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Wait for the next release. I want usable mugs damn it!

55 (71.4%)

We can use the current one. I like the big trees and slightly smarter dorfs.

17 (22.1%)

I'll take .34.11 thanks. I want to know I'll get to kill things for sure.

5 (6.5%)

Total Members Voted: 77

[Talvieno]

Easy. Telescopes. A bit better than what we have, but it's the easiest thing in the world.

Edit: And by the way, they either have to have telescopes, or space travel, because otherwise they never would've found Everoc in the first place.

[Splint]

Why do I feel a debate coming on.

I mean, if it's a good distance out, even the best terrestrial telescopes would be ineffective at mapping a planetary surface, let alone one obscured by comparitivly hot gasses which would also render thermal imaging difficult. Having the coordinates you need on your own world is one thing, because well.... You live there. Having them of an alien world that would be more trouble than it's worth even by DF standards to even build a research station on though, is a stretch even for the portal tech which if I recall right need some kind of coordinate mapping that has to be fairly accurate to avoid complications during transit (such as silly things like death.) that's not even counting that even Parasol relies on machines that would suffer horribly under that planet's conditions, to say nothing of humans, dwarves or what have you deployed there just to keep the locals from killing the construction crews and trashing machinery.

Ina word, it's easier using the Sequivet as a catalyst (maybe they want to see how these creatures adapt to a well lit world full of all manner of creature) for the Scythod's arrival. Will they become the apex predator on this world as well? or will they become prey in some twisted role reversal? Following a brief absence period, research stations and colonies are established out of a want to do more up close observations of what's gone on or just those of thier kind looking at the planet as an opprotunity.

[Talvieno]

It's starting to feel like you're trying to paint an image of Ballpoint being the "White Knights" of the universe, an image that clashes horribly with the fact that they were going to kill off an entire continent of sentient creatures just to test what the spawn were capable of.

I mean, if it's a good distance out, even the best terrestrial telescopes would be ineffective at mapping a planetary surface, let alone one obscured by comparitivly hot gasses which would also render thermal imaging difficult. Having the coordinates you need on your own world is one thing, because well.... You live there. Having them of an alien world that would be more trouble than it's worth even by DF standards to even build a research station on though, is a stretch even for the portal tech which if I recall right need some kind of coordinate mapping that has to be fairly accurate to avoid complications during transit (such as silly things like death.) that's not even counting that even Parasol relies on machines that would suffer horribly under that planet's conditions, to say nothing of humans, dwarves or what have you deployed there just to keep the locals from killing the construction crews and trashing machinery.

First, you estimate. Pop a portal, send somebody through in a suit and some tech, reestimate, and then you can put a portal right on the planet surface. Easy as anything. You're likely to miss the planet on your first try, and if you want to be careful, you stay out of the portal and stick a camera through - or even just a wooden stick. If it comes back in one piece, it's safe to go through. It makes all the sense in the world.


However, Ballpoint wanting them as soldiers also makes all the sense in the world, as they've been previously demonstrated to do just this: use many different species in their armies. The seqivet having them as "pest control" makes absolutely none. Scythods don't inherently possess any weaponry more powerful than bone tools, but are more than capable of adapting to use what they find. Seqivet, on the other hand, have electronic gadgetry, plasma weapons, etc. If they wanted to wage war on all of dwarfworld, they could, and easily. They don't need the scythods at all, and that problem was one of the ones that bugged Mr Frog half to death while he was working on the Frogmod.

Spoiler: because yay, spoilers. >.> (click to show/hide)

Possibly most importantly, I've already written up the chapter where I explain that Ballpoint took the scythods from their home. I just haven't polished and posted it yet. The air thing was an annoyance because although I'd planned it out, I hadn't started it yet. This, though, makes me have to rewrite the entire plot from here on out, as well as rewriting the last part of the previous chapter. The only reason they might not kill Vanya is because she's not Ballpoint, as I already showed them killing Ballpoint soldiers. If the seqivet sent them in as pest control, Vanya is dead, and there's absolutely no hope for her.

This is a debate I am most certainly not enjoying.

[Splint]

White knights my ass, soldiers are expensive to replace if they get eaten. (AKA guns and armor can't be resued if they're bent and shredded to scrap. Implying they care more about the gear than the soldiers )

I still don't like the idea of Ballpoint going out of thier way to find aliens to use as soldiers. the spawn were here already so they make sense. But whatever, I've said my peice.

