StarDestroyer.Net BBS

I was a big fan of Knife's 'Battle of the Hymn' when he came out with it. So much so that it gave me an idea for another story to tell. Lonestar's sequel (another great read) only strengthened that. After sitting on it for a while, this is the beginning of it. I would just like to thank Knife for allowing me to explore the Hymn-verse a little further and hope I do it justice. As the last two outings both saw their completion I will do my best not to break that tradition (something I don't have the best track record with).

You'll notice that I contradict the original on some points. This is intentional, to show the different point of view and add a little flavour. Enjoy.

Adapted from The Battle of the Hymn, originally created by Knife


The Battle of the Hymn: Pandora’s Box


Mark Shantz




The Beginning of Things


I have been asked to write this account of my life and actions here on Terra, as all of the original, surviving members of what is sometimes quaintly referred to as ‘The Relocation’ have been asked. I understand this project is being done in an attempt to preserve every aspect of our meagre beginnings, so as to let no one ever forget the struggles that have taken place, the hardships that have been endured by great and small, the sacrifices of those that lay at peace in the Mounds of the First Ones. Those of our descendants that follow us must know with certainty that, as comfortable as we may become in it, we are not of this world, but forcibly brought, the purpose of which has never yet been discovered.

It is a noble effort and I will do my best to honour it.

For my part, my story is not one of a great commander of the Night Watch, though it entangles my life as it does almost everyone here. I did not sit on the council, shaping and moulding the course of our new civilization, though I have sat quietly in the chamber to watch and listen more than a few times. My story is not even that of one of our scholars at the University, braving to expand our sphere of knowledge and understanding in this strange (to us) new world. No. I am just a man. A man who has seen and experienced a great many things, and hopefully, will be remembered for his contributions and forgiven for his transgressions.

My name is Mark S. It was Mark on Old Earth. It was Mark on the internet message board which binds all of us Originals together in one way or another. Here on Terra, it is still Mark. I never had much use for ‘clever’ internet handles. I can be only but who I am. Though who I am is certainly far different now than who I was. As for the S? What it stood for is irrelevant. I am the only one here and there will be no others.

I am The Quiet One. It was on that ‘board of so long ago where I gained the title that so many still refer to me by. I took it up because it seemed to suit. Even there I was never much of a talker. It was only here on Terra, however, that the reasons and meanings for this seemed to be twisted, like everything else on this planet, into those much more grim. It was only on Terra that I ceased to speak almost entirely for a time.

This is my story. Learn from it what you will.


* * *


Sand and Confusion


There are two things that are common to all stories you will hear about the first days of our arrival; sand and confusion. Mine begins no differently. Even now I can still remember the previous day, my last day on Earth, in full detail. It had been beautiful; shining sun, clear sky, perfect weather, and I had wasted it completely sitting in a glass and steel office staring at paper and a computer screen. Even more waste on the commute. The evening with my wife and son wasn’t much different, taken up with various errands, chores and other banalities. When we finally put the baby down, watched some television and eventually went to bed ourselves, it had been a day sacrificed to routine and the mundane. The last one we would ever have on our real home planet.

Here I feel I must stop for a moment to address you, my reader. Already, I have probably used words and terms that you are not familiar with. I have mentioned things like computers and televisions that you will never see and may not understand. I will make no attempt to explain them here as they have no baring on things to come. I trust if you are interested you will seek out the meanings of these things yourself.

But I digress.

It was a cold, gentle breeze that pulled me grudgingly into consciousness the next morning. The full meaning of this - that I was somewhere outside and not in my bed - did not register with me until I tried, eyes still closed, to find some of my blanket to pull over me. Thinking my wife, Natalie, had ‘stolen’ all of the covering again and left me in the cold, I growled in my semi-conscious state and groped further. There must have been about five or six handfuls of sand dragged across my body before my mind finally caught on to what exactly it was that was slipping through my fingers. The dream of a normal life? That too.

My eyes opened slowly, still not believing what my sense of touch was telling me, and I saw Nat, still asleep, and I smiled. It must only be one of those strange dream sensations, like feeling like you’re floating, I thought. As my vision continued to refine, that rug was pulled right out from under me and I was left lying on the cold hard sand. That’s when the confusion set in.

I sat up with a start to find that not only were my blankets nowhere in sight, but neither was my bed, or my home for that matter. I was lying on a sand dune in the t-shirt and shorts I had worn to bed, one side coated with a layer of tenaciously sticking sand, and surrounded by a veritable sea of people I did not know.

“What the fuck?”

I couldn’t help the release of the question. It came as instinctually as the lurch to a sitting position that had sparked it. Nor could I help the volume of the question, which appeared to be loud enough to wake those in the general area around me.

Quietly, through the shroud of sleep, my wife gave a reply that must have been just as instinctual. “What? Is Finn awake?”

My mind reeled and I jumped to my feet with a rush of adrenaline. Our son! Was he here with us? Was he ok? In a panic I scanned the area, spinning where I stood, only to find him close to Natalie’s side, unmoving.

“Shit! Finn!” I was over Natalie’s prone body and at the boy’s side faster than my actions and words could startle her awake.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, thrown into as much panic now as I was. If she had noticed where she was yet, I could not tell. Though, that wasn’t exactly the focus of my attention.

Our baby boy, not much more than five months old, lay still on the sand. Quickly, I brought a hand to his little chest, feeling for the rhythmic signs of his breathing, and watched for any twitches of his face or limbs that would tell me that he was alright. At my touch he heaved a sign and awoke. He woke and smiled.

My held breath escaped roughly as I looked down at that wide, toothless grin. Nothing else existed around me. Where ever we were, whatever had happened, we were together and we were all ok. I sat for a moment, staring down at my boy as he began to grab for his feet and spit tiny bubbles from his pursed lips. I sat and simply breathed, until the revery was finally broken by Natalie’s voice.

“What... The... Hell?” I looked up to see here eyes fixed on the people slowly waking up around us. “Uh, Mark? Where are we?”

“Good question.” There was nothing more I could reply.

“Have you seen the cats?”

“I think the cats are on their own,” I answered, taking another look around. I truly hope that the two of them somehow managed to find some way out of the house. I cringe at the thought of them slowly starving to death. “We have bigger problems.”

And there we were. The three of us together, alone in a crowd of what had to be over a thousand people, surrounded on all sides by miles of desert. Neither Natalie, nor I could recognize anyone around us, and to make matters worse, not everyone was even speaking the same language. We stood together and watched silently as people from all walks of life woke to the sand and confusion. Finn didn’t seem to mind. All he cared about was getting his breakfast.

It was interesting to see these strange people that I would eventually come to know, slowly falling into line with me. There was nothing else to do but stand and watch. We were in too much shock. Most were born to this new life as I was, with nothing but a pair of pajamas or some shorts and a t-shirt. There were those less fortunate, however, that had opted to spend the previous night with nothing on. They had to rely on the kindness and generosity of strangers. Unfortunately there wasn’t much going around to be generous with.

There were also those who were much more lucky than the majority; the miss-match of what I could only assume were partiers who had been at it too hard and fallen asleep with their clothes on; the guy, fully dressed and still in his coat, who had obviously done the same (I think that turned out to be Kuja); there was even one fellow whose friends had taken the liberty to write all over his face. They certainly paid for their luxury with what looked like raging hang-overs but at least they had a pair of shoes. That was more than could be said for most of us.

That concern began to grow in me. I was standing on a sand dune watching the sun rise into a cloudless sky, just knowing that it was only going to get hotter and hotter as the day progressed, and that no matter where we went, it would be a long walk... and I was in my bare feet. No one else seemed to realize the problem. Not that I could tell anyway. They were all too taken by the confusion to truly understand the sand.

“Do you have any idea who any of these people are?”

The question had come from a blonde Englishwoman who had taken up a place to my right to stand as I was, staring into the sea of faces. She said her name was Deborah.

“Not a clue.”

It was at that statement, oddly enough, standing in the growing heat of the day, radiating up from the sand at the same time that it burned down from the sun, listening to the growing panic and despair, that the most confusing thing of all occurred. People began to recognize each other.

I will never know who it was that first made the connection. Most likely there are many that claim the honour. Whatever the source though, that first, single spark spread like wildfire across the crowd. It jumped from group to group, family to family, and suddenly, out in that impossible desert, surrounded by so many strangers, people didn’t seem to feel so hopeless. Somehow there might be purpose to it all.

What was the spark? A single screen name. An alias. A nickname. But when it was spoken it brought recognition and the understanding of a simple connection. We were not strangers after all.

“S D net.” I said the words with as much incredulity as wonder.

“What?” my wife asked up from where she was nursing our son.

“Stardestroyer dot net,” I answered, motioning with my chin to the throng stretching down into the bowl of sand dunes. “All these people are from Stardestroyer dot net.”

“Great,” she said, shaking her head and turning back to the baby. “Why did it have to be THAT message board?”

But it was. Not that it lifted my spirits all that much. We shared a pass-time and an interest or two, true, but what did I really know about these people? The character of these board members might not be in question but what of their families? Before, I had been at a party where I knew nobody. Now I was at a party full of acquaintances with only the promise of mindless chit-chat to fill the time. I didn’t see much difference.

Not that that stopped my wife. She was already banding together with the other nearby young mothers. I think they were forming some sort of Mothers’ Union or Baby Co-op or something. She was always the talker of us.

My thoughts were that things like that needed to wait until we were out of the desert, if that was at all possible, and I turned my attention to the largest dune I could find. Other’s had obviously had the same idea, as the top of that particular hill was already covered with people looking off in all directions. There were even those climbing on each others shoulders to get that much more height. It was one of these couples, a larger man with a smaller woman, that called down to us, pointing off into the distance.

“Mountains!” They hollered in unison.

That was all I needed to hear. In five minutes I had my family and we were on the move. Soon, everyone else was too. I’m told that there was a purposeful decision to gather everyone up and head for the mountains, that we were unified by the will of our first leader, but I never saw any of that. All I saw were people who had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. When they heard that there was a chance to get out of the desert, they took it.

It was the getting out that was the hard part. These mountains were not just over the next hill. This was not a leisurely stroll. We walked hard. We walked hard all day. Walked under the blistering sun. We walked over the scorching sand. We walked amongst the sounds of whimpering, sobbing, constant complaining and more than a few complete and total meltdowns. We walked in constant pain and constant reminder of that pain. Still, we continued to walk, our eyes never straying for too long from the sharp, clear peaks growing before us. In fact, it was not until the strange alien sky overhead was beginning to turn to twilight that we finally reached the valley that we would come to call home.

What a beautiful sight it was. Despite the oddity of things to us - the blue grass, the purple trees - it was not a place of barren desolation, not the hell we had just escaped from. What I remember most was the water. The first stream we came across sparkled in the setting sun like nothing I could have imagined. Terrible burns covered most of my body, having given my shirt up to protect my baby, and I was dehydrated and exhausted. When I saw that stream I gave no second thought to wading right in, drinking until I choked and simply laying there in its icy embrace until the numbness had seeped into my flesh and I could feel nothing at all.

That was the first day. If anyone tells you that they don’t remember it vividly, they are a liar. It is said that time heals all wounds. It is also said that pain is an incredible teacher. The wounds may have healed but the lessons we learned that first day, about ourselves and about this planet we call Terra, would never leave the memory of those of us that had endured it.

I can’t believe that the night before I was worried about a goddamn report.


