thats just as crooked as his war-tattered visage. "Careful, Prince. It seems this planet doesn't agree with your presence. Perhaps its heard of your tales?" The man japes through his twisted laughter, bringing a heavy hand to slap Zephyr's back, almost knocking him off balance once again. But still he stands, despite it all he's stood firm. Some might see it as foolish, but those people would not be Arak'nur. Even during the grand tribunal he would not bow, no matter how much leniancy the Generals promised to offer him if he just bent the knee in submission. He brings a hand to his face, feeling the cracked lip and bruised eye that Wrexham had deigned to bless him with before their landing. Even as the old man beat him, Zephyr wouldn't name a single of the mans fallen comrades he was ordered to apologise for. Would his father be proud...?
Like hell he would. Survival alone is never enough, glory can only come through conquest.
"I best kiss the ground, might I? It might take a liking to me once its tasted my royal supremacy~" The words are clearly spoken through pained lips, but Zephyr just about manages to get the snide remark out - much to Wrexham's displeasure. 'If you wanted to be the pinnacle of wit on this ship you should have taken my tongue, old man.'. Its a comment that would have gotten him a beating if it were not for the fresh presence of a single girl: his warden, of all things. Wrexham knew it was her job to protect him from harm as much as it was to stop him from harming others, so all he could do is silently boil as the Prince who's responsible for countless deaths speaks freely to him. "I hope you see fit to bind his mouth, woman." Not a spec of respect can be found in the mans voice as he turns to Zephyr's 'warden' and spits those words at her, beams of sunlight suddenly warming the groups faces as the ships plug-door lowers down to welcome them to a shining world of tropical beauty. Teal waters, clear
skies, grass of vibrant green... all this divinity to house an unrepentant monster.
For the Arakβnur, they chose to eat the very stars which ones blessed their crops with enough vitality to build their ravenous empire. They harvested sun after sun to fuel their war-machines, turns countless vibrant paradise-worlds into rocky husks in the name of their endless conquest. Their fleet numbered in the billions, each powered by pure sunlight and captained by the most ruthless warlords one could imagine. The only species they let live were the ones cunning enough to pledge their servitude, but even these ones had their homes taken from them. Instead they'd serve in endless toil for their masters; providing their drink, warming their beds, acting as cannon-fodder when needed. Each devestated system left their empire ever-stronger, with more servants and offspring than they could count. So what could cause such a force to crumble?
The answer is the same for every Empire: A house divided against itself cannot stand.
A jolt within the troop-carrier rocked Zephyr back to life, his tawny eyes fluttering for a moment before a large thud almost shakes him to the ground! He stumbles, his bare shoulder smashing against the one of the metal walls as a cruel laugh sounds from behind him. His fingers clench into a fist at that, but even without the bolt-cuffs keeping him tightly he would hardly stand a chance against Wrexham Colt. The man had survived the most bloody theaters in the war and had the age to show for it, with a laugh thats just as crooked as his war-tattered visage. "Careful, Prince. It seems this planet doesn't agree with your presence. Perhaps its heard of your tales?" The man japes through his twisted laughter, bringing a heavy hand to slap Zephyr's back, almost knocking him off balance once again. But still he stands, despite it all he's stood firm. Some might see it as foolish, but those people would not be Arak'nur. Even during the grand tribunal he would not bow, no matter how much leniancy the Generals promised to offer him if he just bent the knee in submission. He brings a hand to his face, feeling the cracked lip and bruised eye that Wrexham had deigned to bless him with before their landing. Even as the old man beat him, Zephyr wouldn't name a single of the mans fallen comrades he was ordered to apologise for. Would his father be proud...?
Like hell he would. Survival alone is never enough, glory can only come through conquest.
"I best kiss the ground, might I? It might take a liking to me once its tasted my royal supremacy~" The words are clearly spoken through pained lips, but Zephyr just about manages to get the snide remark out - much to Wrexham's displeasure. 'If you wanted to be the pinnacle of wit on this ship you should have taken my tongue, old man.'. Its a comment that would have gotten him a beating if it were not for the fresh presence of a single girl: his warden, of all things. Wrexham knew it was her job to protect him from harm as much as it was to stop him from harming others, so all he could do is silently boil as the Prince who's responsible for countless deaths speaks freely to him. "I hope you see fit to bind his mouth, woman." Not a spec of respect can be found in the mans voice as he turns to Zephyr's 'warden' and spits those words at her, beams of sunlight suddenly warming the groups faces as the ships plug-door lowers down to welcome them to a shining world of tropical beauty. Teal waters, clear
skies, grass of vibrant green... all this divinity to house an unrepentant monster.
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