Tales From the Terran Republic

On the Plath homeworld, deep in the wilderness, Initiate Vshaon sat by a lovely little stream.

She opened her pack and pulled out a small ceramic plate. She then withdrew a square of rolled and tied leather not unlike a pencil case. She unrolled it, revealing many small vials and pouches. She withdrew one small red berry from one vial and a white one from another. She then pulled out some amber-colored fluff from a small pouch and some short lengths of waxy dry reeds.

Using a small stone (from yet another pouch), she crushed and mixed the berries on the plate and then covered the pulp with first the amber fluff and then the reeds.

As she rolled up the case, a thin wisp of smoke started to emerge from the reeds. By the time she pulled out another pouch, the amber fluff had burst into flame followed by the reeds which burned with a hot, clean flame. From the new pouch, she withdrew some charcoal from her last campfire and placed them onto the small fire, which still burned hot and steady.

She then put a small stand over the plate and filled a small turned flamebane wood bowl with water from the stream. Once she put the bowl on the stand, she pulled out some herbs and placed them in the bowl as well.

While that was heating, she pulled out a square of bread and a bundle of leaves filled with foraged grains and tubers that had been buried along with her campfire before she retired the evening before.

She sighed happily. Hers was a simple life, even by Plath standards, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loved her life and the sisterhood of which she was a part, guardian of the secret ways and the hidden protectors of the sacred and eternal slumber.

The small bowl started to steam as she laid out her lunch. She looked over at a nearby tree and smiled. Growing up the trunk was a greencreeper vine. She hopped up, dusting off her buckskin and spider silk trousers, and trotted to the vine, snapping off the tender ends of the otherwise wiry and tough vine.

By the time she returned to her lunch, a familiar smell greeted her nostrils. The tea was ready!

Using her bare fingers, she picked up the flamebane cup from the stand and sat cross-legged on the ground.

She took a nibble of the bread and a sip of the tea.

Life was perfect.

She sat there listening to the trees, the insects, and the birds as she sipped her tea and ate her absolutely wonderful lunch.

Suddenly, a wave of dissonance washed over her, causing her to both shiver with fear and flush with anger.

Well… poop.

The dissonance lasted for about thirty seconds and then passed as quickly as it came…

...followed by another wave shortly thereafter.

She sighed and reached into her jacket, pulling out a sleek, advanced gravitic communicator embellished with gold damask of varying colors portraying a woodland scene.

“This is Initiate Vsahon,” she said with an annoyed little snort, “we are being attacked.”

***

On a distant mountain slope, an old Plath woman sat next to a flock of dog-sized multi-legged insectoids who were grazing nearby.

“I understand, Initiate,” she said with a resigned sigh into a similar device. “See what you can learn without revealing or endangering yourself. I will be in touch soon.”

“Grzz?” a particularly large and old creature who was sunning itself next to her buzzed.

“These days,” she said, patting it, “There is honestly no way of knowing.”

She stroked the surface of her device, causing parts of it to glow with strange glyphs.

“Sister,” a male voice said through her device.

“Brother,” she replied. “How do you fare?”

“I was well,” he said. “but I doubt you called to just say hello. Please tell me you called just to say hello.”

“You were right the first time,” the old Plath smiled, “I have an Initiate who is gathering ingredients and patrolling the duskward strand who just reported that the slumber has been disturbed. We seem to be under attack.” Ꞧα𐌽ổꞖËs̩

“...heck.”

“Well put,” she smiled.

“Is it the Terrans again?” the brother asked in annoyance, “Because if it is, I swear to poop...”

“Brother!”

“Sorry,” he replied, “But darn it. First, it was those loathsome ‘hyper-roaches’, which took weeks to eradicate… And we had to get the brewers involved, and you know how I hate dealing with those… jerkfaces… Then it was the war with its world-defiling tactics...”

“Calm yourself, brother,” the old woman said with a wry smile. There was no stopping the abbot once he got rolling.

“Then… then… a gang of criminals shot up one of our towns, gave that poor girl that so-called ‘game’… knowing full well she was an addict when they did so… causing a potential incarnation to go full Befouler… and publicly so… And now this?!?… I’m telling you, sister, I am a patient Plath, but those… vazk bavnee are getting on my last nerve!”

“Brother! Language! Please!”

“I’m… I’m sorry, sister,” the abbot said, quite abashed.

“Brother,” she said soothingly, “don’t go planting weeds. We don’t know if it’s the Terrans. We don’t even know what it is yet.”