* * *


Might Makes Right


Death stalked the camp relentlessly in the early days, preying on the sick and the weak. I’ll never forget the first of us to go. The first to be buried in the open field, where the sun would shine down to warm them but where they could also find shade in the shadow of the mesa and have the wild flowers to keep them company. It wasn’t Dave, who I watched choke to death right in front of me from an allergic reaction to berries that the rest of us were eating perfectly easily. It wasn’t Mary, who was bitten by an insect the likes of which none of us have ever seen again. It wasn’t the five heart attacks that the doctor’s among us could not revive, nor was it even the diabetics, though they were a close second. No, the first was taken much sooner.

She was a little baby girl named Cheryl, three months old. She died of heatstroke from the walk out of the desert on that first day. She never had a chance, though she has since been immortalized in our hearts and minds as the first among the mounds. She was not a hero, nor was she a leader, but she was the first.

And a fitting welcome it was to the hardships that were to come. As I said, Death stalked among us and it only served to sew greater and greater discord and unease. We were cold and hungry and tired and we had no answers as to why we were even here. We were disjointed, held together only by the fear of the unknown that lurked mere inches away from the campfires. For the longest time we could do little more than simply survive.

Time seems to lose its meaning when your only goal is to keep yourself and your family alive. I can not say how long it was that we remained like this. Months? I know that the season changed from Spring to Summer. We dragged fallen tree limbs from the forests on the western slopes of the valley to build rudimentary huts and lean-toes in the fields by the river. We built fires. We foraged for food, learning the hard way as we went what we could and could not eat. We even began to hunt and bring in small game. Day in and day out we did this, all of us, lulling ourselves into a kind of mental sleep. Survival was our only concern and for most of us, it was not something we had ever faced before.

Perhaps it was because we had finally gained a modicum of victory over our environment that we pulled ourselves out of this funk, this mental haze. Our fires were lite, our stomachs were full, and we were able to sleep through the warm nights. Perhaps it was simply that we were blessed with an abundant Summer and did not have to work as hard for these things. Whatever the reason, the time came that we finally yearned for more than just survival. We wanted to regain at least a little of what had been taken from us - or what had been left behind, if you believe the Interventionists.

Organization. A foundation to any civilization. The only way to get anything done on any kind of greater scale. To their credit, it was actually those men and women with military backgrounds that began to organize first, most likely because they were ingrained with that structured behaviour in their previous lifestyle, I suppose. What did they organize? Well amongst themselves they banded together right from the beginning to watch the camp by night, to be ready for the unknown out in the darkness, whatever it may be. I don’t remember anything ever attacking us in those days. But that was not the whole group of us and I can imagine somewhat second nature for soldiers. What was it that they managed to get all of us together to do? Nothing less than the first great hunt of the Taun-Tans.

I am sure you have all been told that it was these soldiers, the founding members of the Night Watch, that first went on the hunt and brought home meat for our fires. I am equally sure you have been taught that it was the meat of the taun, the beasts we now keep in herds and ride as our mounts, that was their prize. This is not the case. It is true that they certainly had the most hunting experience of us all, but killing an animal for sport with a rifle and running one down on foot with a stick and a rock are two entirely different things.

The facts of the matter are that while we did start to create spears very early on in our scrounging, none of the first were that good at anything besides poking a fire and none that used them were that good either. Bows? The first of those were a good effort but a complete waste of time and energy. We didn’t come across the spring tree, so named for the ideal energy storage characteristic of its wood, until later in our exploration and didn’t have resin for bowstrings until much later after that. I will not even go into the creation of the first arrows or their heads. Suffice it to say, of the few hundred of our new tribe that had hunted for sport or sustenance in their former lives, only about half that did it on more than a casual basis. Of those, only an handful had hunted with a bow and only a few of those had any kind of skill.

No, as much as we depend on them now, the first meat brought to our fires was not that of the taun and it was not brought in by any great warrior of the Night Watch. The first among us to provide meat was actually some twelve year old redneck kid. I think his name was Bill, or Billy, or Mac, or Buddy, and he managed to catch a skeet on the head with a thrown rock. The little creatures are surely now as much a staple of our diet as anything, and though at the time many of us didn’t quite know what to make of what to us appeared to be a six-legged groundhog with a beak, it didn’t prevent us from trying our own luck. It’s odd to think how easily they took to domestication. Or perhaps how uninterested they are in escaping their coops.

But I was talking about the Great Hunt, not skeets. We had seen them ranging through the scrub trees of the plans around us for some time, almost taunting us with their bellowing calls. As summer wore on, the idea of the large animal and its abundant meat and fat, not to mention its hide, bones and horns, became too great to be sustained by the one or two we could manage to bring down at a time. That was when those who I mentioned earlier began to talk and to plan and to draw others into their schemes. They scouted and drew maps in the dirt and tried to convince everyone in earshot to lend their hands. I can freely admit that I, like everyone else, was sold.

We would surround them with our numbers, they said. Working together we would drive them over the edge of the gully to the north. We would be like our ancestors before recorded history and the prize would be well worth the effort. All most of us would have to do is walk and holler.

For the first time on Terra the ragged mob that we were acted as one, for a common goal that wasn’t simply survival of our immediate families. When we came back victorious, we celebrated for the first time as a community and not a camp of refugees. And it was at that celebration that people began to talk about the future and what was to become of us; of what else an organized group such as us could do. Here the discussions back and forth across the fire began to revolve around what sort of society we were to become, how we would govern ourselves and who would lead. I was not surprised in the slightest when, as days passed, our happy celebration broke down into one argument after another.

You would think that for many of us, those that had been directly a part of the online community known casually as SDnet anyway, the choice would be easy. Michael Wong, founder of that community back on Earth, had already proven himself. No more discussion was needed. Things are never that simple however. With talk of a leadership position, it was unavoidable that all the alpha males would come puffed-chests first out of the woodwork, some of them actually very capable people.

Each one of them barked as loud as they could and tried their hardest to gather supporters. All except Wong, I remember. He didn’t do anything more or less than he had ever done and didn’t say more of less than what was required. Thinking back on the situation, I don’t think he even really wanted the position. People just kept coming to him to make decisions.

Truly, our camp broke into a dozen different factions, split down ethnic, national, religious and political lines. Wong did not simply take the mantle of leadership and walk us to the top of the mesa, arms held high. Even if all the ‘Netters’ of the group had backed him from the start, which was not the case, that would only make up about a third of our population. Of the friends and family that made up the rest, many had their own ideas. Our newly found organization, our sense of community, soon crumbled and we slipped into the same old bickering that has plagued humanity for all of history. Bickering became fighting for resources, if not all out turf wars. It was ridiculous.

Luckily this didn’t last long.

A group of us were sitting around, talking about old Earth and I was trying to chip a rock into a spear head when Cyran began to sing just loud enough for the rest of us in the circle to hear.

“Walkin’ tall, machine gun man. They spit on me in my home land.”

Sure enough, we looked up and saw a man heading toward us that we had come to call ‘The Rooster.’ He was one of the Alpha Males; a corporate management douche in this former life, I believe, some Netter’s father. We called him The Rooster because he was a strutting loudmouth. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Unfortunately, he took that as a reason to single me out and sit next to me. Either that or I had been the target all along on his little fishing expedition.

“What you laughing at?” He asked, friendly enough.

“Oh, just Cyran’s singing there,” I smirked.

He looked around and tried to join in the joke but I was pretty sure he had no idea who Cyran was. I continued my chipping, hitting myself in the thumb yet agin.

“Listen,” he said, still friendly but his voice lower. “I’m told your wife is one of the Union.”

He was, of course, referring to the group of young mothers that had banded together to help look after each other’s children. I mentioned them earlier. Surprisingly, the name had stuck. If the soldiers were the first to organize the camp as a whole, they were surely the first to organize period. And they had been as firm a group as any from the beginning. Not to say that they didn’t have their share of politics. Believe me, I had to hear all about it. But situations like this make some people very tight-knit and they were proof. Natalie was indeed a part.

“I’m told,” he continued, “that she has some pull with them.”

“She likes to talk, yeah,” I replied quietly.

“Look, Matt...”

“Mark.”

“Mark. Sorry. Look, Mark, I’m trying to get support for my position, bring a little leadership and stability to this place, and I think you could help me out.”

“Is that right.” I had turned cold. The in-fighting and politicking was wearing on everyone and I was more than sick of it. He wasn’t the first to try to coerce or even bully me into supporting him either. Any of us for that matter. He did have brains though, wanting to play Nat like that. I’ll give him that.

“Yes,” he said. “Those women are more powerful than anyone else seems to think. If I had their support...”

“Sorry,” I cut in. “I’ve... My wife and I... have made our choice already.”

“Ah.” There as a hint of derision in that syllable, possibly contempt. “You’re a Netter.”

“Yep.” I hit my thumb again. It didn’t improve my mood.

“So you’re just going to follow along like this was still some internet thing? Have you even met Wong in person? I think I’ll talk to your wife directly. I’m sure she’ll be a little more open.”

I was finished with being civil and the annoyance and frustration at what I could see happening around me boiled over.

“Are you blind or just stupid?” I asked frankly, for the first time looking him in the eye.

“What?”

“Oh,” I feigned recognition. “It must be stupid than. I’ll speak slowly. This isn’t Earth. You can’t come around like this is an election, talking out of your ass about what you’ll do for the people and spreading shit about the other guy. Don’t you see what’s going on here? All you ass-hats are tearing this place apart. Wong is the only one who isn’t. More importantly, and you may want to pay attention here, right now Wong has the most power to back his decisions.”

“He doesn’t have any more power than anyone else!” the Rooster crowed. “You people are just used to him!”

“I’ll spell it out for you,” I sneered. “Jegs backs Wong. The soldiers follow Jegs’ orders without question. That is the only power that matters around here, right now. Frankly, I’m wondering when he’s going to actually exercise it.”

“You think so?” he asked. It looked like he thought he had found a leg up. “That’s not what I’m hearing. What I hear is talk of the army types picking up and leaving. They’re set to head out on their own because of all this.”

I didn’t know how to reply to this. He had me. If it was true. There was always talk of someone or another wanting to go out on their own but it never amounted to anything. It certainly wouldn’t be surprising for the soldiers to think about it too, but if so, none of the ones I knew were giving any hints.

“If what you hear is true.” It was the only thing I could think to say. “I haven’t heard any of it.”

“You’re not surprised though.”

“No. I guess not.”

“And?”

“I guess Wong better act fast.”

The Rooster left, somewhat more crest-fallen than when he had arrived. I never saw him again, though from what I understand, he did try to convince Nat of his position directly. He was killed in The Brawl not two days later. Actually, I think he was killed by an infection he got from a wound in that brawl but he’s dead just the same.

And what a brawl it was. As grand in its scale as it was in its stupidity. I didn’t see what actually caused it, personally, but the reports range from a murder to name-calling. What I do know is that almost the whole camp was swept up in it, in one way or another. Shelters were burned or trampled. Precious food stores were strewn across the ground or destroyed entirely. People who should have been coming together for mutual survival pounded each other like madmen. It was pure horror.

The clubs and spears we had used not long ago to bring down tauns in our greatest endeavour were now being turned against each other. People were swept away in the violence and simple release of their anger at the unknown forces that had stranded them. Those forces were not available so their fellow man became just as good a substitute.

Where was I in all this? Was I taking part in the mayhem? Was I trying to stop it? Shouting a voice or reason? Hell no. Like the rest of the sensible folks, I was keeping my family protected and trying to stay safely out of the way. Those of us that did so were the first to watch in awe the inspiring end coming to that terrible event. We were witness to the first application of that power I had warned about days before.

