Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 19:05:29 GMT
In parts unseen, the mind at the head of the Ascendancy pondered the existence her people had enjoyed for eons upon epochs upon times immemorial. She was alone in the chamber, and from her perch she could see for eternity. Intelligence from sources as distant and distinct as could be conceived trickled through her veins, and she could smell the changes. It was like that smell that comes before a heavy rainstorm, where the air is heavy with moisture, and the sky’s light shifts imperceptibly towards the coming torrent with aimless intensity. Run, the day’s fading light would whisper. A storm is coming.
As anticipated and within less than an hour of the anticipated timing, the Union of Worlds had broken off relations with the Ascendancy; the treaty which had tied their non-involvement in a fight that was not even theirs had been shredded, and now the war would be upon them. This was anticipated, and she shuddered at the thought of what she’d have to do once they began trying to kill her people.
This had been their galaxy, the prime admiral thought sadly. They had existed here since before this galaxy had, and they had thrived. Thrived! They had existed for eternities upon eternities here, and they had prospered. Happy lives. Happy, safe, secret lives. They had perpetuated their creator’s wishes and remained unseen for longer than time itself, yet in the years after the Great Confrontation…and all that it had meant for her, Dorin added silently as she watched the displays flickering through the air around her…she wondered if her people had gone astray.
Before the Great Confrontation, there had been wars, yes. Small ones. They’d erased marauding species, amended timelines, and cultured this galaxy like it was their private garden. Under the watchful protection of the Ascendancy, species rose to sentience, discovered fire, and the atom, and some would rediscover the wheel of a few thousand years after the atom and others would ultimately escape their homeworlds and travel onto the stars. This galaxy was the Ascendancy’s garden, and they had watched life flower under them with a joy familiar to parents. Someday, ultimately, once the Khamood’Urr had signaled that it was the time, a younger, more youthful Dorin had hoped that they would step out of the shadows and embrace their offspring and usher them into an age of prosperity and power inconceivable to the minds of those who failed to comprehend just what the Ascendancy did, what it was, and what it could be.
The Great Confrontation had changed that. The Khamood’Urr had summoned them to the final battle, and they had defeated the demon Chaw’Hast, and slain his followers and massacred those who served him with a ruthlessness that had startled the undead chaw. Or so she had thought, at least. She had been there. Who she was now was the result of that battle in the land the Khamood’Urr had called Ant’Karta. She had taken temporal bolt upon temporal bolt from the enemy, and even after her body was changed from its natural perpetual youth and health into the withered form it now inhabited, she had held her gun, and the guns of those who had fallen around her, and fought on. It had impressed the Heraldics, and they had raised her into their fold once what was supposed to be the last battle was over.
Learning that your god cannot heal you changed Dorin. She was no longer attached to her youth; she cared not in the least about that anymore. But the knowledge that their god, their purpose, their reason for being was null, voided, and expired, and even then that that presumption was dictated by the idea that they had once mattered as more than a tool, had changed her.
It had changed all of them.
The invasions that came in the time around the Great Confrontation had begun changing the Ascendancy. Their galaxy had been unmolested for reasons unknown to them-she had attributed this to the benevolence of the Khamood’Urr-until the invaders had begun to arrive. The Dark City Imperium was the worst of the lot, for they commanded temporal powers and must be either banished from their galaxy or annihilated. Others came with them; the Union of Worlds followed, as did Carnaith, as did the Immortal Empire, and Capitol, and the Spartans, and the dozens of colonial powers that upon seeing a new galaxy ripe for the taking had done just that. Without thought, they cut and carved up the map, oblivious to the fact that the Ascendancy had existed there since before their ancestors had first made the jump to multicultural organisms. They imported their peoples and their weapons and their diseases, and they had begun the slow, systematic rape of this galaxy.
This used to be a nice neighborhood, Dorin thought dryly, as she looked at the galactic map. She did not comprehend why all of these other empires wished to fight the Immortal Empire. They were parasites, much as the Tenebraens were, but they were not the Ascendancy’s enemies. They had made particular efforts not to harm the other powers, for it would have offended the sensibilities of the Khamood’Urr to attack those who did not threaten them. Bullying, he would have called it. It was not proper to threaten those who could not understand what they were facing. Yet they all aligned themselves with the enemy…
They unified with laudable determination, she conceded, though their timeliness was questionable. But having been given enough time free of persecution, they were at last coming together. The motivation for such a choice would elude the prime admiral for the time being, but it was of little significance. They would have to share the Tenebraen’s destruction if they chose to stand with them. It was only fair.