“You’re… You’re right, of course,” the abbot replied. “First order of business is soothing the world. I have no reports of a battle fleet in the system. There are no hordes running wild in the street nor any towns burning… which will definitely NOT be the case if we don’t silence the howl. I assume you concur?”

“Agreed,” the old woman said as the giant spider thing next to her nuzzled her leg. “Unfortunately, the Plath at the disturbance is only an initiate, and it is some distance away. Still, we are closest. I shall send a coven to soothe the world’s distress. The next red year isn’t for a few thousand years, and I see no reason to have it early.”

“Thank you, Sister,” the abbot said gratefully.

“Now,” the old woman said, smiling as a pleasant breeze flowed up the slope, “we need to determine the source of the disturbance. I will already have a coven in the area, and our children don’t exactly play well together. I propose we work the area and your adepts search elsewhere?”

“Agreed, sister,” the abbot replied. “May the slumber be preserved...”

“...until time betrays us,” the old woman replied and hung up.

She stroked the communicator again.

She frowned.

She stroked the communicator once more.

She hissed a long low hiss from her gills, causing her insectoid companion to startle.

She stroked the communications device angrily.

“Mother,” a female voice replied.

“Gather the Darkwhispers,” she said with a snarl, “The world’s slumber has been disturbed not overly distant from Matron Shuushan’s home. She did not report it nor soothe it. She is also not responding to my call. Send them there at once. They are given full permission.”

“Mother?”

“The Darkwhispers have full permission to act in accordance with the old ways. Find out what happened and who is responsible. If one of our own has fallen, there will be no mercy.”

“Yes, Matron.”

The ancient Plath stood with a speed and grace of a much younger woman and looked down at her multi-legged companion.

“I must depart, old friend,” the old Plath said with a fond smile, “look after your children and bring them home when they have eaten their fill.”

“Vzz?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Bzz?”

“Oh, I’m too old to go charging into the woods anymore,” she chuckled, “you are too old as well.”

“Hzz!”

The old Plath laughed.

“Just mind your young, you old leaf-hopper,” she snorted, “If I go forth, I shall take you as well. I promise.”

“Ptzz.”

The woman gave the insectoid a fond little pat and then strode up the slope.

***

In a cargo hold somewhere in the same system, a group of Plath huddled together around an old Plath who was curled up, clearly in distress.

“And you say this horrid discomfort passes quickly?” the old Plath inquired.

“Yes, Sister,” Ulennona said as he held her hand.

“So,” the old Plath asked, “what have you kids put together? I assume that we aren’t just going to laze about forever?”

“We seem to be at a disagreement at the moment,” Ulennona smiled.

“What we propose,” a young male Plath said, “is a perfectly good plan.”

“It’s too complicated,” Ulennona replied, “one thing goes wrong, and the whole thing fails. Our first shot is our best shot.”

“Which is why we must do it right!” the other Plath whisper hissed, “based on our observations of their armament and overall condition and reaction speed, we estimate that—“

“This isn’t one of your games,” Ulennona whispered, “in a real run and gun, pretty plans fail. Trust me. I have put together so many perfect plans that I’ve lost count. No plan survives contact with the enemy, dude. This will come down to who seizes the initiative and holds it the longest, who hits first, and who hits hardest. After that, it is all a blur. You want to give us a ‘strategy’? Give us a way to get those first few seconds with the best positions possible.”

“I agree with Ulennona,” Ynellsoan added, “In our contests, you can often tell who will win or lose based on who can define the battlefield. The initial position of your fleets is essential. This is an ambush on a much bigger and better armed ‘fleet’. This will be over, one way or the other, in moments, not minutes.”

The young male let out a long low thoughtful hiss. “Ulennona, this is definitely an FPS situation. We will put our heads together and see what we can do.”

“We will as well,” Ulennona replied.

“And remember,” the old Plath whispered, “This isn’t one of your games. There are no rules. Cheating is encouraged.”

“You obviously haven’t been watching our games,” Ynellsoan smirked as all of the gamers chuckled.

“I’m so scared!” a Plath wearing thousands of seed beads in intricate patterns sewn into her clothes wailed. “Hold me!” she exclaimed as she lunged into their group.

“You finally planning on doing something?” the new plath whispered with annoyance.

“Our hitters finally showed,” Ynellosan replied.

“Brewer,” Ulennona said respectfully as he bowed his head.

“So you guys think you can take them?” the brewer, an attractive Plath full into adulthood, asked.

“We have to,” Ulennona replied with a shrug.

“What can I do to help?” the brewer asked as she ran a fingerpad along her beads...

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