I don’t know what stopped the soldiers among us from leaving, for in years to follow I would learn that, indeed, their bags were packed, and I can see every reason for them to do so. I do not know what words were said beyond the ears of others or who said them. I do not know what loyalty held them to the rest of us, or perhaps just Wong. I only know that they did not leave and we were saved from ourselves for it.

It was a strange thing to see, the men and women who we called the Night Watch marching as one through the smoke and churned earth. Unshaven, unkept, dressed in patchwork hide rags and yet keeping step as crisply as any dress parade, with stone age weapons carried at the ready, it was like watching cavemen troop out of the mists of time to destroy all you had thought you knew about them. They passed us without a glance and cut through the mob like it was water. In their wake, all were left still and silent, one way or another.

At the time I had referred to it blithely as the arrival of the Goon Squad but to the credit of those men and women, there would be no more serious casualties that day. They kept their heads and subdued the crowd with a combination of restraining tactics, shock and a fair bit of awe. No one, no matter how tough they thought they were, had enough fight in them to think they could handle that force.

Wong and Jegs strode furiously behind the column, staring holes into anyone that caught their eye. When they reached the heart of the riot and silence reigned eerily over the encampment, Wong spoke to us as our leader for the first time.

“Everyone,” he shouted, turning a tight circle. “Enough of this! As your leader, decided by majority,” he let the claim hang for a moment, “I will not allow this to continue! I will not allow you to tear us apart from the inside! Not with everything else we have facing us. This division and in-fighting- and splintering of resources will stop now or I will stop it! Any further attack on our own people will be dealt with swiftly and severely. The last thing we need is more of our people there,” he pointed off to the mounds,” instead of here. And the last thing I want to do is be forced to order it.

“We have officially hit rock bottom,” he continued. “We are moving forward from here. I am formally creating a council to govern us. Its members will be chosen over the next week or so and we will all begin the process of dragging us, kicking and scream if need be, to some modicum of civilization.”

I listened to the speech silently, not entirely inspired. Talk is cheap. Would his actions play out the same? Though I had known this sort of display was inevitable, deep down I had hoped it wouldn’t actually come to pass. The first thing I had wanted for our budding new civilization had not been the need to police ourselves.

Besides, this was Wong. As I listened through all the lecturing and talk of the future, as he tried his best to rebuild hope for the hopeless, something was missing. It wasn’t until the end that I was finally rewarded with what I was looking for.

“Now for fuck’s sake people,” he admonished. “Stop acting like god damn, fucking retards!”


* * *


Each to His Role


It wasn’t long before newly appointed members of the newly formed council were dispersed throughout the rest of us, listening to our thoughts, complaints and ideas for the future. Dalton was the one to come around my end of the camp. Quite a group of us were gathered in fact, and I wasn’t the only one surprised that things were actually moving along. I made a point of approaching the man, much slimmer now than when we had met face to face in the desert.

“So how’s it going, Big Shot,” I joked. “You come to collect taxes?”

“Man,” he said in a low voice, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on any more than you do. Admin’ing a message board is one thing, but this? I don’t know how the hell to create a town.”

“Well, here’s hoping,” I said, falling back to let him address the crowd.

He scratched the bushy beard that had taken over his face, causing me to unconsciously do the same. “Ok,” he began, pulling out a roll of taun hide, a sharpened stick and a small, dug-out knot of wood filled with some ink concoction. “This is pretty straight forward. We’re building a civilization here and we’d like to make sure nothing is forgotten on our to-do list. We’ve got enough food, clothing and shelter to get by now, so we want to hear everyone’s opinion on what the next step should be.”

It was the perfect set-up. I couldn’t resist. “Kill all the lawyers,” I called out, shooting a wicked grin and a wink to the large man most knew as Stravo. Off in the crowd he shook his head and rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. It got the smattering of chuckles I had expected and proved to relax everyone at least a bit.

More seriously, I personally thought we needed to expand on what we already had. We needed to start some sort of agricultural program, to have a reliable, steady food supply, and we needed to build more permanent dwellings. I was tired of sleeping in a glorified tent and spending so much time searching out food.

Most of the comments were like this at the beginning but the session eventually broke down into a big wish list. People were talking about electricity for God’s sake. And glass! Priorities people! Let’s get four stone walls around us before we start talking about putting glass in the windows! I couldn’t get too annoyed though. People were dreaming and I couldn’t begrudge them hope. Even if I didn’t have very much of my own.

The next ones to come around took a census of who everyone was, what their occupation had been back on Earth, and what useful skills they had. This really started the ball rolling with getting work done. People identified with farming skills went to work right away (not that they already hadn’t really, to an extent) sectioning off land and debating over how best to grow these alien plants we knew so very little about. Those with construction and carpentry skills were also valuable. Though we didn’t have very sophisticated tools, they did their best to lift us out of the mud. Once it was decided where we were going to build, that is. There were others too, doing their best at what they did best, but I was too focussed on easier food and better shelter to pay attention.

There were quite a few people that were given a rude awakening in those times as well. Stoke brokers, bankers, corporate executives, accountants, marketers, computer technologist; all those once important people, essential to our old society, were reduced to having their expertise counted as all but worthless. The lucky ones were able to fall back on skills learned from hobbies. Many more found their uncallused hands reduced to hard labour digging ditches for irrigation or hauling rocks for construction.

Then there were people like me who fit in somewhere between. I was a mechanical engineer by trade. I worked in Building Engineering; heating, ventilation, plumbing, that sort of thing. On the surface this seems like a handy skill set to have when constructing a new town. Unfortunately, when most of the work you do is with powered fans, boilers and pumps, and you’re living in the stone age, things get a little soured. Open fire heating and natural ventilation were the order of the day.

I had two saving graces that kept my family from being moved to the burgeoning quarry. The first was plumbing design. One of the things on the top of everyone’s wish list was running water and some sort of sewer drainage. The second was the fact that I had once been given a book about engineering in the ancient world. I can’t tell you how glad I was to have actually gotten around to reading that. Not that I remembered it all, but coupled with the technical knowledge hiding in my brain, there was enough retained to make a difference.

And that was how I found my self charged with the ultimate goal of giving us back the magic and wonder of indoor plumbing. I wasn’t going it alone, sure, but at the time it seemed an impossible task, and they are still working on improvement after improvement to this day. Children do not believe how far we’ve come since then. How can anyone make them grasp how much farther we have to go?

It was decided by the powers-that-be that we would construct our permanent town on the mesa which had overlooked us since we had first entered the valley. It was the best defensible position, they had been advised by the soldiers. It afforded a view of the whole valley and gave only one location of access. I thought this was an incredibly stupid idea.

What did we need to defend ourselves from? None of our forays into the wild, be they for hunting or simple exploration, had yielded anything more intelligent than a pack predator. Certainly nothing sentient had been found. Even the large, dangerous animals, like razorbacks, that we had encountered kept their distance from the camp with its noise and fires. All this was accomplishing was making life harder in every other respect.

Sure, the surrounding land could all be used for farming, but how much land was our village really going to take up where it was? Now we had to get the crops all the way up the mesa. Not to mention getting water up there. The river had been right beside us and now we had to get it twenty feet into the air. A bump they called it. Yeah right.

At least drainage wouldn’t be a problem.

Easy accessibility to food, water, and fuel for fires, as well as a prime location to use the river for waterwheel power did not seem to win out against the threat of the unknown. We were moving to the mesa even if it was kicking and screaming. The decision was final and I was going to have to roll with it. I hate when people tell me to think of these things as challenges.

Not that I was alone in my endeavours. Not by any means. Jim Beers had to be the best job foreman I’ve ever worked with and Tom Lee had a head for engineering details that I never will. Together we took our deep breaths and tried our best to give what was being asked of us. I’m proud of what we did there at the beginning; how we answered our mandate while still being able to make improvements in the future. Nobody even thinks about it now but I guess that just means we did our jobs well.

Things were slow going at the beginning but increased steadily as we became more and more at home on Terra. I my mind there were three main advances that allowed us to improve so quickly; finding the spring tree, domesticating the tauns, and finding copper and iron in the mountains. The first and third seemed to happen while I was busy looking somewhere else, but the second I remember distinctly.

I was reviewing some clay piping that we were hoping to use when a boy came running to bring me down to the river where the farmers still camped. I was one of about twenty or so that eventually found ourselves standing around four wild tauns enclosed in a pen. Not really seeing the point of my being there, I asked the question.

“You said you had ridden before,” I was told. The four tauns had been captures and people were bound and determined to ride them. Everyone with any riding experience had been brought down to try.

There wasn’t a real rancher among us.

“Are you nuts?” I asked. “I’ve ridden horses, not god damn kangaroos! And I’m certainly not good enough to break a wild one.”

I’m pretty sure tauns don’t know what a kangaroo is bu they didn’t seem to like the comparison anyway. They grunted and pawed the dirt and one kicked at the fence. They looked at me as if to say, just try getting in here, just try.

By the time we were finally able to ride the beasts it was fifty nine days and forty seven broken bones later and one animal had to be put down from injuries it had given itself trying to escape. In the end, only constant passive contact and a lot of food were able to win them over. Most of the time was spent in a patience game. Most of the broken bones were received at the end when we were actually able to mount.


* * *


The Worst of Times


Once we were able to domesticate the tauns our world opened up so much further; we expanded our territorial range, we increased the amount of material we could haul, we increased the strength of our make-shift plows. Everything became easier.

Time was passing quickly now. I watched my son begin to crawl and then walk on this new home of ours. I watched him babble and then start to pick up words. Everything I did was for him. I had to give him a world where he didn’t have to live in dirt and disease, where death didn’t stalk constantly. My family was everything to me.

At our arrival I had risked poisoning myself to test their food. When provisions were lean I starved so that they wouldn’t. When I was bruised and battered after a hunt, I continued on so they would have more. I bled, I froze, I tried to ride a wild god damn taun, all for them. It was for nothing. Like some cruel joke, my whole life was taken away from me.

Jim, Hendrake and I (Tom was looking after an attempted at Roman style heating for the Council Building that was being constructed) had taken a crew up the northeastern slopes to Cody Lake where the river began, to meet up with the geological survey and mining camp. We were building them a trough system to help with separating ore, as well as hoping to plot a route for an aqueduct. It was ambitious, yes, but even at our slow rate of stone cutting and construction, the possibility of hand pumping water all the way from the river to the cisterns at the top of the mesa was looking even worse. At that point we had three basins, ten feet long by ten feet wide by about four feet tall, made of stones and clay, and being kept full by rain and good old fashioned manpower. That was energy we needed elsewhere.

Anyway, in those times, when a crew broke away from the main group like this, our families would typically come along as well, especially when it was going to be for an extended period. It was easier to take our tents and everything else with us than make new ones, and more practical to have people around that weren’t working directly on the project. They would be available to gather food and maintain the camp, not to mention to act as extra manual labour when required. Besides, no one wanted to be away from their loved ones for that long.

At any rate, we had been up at the lake for about a month or so when we first took notice of them. It had been the tauns acting nervous that had actually given the first signal, otherwise it may have been much later before we caught on. They kept very still most of the time, those creatures, up amongst the high rocks, and seemed content to only watch our strange activity. It was easy to miss them, too damn easy.

They looked outwardly to us like alligators, but had legs more like a dog’s and walked with a canine gait. The biggest we saw at the time was about five feet from tip of nose to tip of tail, but there have been larger since. We called then targs - another piece of fiction from Earth - but they are also known as mountain lizards or lizard-dogs, and when we finally spotted them we didn’t know quite what to make of them.