--oOo--
The shipmasters of the Ascendancy had discussed the losses of the Fortunate Son and the Silent Guard with rapt attention. The Altman incident had been the greatest loss of life the Ascendancy had endured since the Nakai Wars, and while even then it had been little over a hundred souls, news of the attack had had riveted them all. Irrus had been a well respected member of Dorin’s loyalists, though moderate; he never lusted for the conflict, but when push came to shove he was one of hers, not one of the council of five.
The news that the SSC was not as simple as it had seemed was of great interest to the shipmasters. Around tables and through unseen communications, theories were traded, tactics devised, and hopes raised and lowered as they waited for the official policy for how to treat this new threat came from the Prime Admiral’s ship.
There was also discussion of the appointment of General Pallam as the commander of forces against the Union of Worlds, for when the inevitable war broke out. He was of the old guard, as was Dorin, and the shipmasters had varied opinions pertaining to him. Most of the discussion was centered around how odd it was that Dorin had selected a general for the role, as opposed to an admiral. The Ascendancy had not been involved in a substantial ground war since the Nakai conflicts of ages past, but General Pallam had fought in them and had seen more killing than most of the shipmasters had.
Did this mean the Ascendancy was preparing to engage the Union of Worlds on their own terms? It seemed preposterous; yet Pallam was not an admiral. He was surely adequate at interstellar manuevers, but his expertise lay in wresting control of planets, not in annihilating enemy fleets. The Ascendancy had seen its fill of carnage during the Nakai wars, which had lead to their dreadful fascination with strange ways of defeating the enemy without setting foot on their soil. The Ascendancy abhorred the notion of ground combat because of the Nakai, much as the Nakai now dreaded the notion of engaging in fleet manuevers against the Ascendancy. Why in the Khamood’Urr’s name would they engage the Union on the ground?
Or would they?
--oOo--
“When are they coming home?” The child asked, and the matron bent down next to the little one in preparations of imbuing tragic wisdom. The sky was black, and starless, for their was no light to speak of in the Silent Bastions.
“Once it’s safe to.” She answered. It was a short answer.
“When will that be?” The child followed, and the matron sighed. Time did not move in the Silent Bastions the way it did outside in reality as the rest of the world might know it. They would be gone for but one night, one dark and starless perpetual night, before they would emerge in a universe cleansed of their enemies.
“Before sunrise, I think.” The matron chimed softly.
As anticipated and within less than an hour of the anticipated timing, the Union of Worlds had broken off relations with the Ascendancy; the treaty which had tied their non-involvement in a fight that was not even theirs had been shredded, and now the war would be upon them. This was anticipated, and she shuddered at the thought of what she’d have to do once they began trying to kill her people.
This had been their galaxy, the prime admiral thought sadly. They had existed here since before this galaxy had, and they had thrived. Thrived! They had existed for eternities upon eternities here, and they had prospered. Happy lives. Happy, safe, secret lives. They had perpetuated their creator’s wishes and remained unseen for longer than time itself, yet in the years after the Great Confrontation…and all that it had meant for her, Dorin added silently as she watched the displays flickering through the air around her…she wondered if her people had gone astray.
Before the Great Confrontation, there had been wars, yes. Small ones. They’d erased marauding species, amended timelines, and cultured this galaxy like it was their private garden. Under the watchful protection of the Ascendancy, species rose to sentience, discovered fire, and the atom, and some would rediscover the wheel of a few thousand years after the atom and others would ultimately escape their homeworlds and travel onto the stars. This galaxy was the Ascendancy’s garden, and they had watched life flower under them with a joy familiar to parents. Someday, ultimately, once the Khamood’Urr had signaled that it was the time, a younger, more youthful Dorin had hoped that they would step out of the shadows and embrace their offspring and usher them into an age of prosperity and power inconceivable to the minds of those who failed to comprehend just what the Ascendancy did, what it was, and what it could be.
The Great Confrontation had changed that. The Khamood’Urr had summoned them to the final battle, and they had defeated the demon Chaw’Hast, and slain his followers and massacred those who served him with a ruthlessness that had startled the undead chaw. Or so she had thought, at least. She had been there. Who she was now was the result of that battle in the land the Khamood’Urr had called Ant’Karta. She had taken temporal bolt upon temporal bolt from the enemy, and even after her body was changed from its natural perpetual youth and health into the withered form it now inhabited, she had held her gun, and the guns of those who had fallen around her, and fought on. It had impressed the Heraldics, and they had raised her into their fold once what was supposed to be the last battle was over.