We were alarmed in the beginning, to be sure, but all they would do is sit there in the rocks watching. We threw stones, chased them away, speared a few (they taste terrible by the way) and yet they would always come back. The next day they would always be in the same spot, watching silently. All day, rain or shine, they would lay until dusk when they would all rise and lope away into the wild, only to return the next morning.

We set spearmen on watch originally, to keep an eye on them, but it soon came to feel pointless to us. Seven targs and all they ever did was watch from the crags above. In time we started to forget they were even there. After weeks of inactivity, the watches were reduced and finally ended. We needed the manpower elsewhere during the day.

It’s hard to say when they started to creep closer, it happened so gradually. One week they were sitting in the rocks on the slope, the next they were in the rocks at the base of the slope. From there it was laying out in the open, all in a row, just far enough away to be able to bolt back into the rough if needed. They became like just another part of the surroundings and we found ourselves at best ignoring them and at worst coming to think of them as tame. Even the tauns had gotten use to them at that point.

By the summer the beasts were sixteen strong, living among us, walking through our camp with impunity, yet still always disappearing into the wild at dusk. My son couldn’t have been happier. He loved animals and imitated the tauns and skeets and birds as much as he spoke real words. The targs seemed to be a personal goal of his. Without fear, he was determined to touch them and they were more than happy to oblige.

The events of the final day are carved into my memory like any of the scars that now cross my body. It had started more or less as usual; mundane. There had been an improvement in the cement we were using, messengers were bringing complaints that we were taking the best rocks dug out of the mines before they could get to Avalon, there was another collapse in the waterway where we were connecting to the side of the mountain; the usual. I kissed Nat and the boy good bye, told them I would be back for lunch and went off to reopen the trench yet again.

It had been a hard day. I never actually made it back at noon. In fact I hadn’t thought of anyone or anything but that trench the whole day. It wasn’t until mid afternoon that I was finally pulled away from what I was doing. It was the screaming that did it.

A woman’s voice, coming from the direction of camp. All of our heads came up at the sound of it, like prairie dogs. That single voice rang out again and again as we dropped our tools and started, ever faster, to its source. Before we were half way there it was joined by another and then another.

The targs had taken the children.

Lindar, who had been on daycare duty, was frantic and bleeding. At her feet lay one of the animals, beaten and dead, in its mouth one of our children. As soon as enough of us had arrived, she bolted in the direction she had been incoherently pointing, bare hands balled into fists.

The rest of us gave chase as best we could, not fully comprehending yet what had happened. Up the rocky slopes we ran, tearing our flesh in our haste but giving it no heed. Through forest and clearing we followed the beasts’ well worn trails, overcoming the slowest of them in our pursuit. Each one carried another, tiny lifeless body in its powerful jaws.

By the time we reached their den our rage and grief had reached its peak. It poured out of us like a fountain of blood and did not relent until our children, each under four years, were back in our arms. Not a single one had survived. Though our injuries became many and deep, we returned the favour in deadly kind.

It’s strange how some things stick out in your mind during traumatic situations. There I stood, drenched in stinking blood, watching Natalie cradle our son as if he slept, and all I could do was wonder when she had arrived. Uncontrolled sobs filled the air, mixed with Lindar’s dazed, blank-eyed, droning litany of explanation and apology, and all I could think about was how these animals had taken us in so completely.

It was the god damn waiting game all over again. Constant passive contact until we had become so used to them that we couldn’t possibly see them coming. The same god damn thing we had pulled breaking the tauns only turned back on us. I fell to the ground in a soup of grief, exhaustion, and utter disgust at how stupid we had been. We had allowed ourselves to believe they could not possibly touch us, that we were masters over all we saw like back on Earth. They has proven us bitterly wrong.

All of us were held silent under the spell of Lindar’s words in the dimming twilight as she related her tale, never once looking up from the dark ichor that still dripped from the make-shift club in her fist. I couldn’t forget those deathly sober words if I tried. They haunt me probably as much as they do her.

“I’ve been getting so tired of sorting,” she began. “I just wanted to give it a rest for a while.” Lindar typically sorted ore up at the troughs. She had a sharp eye and a new-found knack for geology. “I always like playing with the kids.

“Everyone was off and busy. Even the older kids were working around camp or off gathering food. Mary and Tom had gone to the outhouse. It was just me.” There was no blame in the words, or thought of excuse, but that didn’t stop Tom O’Brian from drawing in a ragged breath.

“They started wandering in as they always do, the lizards, nosing around the daycare fence, and I didn’t think anything of it. They’re around all the time. There seemed to be a lot of them but I didn’t think about it until they were pushing at part of the fence.

“I barely noticed it happening. I was too busy with little Jenny acting up and one of them who kept nosing around us. I kept pushing it away but it wouldn’t leave. When I finally had a chance to look up, I guess it was because it had gotten so quiet. When I did though, that part of the fence was down and all of the children were dangling from their mouths. They were just hanging there silent. It happened so fast and no one made a sound. Not one sound.

“All of their god damn eyes were on me, like they had been making sure of where I was and what I was doing the whole time. I look down at the one close to me and it’s snatched up Jenny. I was in shock. I couldn’t do anything except look from that one lizard to the others. And they were still staring at me! All of them!

“The children were all so quiet.

“I couldn’t stop them when they all starting taking off. All I could do was jump the one beside me and fight to get Jenny back. I killed it but then I couldn’t just leave. I had to wait for someone to come.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop it. I’m so sorry.”

Her voice was tired and broken as she relived the moments, but it did not waver or fall into weeping, even though tears fell from her eyes. With her last words, she looked at each of us, not imploring our forgiveness or understanding, but it seemed to me more to force herself to face us in her time of utter failure.

Of the eight children four years and younger who had brightened our camp, not one had survived. Each one’s neck had been broken quickly and cleanly. Later we found that our skeet coop had been cleaned out as well. You know this as The Incident at Cody Lake. Those of us that were there, that lost so much, don’t think words will ever be enough to label it.

Eternal vigilance they preached.

We would not be caught off our guard ever again, they assured.

Yet even in those noble sentiments, people tend to forget about unpleasant things that don’t happen to them directly. They push them to the back of their minds and don’t dwell on them. They disconnect. They lose the details. This is no exception. People take mountain lizards as pets now and act as if they were the dogs of old Earth. They are not dogs and those of us that were there, that lost so much, will never truly trust them in our midst. We are all waiting for them to choose their time and strike once again. They are patient creatures.

I had to be strong in the wake of what happened, we all did, but grief hung too fresh and heavy over our hearts. I tried to be strong for my wife, to give her an anchor for her sorrow even while I dealt with my own. It was not enough. Three days later, as we were all making ready to head back to the city to bury our so-innocent dead, my wife too was taken from me.

An asthma attack brought on by her uncontrolled anguish. So senseless. So easily prevented and stopped if we had the proper means. Here on Terra I had to watch her gasp and choke to death while I desperately tried to calm her breathing. Once again I felt totally alone in the crowd.

They were buried together, mother and son, along side the other mounds, their names scratched into rock as best I could.

I was totally destroyed. I could think of nothing but my loss. I could do nothing but mourn it. When all the friends and well-wishers left after the burial, I stayed, sitting next to the grave in unabashed tears. When the other parents left to consol themselves in private, I stayed. When night fell and the fang-beaks howled and even Lindar, who seemed determined to be the last standing among the mounds conceded the place to me and left, I remained.

For three days I remained, refusing to be parted from the earth containing my past and any future I thought I had. People would come and go, some offering words and sentiments, but they rang hollow in my ears. I paid them no heed, even the wisest of them. I didn’t even look up from the cold, unfeeling stone. People would come offering food. I ate it in silence. Someone put a blanket over me in the night. I don’t know who. It was no longer in me to fight the cold and hunger. That others would do it for me only danced on the edge of my consciousness.

One the third day, the voice behind me and to the side I recognized as Zaia’s. Her warm hand flinched as it touched my icy shoulder.

“You can’t stay out here like this any longer,” she said, gently but firmly. “We can’t just keep feeding you for you to sit and wallow like this. I’m sorry for how you’re feeling but you have to come back. We can’t afford this.”

I ignored her. I sat unmoved and unmoving as the numbness that had enveloped me spread to her hand and up her arm. She didn’t understand. How could she? But she hadn’t come alone. Another voice, this one deeper, reached my ears.

“I know what you’re feeling, Mark.” It was Stravo. “I’ve had to go through the same loss since being here. My daughter is back on Earth with her mom. I know I’ll probably never see her again. I’ll never know what she’s doing or how she’s doing. The worst part is, if she’s still alive - if any of them are - she probably thinks I abandoned her. I think about her every day but I still have to keep moving, keep meeting that next day. We’ve all lost terribly here, but we still have each other. You have to remember that.”

For the first time in days I turned my attention to the person addressing me. My neck was stiff and protested painfully for the effort but for the first time in days I actually felt the need. When I met Stravo’s eyes, full of patient compassion, my face was a mask of bitter incredulity and rage. The shock of it flashed visibly across him.

How dare he compare his loss to mine! How dare he think he could possibly understand what it was like to have everyone you loved taken from you right before your eyes! His daughter was on another planet, not dead! He hadn’t had to hold her broken neck! He hadn’t had to bury her and the woman he loved at the same time! How dare he try to coat that in some tripe about meeting the fucking day and feed it to me as if I were a child! The venom in my glare was palpable.

The large man in front of me caught everything rolling through my mind without me having to say a word. His features hardened in an instant

“You know what?” he said, turning suddenly angry. “Fuck you! You think your loss is worse than mine? You think you have it the hardest? Go fuck yourself. They’re dead but at least you got to spend every day here with them up until then. At least you got to be there with them during their lives. You think that’s worse than not being there at all?! You think that’s worse than me not knowing whether my daughter is even alive or dead at all, you selfish son of a bitch?!”

Zaia stood to the side watching the exchange uncomfortably, not knowing what to expect. Stravo and I stared at each other in silence for a withering moment, neither giving ground, the only sound the crunching of dirt as Zaia shifted her feet. It was I who finally broke the pause, my voice harsh and gravelly from cold and grief.

“At least you have hope.”

They were the last words I would speak in a very long time.


* * *

woot!

I give you credit for having the balls to kill off your wife and kid in the story. Not an easy thing to do, since my family was inserted into the story simply because I can not see my self functioning in such a senario without them. Bravo.

I love it, as I mentioned earlier, and I'm really curious where you go from here. Keep it up.

Holy shit. This is amazing. Please write more.

Ooh, more BotH. Keep it coming, please.

At this point, if I were to write a story about Nitram and I, it would begin with Nitram's death and get worse from there.

LadyTevar wrote:At this point, if I were to write a story about Nitram and I, it would begin with Nitram's death and get worse from there.

Considering that Nitram is still the leader durring the war with the Citadel, we'd all be really old at the start of the story. Well, I'm dead but....

Knife wrote:

LadyTevar wrote:At this point, if I were to write a story about Nitram and I, it would begin with Nitram's death and get worse from there.

Considering that Nitram is still the leader durring the war with the Citadel, we'd all be really old at the start of the story. Well, I'm dead but....

Seriously I think Nitram is about the only one left alive by the end of BOTH2.

Got links to those stories? I've not read them.

CmdrWilkens wrote:

Knife wrote:

LadyTevar wrote:At this point, if I were to write a story about Nitram and I, it would begin with Nitram's death and get worse from there.

Considering that Nitram is still the leader durring the war with the Citadel, we'd all be really old at the start of the story. Well, I'm dead but....

Seriously I think Nitram is about the only one left alive by the end of BOTH2.

I promise* that I'll be alive at the end of BOTH2, and so will multiple others.


[Bender]I can promise you anything![/bender]

LadyTevar wrote:Got links to those stories? I've not read them.

TBoH:The Battle of the Hymn
TBoH2: The Chronicle of the Citadel

Lonestar wrote:I promise* that I'll be alive at the end of BOTH2, and so will multiple others.


[Bender]I can promise you anything![/bender]

Yeah, if you ever get around to finishing it.

Here's the next instalment as a nice gift for the holidays. Hope you enjoy.


The Sounds of Silence


The following few years blurred together for me. I was broken and depressed and I retreated into myself. If there had been a bottle around, I’m sure I would have crawled into it. As it was, there were no such self medications on Terra yet to dull me and I had to face my days with crystal clear memory.

I worked, but only because there was nothing else to do. No task, no project I had been working on, seemed worth doing anymore. No words seemed worth saying anymore. What was the point? We were all going to die out in this god-forsaken place anyway. All of us. It was only a matter of time.

So when I returned to the work camp at the lake, it was not to the same position I had left. Indeed, much in the camp had changed. The very mood of the place had been dampened. Many of the familiar faces were gone as well. One of the geologists moved on to survey another part of the valley, citing that the mine no longer needed him. Some of the general labour moved back to the greater safety of the mesa. Lindar as well, did not return. In fact it was not long after that she joined the Night Watch. One of its first civilian recruits.

As for myself, Hendrake had taken over in the days that I was away and he and Jim could tell that I was not going to return to full capacity. When I went back to work, it was silently taking orders on the labour gang. They tried to ask me my opinions, ease me back, but I would not reply. As I said, I saw no value in any of it, so simply did what others thought was of value.

I drifted from place to place, job to job in that time. The aqueduct, the mines, the mills, the Hall, all hold my blood and sweat, along with that of countless others. I worked the bellows in the forges for Keevan in silence alongside Shep. He couldn’t hear. I wouldn’t speak. It was a good match. Half a dozen other jobs as well, but none of them gave anything back to me. And in each one, my reputation for recklessness grew.

I have been alternately called the luckiest and the stupidest person in Avalon. On the waterway, high above the valley floor I would stand on the edge of construction, on the weakest of rocks, tying off the framework of our scaffolding. If there was a weak passage in the mine filled with ore, I would not hesitate to work in it. On a hunt, the best way to trap a razorback is with moving bait holding its attention to one side while others attack from the rear. I was the bait. Taun stallion too much to ride? I’d give it a try. There was nothing I wouldn’t do, no risk that wasn’t taken. Some mistook this for daring, while others were far less generous but no less wrong.

Suicidal, they said. Death wish, they whispered behind my back, as if my ears had failed with my voice. But these statements were patently untrue. They would imply a conscious decision for me to want to end my own life and that was not the case. I simply didn’t care one way or the other anymore. Live? Die? Didn’t matter. It’s not the best way to go through life but it does relieve a lot of worry.

Some people were unnerved by this behaviour. They could not stand to watch me put myself on the edge, as it were. Others could not stand that I would not speak, not understanding that I would not answer their inane questions no matter how agitated or smothering they became. Indeed, some seemed to make it their mission to fix me. I couldn’t be bothered to set them straight.

So I drifted.

I drifted away from these people, some of whom had been good friends of my family and particularly my wife, and toward those that took me in stride. Some were quiet folk by nature who didn’t mind a comfortable silence. Others would have preferred to hear the sound of their own voices over mine even if I had used it. Still others simply did not have the need in them to pry and took things as they were. They were all worthy enough friends and I found a modicum of peace with them.

It was with groups such as this that I would range the wild, hunting and trapping and exploring areas the Watch did not have time for on their patrols. They had to report home on a scheduled basis. We did not. It was dangerous to be sure, but also rewarding. Though, as you know, I really didn’t care about either. For me it was a chance to get lost.

One such outing stands clearest in my memory. Tuxedo and Chris had heard rumours of a creature, kind of like a beaver, in another valley to the Northwest and schemed that they’d take a hunting expedition to check things out. When they returned they would stake a claim on any trapping territory that might be worth while. Men named Fanboy, Tanner and Jamie - who we called thus even though he insisted it was JME- had been recruited to help, but they were still looking for a sixth. I fit the bill. I think it was mostly because I had acquired a taun-taun from when I had been working with the ranchers. Not something so common back then.

Not to say that this beast was any prize or reward. More of a cure, I’d say, really. I’m fairly certain they were going to send him to slaughter if not with me. He was the most stubborn, cowardly taun you would ever have the misfortune of setting saddle on. And ugly too. They called him Quatto. I hated him and he hated me.

Tauns are not necessarily known for their acts of heroism or loyalty on the battlefield, in fact, on the whole, most that I’ve known were pretty mercenary, but this one took that to whole new levels. At the first hint of danger during a hunt, if I was mounted, I was guaranteed to be thrown to the ground to watch him recede into the distance. We would later find him grazing casually somewhere with the most smug expression an animal could muster. He was a jerk, plan and simple, but he was mine I suppose.

Anyway, after about a week of searching for this place, we managed to bumble our way into a dead end between two mountains that seemed about right. Not much more than a box canyon compared to the valley we called home, it was still big enough to hold a series of ponds - one lake if you’re generous - and its woodland was able to sustain game if they were trapped during the winter. The slopes all around were high and steep and the entrance we found was little more than a bottleneck carved out by water millennia since dried. Fort Booker would one day be built there, but when we first arrived all we were looking for was a dry place to camp.

Frankly, I was glad of the prospect of exploring dense forest on foot and not riding for a while. Between keeping Quatto from biting the other tauns and keeping him from biting my leg, I was at my end with him. From the fact that he didn’t try to stomp me with his foot or grab at me with his annoying little arms, I’m sure he was happy to be free of his saddle too. Happy to go butt his lop-sided horns at anything that wouldn’t get out of the way, at any rate.

And the woods were indeed dark and thick. We Originals will never truly get used to the darkness of the deep forest here on Terra. The purples and blues of the foliage on this planet, in the deep dense brush, create an atmosphere far more foreboding than any of the greens of Earth. The shadows grow sooner in the day and the light that filters through takes on a life all too alien to us. I used to find nature relaxing back home. Here, I would just as soon see it all cut down.

Lush as it was however, even on the edge of the forest dry was not an easy thing to find. It was well into autumn at this time and though the rain had not been constant, the damp and cloud cover had followed us since we had set out. Even the shelter of the trees and our meagre fire could not save us from the wet chill that clung to our bones. It stuck in our joints, aching as we set camp, and turned the droplets of water that fell here and there from the branches into icy bolts of lightening down our necks. Even the casual comradery of the others’ banter could not completely hold back the gloom.

The grey sky still held promise of hours of light when our home base, as it were, was finished. This gave us an opportunity to leisurely patrol the surrounding area before taking our meal together around the fire. In pairs, we set off on different routes through the trees taking the lay of the land and planning the work ahead of us. It was not long before each team found their way to the nearest pond and took in for the first time the sight of what had brought us here.

“Like a big skeet in the water,” Chris was saying later that evening, the glow of the fire dancing across his face. “And there was a bunch of downed trees where we were. Totally like a beaver.” I could tell he was imagining parading up the mesa like a hero with pelts no one had see before.

“Biggest skeet I’ve ever seen,” added the one we all knew as Fanboy around a mouthful of dinner. He motioned to me with a thumb. “That one me and Mark saw on the bank had to be like seventy pounds.”

I nodded in agreement when they looked at me. Fanboy was known for exaggeration but not this time. And truly, as you well know, it was obvious the creature we saw was related to the skeets of the plains and valley, only adapted to the water. Much larger than its cousin, its central paws had almost completely evolved into flippers, leaving its rear and fore limbs for moving around on land. Those too were webbed but allowed for much more dexterity. It’s beak appeared sharper for cutting into wood and its coat was thick and jet black. Tanner was saying as much about the fur at the time.

“Hopefully it’s really that dark,” he noted. In the years on Terra he had become a master with pelts. That was why we called him Tanner. I never did learn his real name, though that could be said for most of those that now went solely by their screen names as well. “It could just be from being wet. Or the blue algae.”

“Well it doesn’t matter to me,” Tux cut in, coming back from the shadows of the trees. “They’re going to be just as warm as hats and boots no matter the colour.”

“Frankly, I was hoping for something a little more exciting than beavers,” Jamie put in his two cents. “And for the record, it’s got to be the water making them that black. It was like ink over there. I wonder what else is in it.”

“We can always throw you in and find out,” Fanboy replied with an evil smile, but that just started things rolling into a contest of what one person would do to the other. I watched it as silently as ever, happy for the pure, meaningless distraction from our never ending labours.

Suffice it to say, the conversation revolved around topics like this that are not interesting to read about, how there had been signs of porkers and targs and such mixed with casual joking, so I will spare you the rest. It snowed that night, earlier in the year than we were used to, and though it did not have the strength to stay on the ground, we were up with the cold dawn to start our day none the less. This snow and melt repeated itself many times during the weeks we camped in that valley with the black ponds, going about our work, so it shouldn’t have surprised us when the big dump came and snowed in the only pass out. It did though.

In our defence, we did have other things more important on our minds at the time. Our lives were foremost on that list but it is the reason for this distraction, the cause of it, that is the real story. I have spoken little of these events since they happened. They have been told, even exaggerated in the retelling, but not by me. This is what I remember.

The trap lines had been good to us and our packs were all but bursting with skins to carry home. Hunting had been easy as well, adding dried meats to the load we would take back with us. We were almost ready to head out actually. Knowing our tauns would be baring our loads and not us, we were all on one last hunt for some fresh meat for the long walk to the city.

It was snowing steadily the day it all started, but not hard. I was nested at the edge of the last pond on the far side of the valley, the tiniest of them, as still as I could be, watching the opposite bank for signs of life. My bow rested, nocked and ready, on my lap. My spears, the last three I had left, lay at my side, slowly being covered, as I was, in a blanket of white. The stone knife which I had by now used for years was at my waist. I was as rooted to the ground as any of the blackwoods around me.

To my left, Fanboy quietly spoke in what seemed to be a steady stream of consciousness to pass the time. I had hunted with him many times over the past weeks and was used to it. Somehow he managed to never be distracted when the time came and didn’t have a problem shutting up when needed.

“Never was in the mine, myself,” he was saying. “They asked, but I would have just bailed on it if they forced the issue. You were down there for a while, right?”

I nodded slightly, trying to keep my movements to a minimum, eyes still trained on the opposite bank not far away.

“I heard you were buried like five times. Man, I couldn’t handle that.”

I nodded again and held up a hand to silence anything further. We finally had something.

There, on the across the pond, a good sized porker was slowly immerging from the underbrush. We held motionless as it came fully into view, scanning the area and testing the air with its twitching snout. It was cautious and confused. It had thought it had heard something and could definitely smell us, strange and alien as we were, but it couldn’t see us. It stood like this for what seemed like an eternity, waiting to bolt at any moment. We held motionless still.

Whatever clock was inside the creature’s head, it hit its mark and still seeing no danger, it lowered its nose and began rooting through the thin layer of snow to the cold earth. Twice it stopped to test our patience again, but soon its fore-paws, so hand-like in appearance, were tearing at the soil in pursuit of some treasured morsel or another. At this, we finally broke our pause.