Learning that your god cannot heal you changed Dorin. She was no longer attached to her youth; she cared not in the least about that anymore. But the knowledge that their god, their purpose, their reason for being was null, voided, and expired, and even then that that presumption was dictated by the idea that they had once mattered as more than a tool, had changed her.
It had changed all of them.
The invasions that came in the time around the Great Confrontation had begun changing the Ascendancy. Their galaxy had been unmolested for reasons unknown to them-she had attributed this to the benevolence of the Khamood’Urr-until the invaders had begun to arrive. The Dark City Imperium was the worst of the lot, for they commanded temporal powers and must be either banished from their galaxy or annihilated. Others came with them; the Union of Worlds followed, as did Carnaith, as did the Immortal Empire, and Capitol, and the Spartans, and the dozens of colonial powers that upon seeing a new galaxy ripe for the taking had done just that. Without thought, they cut and carved up the map, oblivious to the fact that the Ascendancy had existed there since before their ancestors had first made the jump to multicultural organisms. They imported their peoples and their weapons and their diseases, and they had begun the slow, systematic rape of this galaxy.
This used to be a nice neighborhood, Dorin thought dryly, as she looked at the galactic map. She did not comprehend why all of these other empires wished to fight the Immortal Empire. They were parasites, much as the Tenebraens were, but they were not the Ascendancy’s enemies. They had made particular efforts not to harm the other powers, for it would have offended the sensibilities of the Khamood’Urr to attack those who did not threaten them. Bullying, he would have called it. It was not proper to threaten those who could not understand what they were facing. Yet they all aligned themselves with the enemy…
They unified with laudable determination, she conceded, though their timeliness was questionable. But having been given enough time free of persecution, they were at last coming together. The motivation for such a choice would elude the prime admiral for the time being, but it was of little significance. They would have to share the Tenebraen’s destruction if they chose to stand with them. It was only fair.
--oOo--
The shipmasters of the Ascendancy had discussed the losses of the Fortunate Son and the Silent Guard with rapt attention. The Altman incident had been the greatest loss of life the Ascendancy had endured since the Nakai Wars, and while even then it had been little over a hundred souls, news of the attack had had riveted them all. Irrus had been a well respected member of Dorin’s loyalists, though moderate; he never lusted for the conflict, but when push came to shove he was one of hers, not one of the council of five.
The news that the SSC was not as simple as it had seemed was of great interest to the shipmasters. Around tables and through unseen communications, theories were traded, tactics devised, and hopes raised and lowered as they waited for the official policy for how to treat this new threat came from the Prime Admiral’s ship.
There was also discussion of the appointment of General Pallam as the commander of forces against the Union of Worlds, for when the inevitable war broke out. He was of the old guard, as was Dorin, and the shipmasters had varied opinions pertaining to him. Most of the discussion was centered around how odd it was that Dorin had selected a general for the role, as opposed to an admiral. The Ascendancy had not been involved in a substantial ground war since the Nakai conflicts of ages past, but General Pallam had fought in them and had seen more killing than most of the shipmasters had.
Did this mean the Ascendancy was preparing to engage the Union of Worlds on their own terms? It seemed preposterous; yet Pallam was not an admiral. He was surely adequate at interstellar manuevers, but his expertise lay in wresting control of planets, not in annihilating enemy fleets. The Ascendancy had seen its fill of carnage during the Nakai wars, which had lead to their dreadful fascination with strange ways of defeating the enemy without setting foot on their soil. The Ascendancy abhorred the notion of ground combat because of the Nakai, much as the Nakai now dreaded the notion of engaging in fleet manuevers against the Ascendancy. Why in the Khamood’Urr’s name would they engage the Union on the ground?
Or would they?
--oOo--
“When are they coming home?” The child asked, and the matron bent down next to the little one in preparations of imbuing tragic wisdom. The sky was black, and starless, for their was no light to speak of in the Silent Bastions.
“Once it’s safe to.” She answered. It was a short answer.
“When will that be?” The child followed, and the matron sighed. Time did not move in the Silent Bastions the way it did outside in reality as the rest of the world might know it. They would be gone for but one night, one dark and starless perpetual night, before they would emerge in a universe cleansed of their enemies.
“Before sunrise, I think.” The matron chimed softly.