Inch by inch, Fanboy and I raised our bows into position, but for all our care we still somehow betrayed ourselves. Through the blowing snow of the open air, the animal lifted its head to us accusingly. We froze, our arrows ready to fly but unable. The beast had yet to show us the heavy brown hair of its flank and a shot to the head would be wasted. A porker’s skull is far too thick.

At the time, we did not know what it was at the animal’s back that spooked it into turning away from us, but it did and we were finally rewarded. Not that it did us any good. Our two shafts flew but they did not find their marks. Mine hit and stuck firmly into the trunk of the tree behind the creature’s neck. The other dug into the thick muscle of its hip. Shocked and wounded, it ran.

“At least I hit it,” Fanboy chided as we gathered our things and rose in one fluid motion.

Around the black water we ran and into the cover of the wood where a trail of blood marked our prey’s passing. There was still a chance we could run it down as it was and we were not prepared to give up so easily. Neither were we prepared however, to find the beast turned back on us, retracing its steps away from some other, unknown terror.

It bowled through us, knocking us over in its effort to pass and breaking off the head of one of Fanboy’s spears in its shoulder in the process. Regardless, none of this slowed the porker a bit and we were left on the ground with nothing to show but our surprise. The two of us got to our feet to continue the chase only to be put on our backs yet again.

“Holy shit guys. Holy shit guys,” Chris gasped from on top of us, trying to collect himself. “I found you. I can’t believe I found you.”

“Holy shit yourself, ya douche,” Fanboy barked. “What the hell? We had that thing!”

“You got your gear?” he responded, ignoring the curses. “Good. Forget the boar. Come with me. Looks like Tux found something bigger.”

“Like what?”

“Just come on.”

He didn’t explain, only crashed further into the brush and expected us to follow. We did of course, our curiosity peaked, and found ourselves being led unrestrained into the depths of the forest. We were reaching the far side of the valley before Chris let up his marathon trek. When the surrounding trees were as black as the local water and not even the gritty flakes of snow, driven by winds funnelled down off the mountains, could find their way through the tangled bows, we stopped to catch our breath.

“What the hell’s going on?!” my hunting partner pressed again, annoyance now peppering his voice.

Chris only motioned further on through the trees to where Tuxedo stood, not far away, with Jamie. The two of them were examining something on the ground. It was a row of prints we would find when we reached them. Large prints.

“Found ‘em a ways back.” Tux indicated the trail. “Some dried spoor too. They’re pretty old.”

“Pretty big too,” Fanboy stated the obvious as I crouched for a closer examination.

I looked up at the group and shook my head. Four feet with four clawed toes each, much bigger even than any razorback I’d heard of, and longer too, the tracks were a mystery. I had never seen anything like them.

“Yeah,” Jamie agreed with my look. “I’ve never seen this either. And I was with them when they dragged that mother of a snapper out of the orchards. Look at the span of that stride.”

“Tail too,” Fanboy observed. He was paces away now and continuing slowly while he spoke. “Doesn’t drag it but it caught the ground here and over there and the side of this tree.”

“Come on. Let’s keep going,” Tuxedo ordered, an excited gleam in his eye. “We’re going to need a good story to tell Tanner back at camp.”

And so we retraced the path further and further until only the most gnarled and ancient trees dared face off against each other. No lesser flora could hope to grow under such dense cover and so the forest floor opened up like an immense cathedral. The sun’s rays too, already fighting through layers of cloud and falling snow, and passed towering rock, did not live here either and we were forced to use our torches. Their light seemed to cling closely around us however, as if losing battle with the pressing shadows.

Even where there was a miraculous break in the tree canopy, we still found no relief. The faces of the surrounding mountains rose in shear walls here, pushing the heavy sense of confinement permeating the forest to overwhelming levels. Here and there, with more and more frequency, massive boulders littered the area, hurled down from the peaks above in by-gone generations. Those along our path showed clear signs of wear. Our large quarry was obviously inclined to rub its length along these stones from time to time.

With meagre weapons ready, we pressed on until we had reached the very cliff face itself, rising to soaring heights like a Titan guarding the gates of paradise. This trail did not end though. There was a break in the Titan’s defences. The gapping maw of a subterranean tunnel spoiled the granite face here, flanked though it was by more of the mammoth standing stones.

Looking back, those final stones seem so obvious to me. But at the time we were too intent on what might be beyond them. Unlike those scattered in the rest of the forest in this area, these had been shaped. And not just by the passage of time or the passing of the beast we pursued. That had smoothed them, but there was more to it. They had been squared once upon a time. We did not have eyes for details like that on that day though, nor to see the symbols that had been all but rubbed clean. Others would make those discoveries in our wake, as you well know.

The smell of the place hit us not five paces in, rising up from the depths beyond. Sickly sour and covered wetly in decay, it threatened to gag each of us in turn as we entered. Even the slight breeze that I could detect being pulled in from the opening could not keep it from our noses. We had found something’s den, that was certain.

Trepidation slowed us now as our minds created one scenario after another to fill in the unknown. We could not help but see monsters in every nook and darkened corner as we skulked like thieves down the wide passage, our torch light dancing with the bumps and dips of the walls. The shuffle of our leather-bound feet was our only sound, and even it seemed to act more to enhance the silence than break it.

Deeper we ventured, around corners worn smooth like the rocks outside, the weight of the mountain above passing around us. We were trapped now. Even with a tunnel large enough for us to walk abreast, this far underground, our options for escape were severely limited. Our only hope was that the size of our quarry would work against it.

In our paranoia we almost missed the beast, as crazy as that sounds now. The passage had opened up on one side into an alcove before continuing on, the floor dropping away slightly too. There, the shadows aligned perfectly to direct the eye away and onward. Indeed, pushing our torches into the still black, an impatient eye could easily pass over even a creature as large as this, so well did it nestle itself into its surroundings.

It was hard to make out in the crushing dark of the cave, but there before us, sleeping as soundly as any cat on a warm hearth, as real and alive as any one of us, was a monster none needed to find a name for. As if ripped from our very legends and fairy tales, all of us knew this thing without need of consult. One word filled our minds as surely as our jaws dropped and our hearts began to pump ice. One word was all that was needed for the horror that lay before us.

Dragon.

“Fuck me,” Fanboy let slip breathlessly. With only the beast’s rhythmic breathing as accompaniment, it came to us like trumpets blaring.

The monster’s bulk shifted at the sound, coiled as it was around itself, filling the floor’s natural depression like a nest, and it huffed terribly in its dreams. The sand and rock covering its back, level with where we stood, jumped at the motion. Our spears jumped nervously to ready positions to match. None of us would dare take our gaze from it long enough to spare our friend even a second’s chastisement.

I do not know if this was what Tuxedo had hoped for as we followed that trail of paw prints through the woods, but he was the first of us to regain himself. Wiping sweat from his brow, icy even in the trapped heat of this monstrous bedchamber, he tracked his fire back and forth, taking in every inch that was revealed to him. Our fearless leader. The rest of us hung back, spears locked in iron, white-knuckled grips.

“Chris, get a spear over here,” he whispered in excitement. “Get close to the head.” When the other had taken up position he smiled, his face twisting in the frantic light. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

There was something else though, muttered to himself under his breath. I do not know whether it was an act of the oppressive silence playing tricks with my mind or an effect of the cave’s acoustics channelling sound only to my ears but I thought... I though I heard him say, “I knew it would still be sleeping.” I have never been sure. I looked to the others but they did not react. Indeed, they made no sign at all of anything but their nervous energy.

We will never know if what I thought I heard was true, or even what it was that Tux was thinking, though. At the time and long after, I’m not sure that I wanted to know. If I had been teetering on the edge then, the idea of one of our own willingly leading us to the face of the devil without warning would have thrown me right over. As it was, I shook my head and buried the thought to keep track of the here and now.

Tuxedo had raised his arms, torch in one hand, spear in the other. In the combat between darkness and light he appeared as if an ancient priest, at the climax of some gory blood ceremony. Chris at his side, both hands clasping his own weapon high, ready to drive it down into the scaly fiend’s head, had become his wanton follower. Behind, the remaining three of us could not help but unconsciously mimic the actions.

Let me just stop here to answer a question that I’m sure is on your mind. It is a question that is asked by every person who has heard this story and knows anything about the dragons of Earth legend. Sometimes it is asked in jest, fully aware of the cliche of it. Sometimes it is asked in hushed, closed-mouthed seriousness. Always, it is the same question. Did we find any treasure? No. There were no riches hoarded deeper in the passages, only more tunnels and an immense cavern filled with a freshwater lake and lit by a jagged crevasse opening to the sky, high in the ceiling above. The monster’s bed was not made of piled gold, but of crushed bone and shed plates of its armour scales. There was nothing in that cave but teeth and scale and claws and death.

Like lightning, the spears struck down at the slumbering creature’s head. The thunder crack that followed was the heart wrenching sound of stone, chipped to a razor’s edge, breaking impotently against thick scaley plates. But the storm was not over. A second strike of lightning flashed, this time in the form of the beast itself, rearing that great head up and back, a giant viper ready to lash out at the next thing that dared catch its eye. Its deafening roar, echoing off the rock, reverberating through it to shake the sanity from our minds, was worse than any thunder I will ever hear. The storm was only getting started.

I can only assume it had been at the beginning of some form of hibernation from the signs and the fact that we had gotten this far. Having been awakened prematurely however, and in so rudely a manner; angry, confused and not fully conscious, the dragon reacted... Violently. Chris was closest to the line of attack but it was the flickering light of Tuxedo’s torch that drew those hell-born eyes. In an instant, he was snatched up in powerful jaws and the air of our confines was replaced with a rain of his blood and screams. How the man kept conscious after that, I will never know, but the screams continued. We watched, each of the others as dumb-struck as I, the majority of his body be tossed haphazardly to the ground for the rest to be devoured. Still he moved.

Finally, through the fog of my shock and the ringing in my ears, I could make out that he was actually saying something.

“Run!!! Run, Goddammit! Run!!!”

We ran.

Another whip-like strike snapped in front of me as I turned. It was going after the other flame now, the one in Jamie’s hand. Twice those terrible jaws clamped shut and twice J’s frantic evasions gave it nothing but air. I moved too quickly for my own good however, and my pivot to flee brought me straight into dragon’s solid neck. My back hit the ground hard, the bow resting along it driving in deep, and the back of my head followed, but I was safely out of the way when the beast turned to see what had smacked into it.

I thought I was dead. I thought I was finally about the rejoin my beloved wife and son when another bellow issued directly above me. But it didn’t see me. It turned its attention back to what was left of the man we called Arthur Tuxedo, assuming it had been him. I wasn’t dead. I was pretty sure I was now deaf, but I wasn’t dead.

Against all Old Wives better wisdom, lightning struck twice in the same spot and our comrade was silenced once and for all. I rolled to my feet dizzily in the ringing silence and blurred shadow as the others beaconed me to follow their escape. The beast was distracted and trying to unwrap itself from its bed. Our chance had come and we took it.

I could feel through the ground around me, more than hear, the pursuit not far behind, but I dared not look back. The hot, stale air of the tunnels may have been the dragon literally breathing down my neck for all I knew, but I dared not look back. There is an old adage on Earth that says, I do not have to be faster than the bear, only faster than you. Contrary to those that thought me suicidal, I am ashamed to say, that was the only thing going through my mind at the time. From the race my companions gave, they were thinking the same thing.

The four of us burst out into the open air as one and immediately scattered like shot from a sawed off barrel. I turned sharply into the standing stones, hoping our pursuer would pass in its rush. If it continued into the forest, I could escape in another direction. If not, I might be at a better angle to kill it. The others took different paths, though the end goal was the same.

As the serpentine creature issued forth into the dim light cutting into the space between the cliff-face and the wall of blackwoods, I was finally able to witness our folly in full detail. No less than twenty feet long, all tolled, it was covered from head to tail in a natural scale of thick armour plates coloured in hues of purple and blue, striped with black. Four powerful legs propelled it as it snaked nimbly around boulder and tree, cutting deeply into soil and wood with furious talons. There were wings too, at its shoulders, leathery and bat-like, though they must have been vestigial as they appeared far too small to carry the beast and I never once saw it fly. It all spelled our doom and I haven’t even described the head.

Its head. Its head was a devilish, nightmare thing of black, shimmering scale, sharp, penetrating green eyes and even sharper teeth. The long jaws, filled top and bottom with dagger-like fangs, were large enough to snatch up a man, as the fresh coating of blood and ichor gave painful reminder. Clouds of hot breath billowed from them and the twin, flaring nostrils to mingle, ghostlike amid the array of horns crowning it and continuing down its back. As it caught sight of me, trying to keep from its winding, darting path, its terrible gaze was brought to full bare. The devil passed judgement on me in an instant. I was found lacking.

I dropped to a defensive crouch now, spear in hand. There was nothing else I could. I had no hope of surviving this. I was seeing my death for the second time in as many minutes, but it was no stranger to me, only the face it took. The recklessness took over. If I was going to go, I was going to try to hurt it was much as possible. It was the least I could do for this hell of a planet. It was the least I could do for everyone taken by it or still trapped on it.

The beast reared up on its hind legs to tower over me, exposing a soft violet belly, its fore paws clawing the air, its wings beating, and its roar boomed out again, silencing the valley. As it stared down, willing me to make a move with those hawkish eyes, a great mane of long, feathery scales, previously held flat along its neck, stood erect to halo its head in iridescent plumage. If it was trying to prove itself more intimidating, it was.

Here I will answer the second question that is asked of me by those who know this story. Did it breath fire? Again, fortunately, I must give a resounding ‘no’. I saw no fire come from this animal, though from the fetid stink of the thing’s breath I am fairly certain the bacteria in its mouth would burn in your bloodstream as though it were on fire.

Even in the cold twilight, my grip on my spear slipped in the sweat of my palms, but the dragon in its bluster, had exposed itself. I threw my weapon as hard as I could, aiming for the base of the throat. It flew fast and true, but not faster than the snapping maw that grabbed it in mid flight and turned it to so many splinters. I scrambled to ready my second.

All was not lost however, for this first shot distracted the monster from other spears that now streaked in from seemingly nowhere. Still on its hind legs, it stumbled back against the tree line, trying to bring its armour to bare against the biting sticks. A string of arrows peppered its face at the same time, adding even more distraction but accomplishing little else. For a moment my heart dared to dream that all was not lost.

In an instant the enraged animal was launching itself at a different target that I could not see. As I rushed over, winding around one boulder after another, Chris and J leapt into view. A second later, the massive rock they had appeared from became crested with coiled fury. One more and the beast shot forth like a giant’s arrow, over them both to where Fanboy still perched with his singing bow. He rolled to the ground in time for his attacker to slam violently into his previous position, narrowly avoiding a hit that toppled stone.

But the battle was not over. Though the broken ends of two spears still protruded from its side, the dragon showed little sign of slowing. We, on the other hand, were running out of sharp things to throw at it. It was looking like a battle we could not win and a fate sealed as tightly as the blood-stained teeth set against us.

Losing sight of Fanboy in the darkness of the trees, the huge beast charged once again for the closest of us before it. Chris was chosen, and dive as he might in desperate hope of escape, dodge as he might the gnashing fangs, he could not evade the slash of the razor claws splayed against him. His body swung like a rag doll on the end of that talon before being smacked into the ground and trapped under the dragon’s incredible weight. It coiled defensively around its kill, whipping its tail at us and growling deep within its chest.

I tossed the spear in my hand to JME, as he had used all of his, and took up my final. It was one I kept mostly for skewering and was not suited to throw, but I didn’t think it made much of a difference at this point. Neither would stop our enemy from finishing us now.

The dragon hunched, reading to pounce. Jamie moved to the right and I to the left, forcing it to choose between us. I have no idea what Fanboy was doing. The bitter wind funnelling between the mountain and the trees was the only thing to fill the silence.

Muscles tightened all around. All eyes darted from one to the other. Suddenly, with the clack of an arrow shattering against horn, the tension snapped. The dragon’s head turned sharply to see what had hit it. J bolted to the right. I bolted to the left. I was under the cover of the trees in an instant, as was Jamie, in time to see Fanboy drop from the branches of a tree that our giant predator was now set on destroying. The three of us ran together until we were surrounded by perfect dark. We did not look back.

All night we continued blindly through the forest, fearing to stop or light torches. We would not have been able to sleep anyway, as sure as we were that the dragon stalked us. Later I would find out that Fanboy had been running on a sprained ankle the whole time and that JME had caught the end of the tail at one point, bruising a number of ribs. Neither of them had said a word. I guess I was rubbing off on them.

It’s hard to say what time it was when we finally broke into open ground, since it was only a matter of leaving a world of pitch black to enter one of swirling white. Under the cover of the forest canopy we had no idea of the blizzard that had hit. The world outside the dense old-growth was a limbo of driving snow, impenetrable to the eye. Not even this stopped us to begin with, but walking aimlessly into one pond after another (or perhaps the same one), we finally resigned to dig ourselves in and wait it out.

Two days we sat, huddled together in our hastily made den as the snow grew thicker and thicker on top of us, only the sound of the wind to keep us company. At one point the dragon bellowed again somewhere in the valley, the echo making it hard to pinpoint. Later, we were sure that we could hear it sniffing around outside, trying to find us, buried as we were. This could very well have been a mix of icy paranoia and lack of sleep, the snow would cover any evidence, but I am inclined to believe it was true.

When the downfall finally subsided it was another day before the three of us were finally able to fight our way through it, back to camp. When we got there we were dealt yet another blow. The place was in ruins. Our hides were scattered, as was our stock of wood for the fire. The fire itself, once large, with a roasting spit, was now a smear of ash. To go with it, a smear of blood crossed from one side to the other. A single, tiny tent was all that remained standing beside a single, tiny fire.

“Oh God,” Jamie breathed as we stood on the edge of it all, our hearts dropping. “Tanner.”

“Fire’s still going,” Fanboy pointed out, jaw clenched grimly. It was true. Tanner must have survived.

For myself, I was turning circles, scanning the trees around the clearing. If the dragon had attacked camp it was probably not far off. Because of this, I was the first to see our remaining friend immerge from the underbrush. Behind him he pulled five of our six taun-tauns. I didn’t have to think hard to know what happened to the last.

The man’s eyes widened to saucers when he saw us.

“Christ! You’re alive,” he shouted as we ran to him. “You’re luck I haven’t been able to leave yet.”

Fanboy gestured to the camp. “The question is, how are you alive?”

“Do you know what did this?” Tanner began. When we told him our story he could only shake his head. “You stupid sons of bitches. I heard that first roar out here. Everything in the valley did, I’ll bet. Spooked the taun’s something fierce.” He pointed to me. “That piece of shit of yours gave me nothing but trouble after that. Chewed through his rope, and when I caught him and retied him, he pulled and rammed and got the others all worked up until they’d yanked the whole tree down.

“So now it’s the middle of a blizzard and I’m hearing these god-awful roars from who knows what or where and I’ve got six tauns that are surely freezing to death out in the woods. I wait ‘til things calm down a bit and figure I’d better go out and at least look for the bodies to skin and butcher. Well, little Belle wasn’t far at all, all curled up and shivering but still alive, so bring her back by the fire, stake her down and go off for the others.

“Anyway, I’m searching for a while, get stuck in the snow a couple times, can’t find them, so I figure I’ll come back and get a bite to eat. I get here, the place is trashed and Belle’s gone. From the size of the tracks there was no way I was going after what did it alone, so I hold up in the trees for a day to make sure it didn’t come back. Finally figured it was safe to make the fire this morning and found these guys all huddled together in a grove of springs.

“Chris and Tux, eh? And you’re saying it’s a dragon? Like wings and scales and fire and shit?”

I shrugged.

“Looked like it,” J answered. “‘Bout twenty five feet long. No fire breathing yet though.”

Tanner gave a bitter laugh. “Well thank God for small miracles. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

None of us had to be told twice. We packed the mounts in record time and were doing battle with the banks of snow once again, making our way for the only way out of the valley. With all that had happened we did not even think what the effect of three days of hard snow would have on the narrow pass. It was completely blocked. We were trapped. Entombed.

Bleak determination took hold of us then. We had three options, as we saw it; we could sit and wait for the fiend to come to us, we could play cat and mouse in the valley until the snow melted enough to escape, or we could go on the attack and try to run the thing down. None promised escape. They didn’t even promise survival.

Tanner was for the offensive. He was getting clostrophobic now and wanted action. Besides, he had the advantage of having not actually seen it yet. The rest of us weren’t so lucky.

“The difference now is that we’re mounted,” he was saying. “We’ve got greater speed now. We can keep it on its toes. Besides, the tauns can walk around on the snow a damn sight better than that big thing, I bet. We might be able to trap it in a deep drift.”

I frowned and shook my head. Maybe he might be right but it was still suicide.

“We’re not going to wait around here, but these tauns aren’t going to mean shit,” Fanboy replied. “We can’t get up any speed in this brush.”

“Hell, you boys already think it’s got us. Well I don’t know much about fairy tales and all that so I guess I’m just thinking of it as an animal. You’re telling me four men, mounted, couldn’t run this thing down?”

I shook my head. Fanboy answered for me. “You didn’t see it.”

“Well,” Jamie was thinking. “What about that old wood near the cave. Ground’s open around the trees there. Lots of room for us to run. Not so much for it.”

“Yeah, great. We’ve just got to get there first.”

The argument went back and forth as we took down our bundled pelts and stowed them under the snow. They would only slow us down now. In the end the decision was made for us. The dragon came for us again and we were forced to flee. Territorial bastard.

It wasn’t so much that we could hear it coming. In fact, for a creature its size we found to our dismay that it was surprisingly stealthy. What tipped us off to its attack was actually the utter lack of noise. All became deathly quiet. Nothing in the area had the courage even to breath. It was like a pause between heartbeats and we did not wait for the next pulse.

For days the dragon stalked us around the black ponds, never relenting in its pursuit. Always, the eerie silence was with us. The whole valley now watched and waited in anticipation for the chase to finally end. We slept little and ate less, constantly trying to stay one step ahead, always aware of the monster at our backs. The very fact that Quatto did not try to break and run now, instead pressing in as close as possible (just as annoying), gave testament to the fear that saturated the atmosphere.

Piece by bloody piece, it took us apart, scoring one victory after another. First it was the spare taun-taun at the water’s edge. We had sent it out to drink before the rest of us to test for an ambush. We were proven correct when in a flash it was tackled, the dragon wrapping itself around the doomed beast, crushing, biting and clawing. Next, were Tanner and his mount. I don’t even know what happened to them. They fell behind on a moonless night. We lost sight of them. There may have been a hint of growling in the silent darkness but nothing more. We could never find anything of them but crushed, blood-soaked snow.

When our desperate path finally led us, purely by accident, to the old-growth, we were down to three. In the open, at the edge of the trees, there was no more cover for either us or the creature to use. No more hiding. No more stalking. No more ambushes. We were at the point of our last stand.

With weapons ready, we waited, and not long. I can only assume that the beast somehow knew it could not surprise us here, for it came into the open easily, its head swaying, its eyes never straying far from us. As it had in the beginning, it reared up in full display and screamed its challenge. JME gave our answer with arrows. Fanboy cut across, in front of it, drawing its attention to him, daring it to give chase through the ancient trees.

For my part, Quatto would do little more for me than wheel and buck. It was all I could do the keep him in the dragon’s sight and keep hold of my spear at the same time. He brayed and screamed in terror, fighting me to escape. This proved to be the most eye-catching for the vindictive predator before us, and it shot out straight at us like a gigantic asp.

Surprise, surprise, I was thrown to the ground and Quatto bolted. My spear was still in hand though, and jarring though it was to land with it, cracking a rib in the process to be sure, it was raised when the creature’s head swept down at me. I believe its sight was actually set on the swift movement of the taun darting away before I lanced it in the neck. After that, it only had eyes for me.

Snap. I rolled to the side as the terrible jaws came down at me. Snap. Again it struck and again I rolled. This time however, my shirt and pants were snagged in its rancid teeth and I was brought up to dangle like a loose scrap of meat. It shook me like a dog but could not get me free and I feared I would black out if it continued.

Harried by my friends swirling around it, alternately thrusting with spears and targeting its eyes with arrows, the fiend screamed in frustration, shook me again, and lashed out with its powerful, spiny tail. Fanboy was knocked clean from his mount. I hit the ground with a thud. If that rib hadn’t been cracked, it was now.

The dragon roared again and came at my prone form, maw open for the kill, but was stopped. JME rode past, spear high and thrust with all his might. His mount stomped and pawed over me as he wheeled about, keeping me safely behind. It must have been the best throw he had ever taken, for the beast before us bellowed in pain and when I rose I saw that its eye had been pierced.

Pain racked his own face as he watched his handiwork, one arm clutching his side. “God, this hurts,” he said. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

There was no time for that though. The dragon attacked again, madder than ever. In the blink of an eye, before anyone could have evaded, it swept J off of his taun and hurled him into the underbrush at the edge of the trees. He disappeared into the scrub and in his place came screeching forth that same boar Fanboy had wounded so long ago. In blind panic it ran and wound around the monster’s legs, trying to find an escape. When it finally did, almost comically - if anything in this situation could be comical - it was running straight back in not a moment later, old Quatto, stampeding with it in sheer horror.

The scene was utter chaos. By this time Fanboy had regained his mount and was circling the wounded beast, vying for the best time to charge in. The porker and Quatto were screaming around frantically in and out and through everything. JME’s taun stood as if it were caught in headlights. I, with only my stone knife left to defend me, could only try not to get trampled.

The dragon roared and stamped and snapped at all of the confusion and activity, not knowing what to attack or even how. It rose up to its towering height and beat its wings into a tornado of dust and dead leaves in an attempt to disburse the swirling crowd but could not. It was the opportunity Fanboy had been waiting for.

Like a knight of legend, he charged in for the kill but, like the untrained amateur he was, could not catch his target. He had reacted too slowly and the dragon had managed to drop back down to its fore paws and show only its armoured back. Fanboy and his mount slammed into the creature’s flank and were cast sprawling to the ground.

He grabbed for his spear desperately, kicking away from his taun while trying to shield himself from the chaos around. But the dragon was too swift. It was upon him, pinning him to the earth with one paw, head rasing to strike.

I don’t remember thinking of what to do, only that I started running, all pain forgotten. Knife in hand, I charged the battle and crashed as hard as I could into the column of flesh that was the fiend’s leg. It did not move an inch. Not until I drove my stone blade deep between its scaley toes.

Again the beast screamed in pain. Raising its bleeding paw, it tossed me to the side and whipped its tail in my direction, narrowly missing me in the air. Fanboy rolled away, gasping for breath, still clutching his spear, but he was no longer of interest to it. In its one good eye, I had taken his place.

Again, I found myself rolling from side to side, trapped between tree trunks, armour plated muscle and jagged fangs. But I was not alone. In the background the chaos still continued and somehow now the boar was trapped with me. It was the only thing that saved me, for with the two of us before it, the dragon chose to bring his wrath to bare on the one that was making the most noise. Its jaws closed on the porker, silencing it with a strangling gurgle.

So close, I took the opportunity to stab and slash with all the remaining force I could must. I focussed on the underside of the neck above me, searching blindly, insanely for any vital arteries that might be near. I can not say if I hit one however, even though the dragon met its end at long last. It is a bone of contention between Fanboy and myself.

When the monster had collapsed and I had found my feet, Fanboy was kneeling over us, bleeding and beaten, fighting for breath, with his weapon firmly planted behind its jaw. When he tells the story he says it was I who gave the killing stroke. I say it was him. I reality, it could have been the boar for all I know. It was over.

We found JME where he had been cast so carelessly, no life left in him. He had saved minee more than once, both of ours, and we could do nothing to return the favour. We wrapped the body, first thinking that we would bring it back to the city to bury in the mounds but we were still trapped by the snow. Not knowing how long we would have to remain, heartbroken, we layed him to rest among the roots of the ancient blackwoods where he fell. There he still rests in final piece, his name carved deep into the side of the tree guarding him by no less than a dragon’s claw.

We tried the gruesome task of cutting open the creature’s immense belly to recover anything left of our other companions but to no avail. Evidently, it spit out the bones like an owl.

Not long after, as if given as our reward, the falling snow turned back to rain and the mountain pass was washed clean enough for us to trudge our way to freedom. Days later, in the clear light of a crisp afternoon, two men out of six walked three tauns of six, tired, dirty and broken into the city of Avalon. We dumped the cargo we had set out for silently at the feet of those that met us, and proceeded to what was then what passed for the Council Chambers with the what we had never hoped to find.

Wong and Nitram were the only ones there when we made our dramatic entrance, dragging our bundle behind us. Hearing Fanboy relay our story in elaborate detail, doubt clearly etched their faces. As I have said, Fanboy had a reputation for exaggeration. As the tale unfolded, I could see in their eyes the nervous apprehension. Why would we make up such a ridiculous lie? Clearly something had happened out in the wilderness, but surely not this. That look remained with them until we opened our bundle and showed them the dragon’s head and myriad of armour plates.

The tune changed after that and others were called in; the brains who were trying to start a ‘university’ and the brawn from the Night Watch. Fanboy repeated himself again and again, his details never changing, with me nodding grim-faced to it all. All night we sat with the council around the horrid, glimmering black of the severed head, its remaining eye no longer shining but still wide in judgement. All night they argued about what we had said, where there might be more of them and what was to be done if they were not a rare occurrence. In the end, it was decided in their wisdom that the news of something as great and terrible as a dragon would be kept to a minimum to prevent panic. We were asked to keep our story to ourselves.

To his dying breath I am sure that Fanboy will tell the story any chance he gets to anyone who will listen. Some believed him, many demanded proof. If he likes you, he might show you one of the souvenirs we kept. If asked about the head, the Council will deny having it, though I am sure it is in the University somewhere.

That next morning was apparently Christmas day, for we were finally allowed to leave at the sound of carolling and walked out into the square to find a crowd around a decorated tree. The first Christmas celebrated in our city. The sweet sound of the singing, a symbol of our dogged determination, was enough to bring grown, hardened man to tears. Not me. It was in the silence between the songs that I broke down.

Ah yes, Christmas is a special time for us.

Wow...

I should start a list of dead/alive as well as a list of local fauna and flora.

Yeah, you should. At least I haven't been killed off in any of the installments, but not been seen much either. Just read the Chronicle of the Citadel and this in one sitting, both are great!

This is why Tevar would stay back at camp, and be the one trying to put scraps of SCA knowledge into useful survival.

Knife wrote:I should start a list of dead/alive as well as a list of local fauna and flora.

I would have loved one of those. I was almost done this chapter and had an 'one shit' moment of going through the other stories seeing if anyone I had mentioned had been killed off.

Taken down by a dragon. What a way to go.

So we have Dragons, Werewolves and Cyclops. I wonder what else could get thrown in there.

I'm also wondering if 'we' will be the last successful group of arrivals. Thinking about how tough we found it going back to base level and assuming technology keeps advancing at the same pace, then the next group probably wont have a clue unless an Amish community is picked or something.

Well........ just from my small knowledge from nearly 20yrs in the SCA, I have the basic idea of carding and twisting long fur into thread (which can also make ropes), and I have the basic idea of weaving, as I've done that on a loom. The problem will be making the weave better than rough woolen.

Before there were plows, there were sharpened sticks and hoes used to bust up the soil. The plowshare was nice, its invention allowed more food to be planted and thus the population bloomed, but Romans didn't have it and you know how well they did.

I have working knowledge of the simplest fits-all garments from the medieval period, the braes and tunic, which were used from late Roman up to the 13th Centuries for men and women. Simple Geometric shapes, so they are economic of cloth and hides.

Now... all of this is easily learned by anyone who has the brains to sit down and listen (how do you think *I* learned it?). I'm not the only SCA member on the boards, so we've got enough base low-tech knowledge to make a start.

2000AD wrote:So we have Dragons, Werewolves and Cyclops. I wonder what else could get thrown in there.

I'm also wondering if 'we' will be the last successful group of arrivals. Thinking about how tough we found it going back to base level and assuming technology keeps advancing at the same pace, then the next group probably wont have a clue unless an Amish community is picked or something.

Well, it all depends on who gets dropped off. New London, for instance, was founded by poets and authors, whereas Avalon was fortunate enough to get a mix of people with useful skills. But if my geography is right, Avalon should be the closest settlement to the Expanse, so any new arrivals could simply get assimilated into Avalon.

Darth Yoshi wrote:

2000AD wrote:So we have Dragons, Werewolves and Cyclops. I wonder what else could get thrown in there.

I'm also wondering if 'we' will be the last successful group of arrivals. Thinking about how tough we found it going back to base level and assuming technology keeps advancing at the same pace, then the next group probably wont have a clue unless an Amish community is picked or something.

Well, it all depends on who gets dropped off. New London, for instance, was founded by poets and authors, whereas Avalon was fortunate enough to get a mix of people with useful skills. But if my geography is right, Avalon should be the closest settlement to the Expanse, so any new arrivals could simply get assimilated into Avalon.

Indeed; with the sucess of avalon plus the victory of the western cities and the alliance with Avalon, against the Citadel, or even post war with a semi coopertive Citadel, you'd think there would be a critical mass of knowledge and man power to get a real civilization going there.

Wow and I mean wow. Its always hell to truly start killing folks off but the real accomplishment is not just letting characters die but doing so in a way that rings true and really gives something to the story. This is truly an amazing chapter addition.

As an aside at this point it would probably take a flow chart of some kind to get through who is alive/dead, who is doing what/when, and what is available as far as knowledge/resources. Its literally becoming a neat seperate world for the ambitious to play in.

CmdrWilkens wrote:Wow and I mean wow. Its always hell to truly start killing folks off but the real accomplishment is not just letting characters die but doing so in a way that rings true and really gives something to the story. This is truly an amazing chapter addition.

As an aside at this point it would probably take a flow chart of some kind to get through who is alive/dead, who is doing what/when, and what is available as far as knowledge/resources. Its literally becoming a neat seperate world for the ambitious to play in.

I was laughing with my wife the other day about how...honorific it is to have someone coin Hymn-verse. Tis a large world coming out though, woot. All with blue and purple grass and trees. Black wood and strange and amazing creatures.

Seriously thinking of a week long project now.