[Talvieno]

White knights my ass, soldiers are expensive to replace if they get eaten. (AKA guns and armor can't be resued if they're bent and shredded to scrap. Implying they care more about the gear than the soldiers )

I still don't like the idea of Ballpoint going out of thier way to find aliens to use as soldiers. the spawn were here already so they make sense. But whatever, I've said my peice.

But Ballpoint wasn't here already. They had to come here for the Spawn. Ballpoint is from elsewhere. If they'd come here for the Spawn, they might go to scythodworld for the scythod.

Also, lol at the soldiers joke. It made me chuckle. And good point.

Spoiler: random and offtopic (click to show/hide)

I just killed an entire siege with a (mostly) automatic, double-barreled minecart shotgun. ^.^ Today is a good day.

[Splint]

I was just trying to justify them knowing about them at all. It seems pointless even for dwarves to go LOOKING for things that want to kill and eat them, much less ones that will turn thier best soldiers (and by extention themselves if the bugs managed to get even a few in before the portal shut) into bloody mush and tattered body armor (I can only imagine what they did to your soldiers on that glacial fort.) Oh well though, I don't want you to rewrite a whole mess. It just seemed off that they SOMEHOW had already working knowlege of the planet to send a portal opening to and how to communicate with the local apex predator (I assume they are this, since they posses language, possibly primitive toolmaking and an assumed martial culture because of thier predatory nature.)

I now have in mind a random little thing about the change in the way soldiers fight thanks to Mr Frog's inventions here, despite them being crude imitations or even outright whole-cloth expierimental weapons with what little knowlege and gear he had or could have smuggled to him.

[Talvieno]

I now have in mind a random little thing about the change in the way soldiers fight thanks to Mr Frog's inventions here, despite them being crude imitations or even outright whole-cloth expierimental weapons with what little knowlege and gear he had or could have smuggled to him.

Actually, now that Mr Frog has his real PEA, he can start making major improvements to his designs and mass-producing, though he still wouldn't have the appropriate equipment to perfect them. I think weapons were a sort of hobby for him before, but now he's actually getting to put it to good use.

Also, where is everybody? Spearbreakers fell onto the second page. *glares*

[Talvieno]

I'm starting to worry I scared everyone away. I'd hate that. Updates, Reudh?

And... the next chapter.
Vanya's Journals, Chapter 30: Scythods

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Vanya's Journals, Chapter 30: Scythods
You glance up for a moment at the woman sitting across from you, but she only stares at you silently, waiting for you to begin the next entry. Dr. Thian Russ is nowhere to be seen. With a feeling of discomfort, you turn the page and continue reading.

    It can be difficult to switch from one culture to another, especially when they are worlds apart. What seems horrid to one person can seem perfectly acceptable to someone else. It's how they're raised. If you were raised to punch your elders violently in the face, and taught that it was a sign of respect, you wouldn't have an issue if you saw someone else doing it. Our behaviors and cultures aren't "pre-programmed"; they're learned and taught. Unfortunately, even knowing that doesn't lessen the shock nearly as much as you'd think.

~~~

    I turned around in time to see the commander's dismembered corpse falling to the ground, and I felt my stomach turn as I saw one of the “praying mantis” beasts slit his abdomen, his intestines gushing from the wound. But the tallest scythod, the leader, scraped its scythe-arms together with a loud scraping noise, clacking loudly with its teeth, and as one, the two dozen scythods fell silent and stood still. Alone, the tallest began to stalk towards me, its spike-legs thudding into the moist earth: thud-thud, thud-thud, like the beating of my heart. I backed away, but two scythod guards grabbed my arms from either side. The others cleared a way for their leader, who slowed in front of me.
    I always found it odd how they have no eyes... You don't know where to look, but I assumed its "head" was where mine would've been. Its teeth are strange... three jaws lined with teeth that come together in the middle to make a triangle. Eye contact means so much more to us than we ever seem to realize.
    The scythod began waving its neckstalk, quietly clicking its teeth as it seemed to examine me. A whimper of fear escaped me as its mouth lowered towards my neck.

    The noise seemed to surprise it, and it backed away a pace. For a moment I thought I'd scared it, but it lifted one of its leg-spikes and slid the side slowly along my throat... I thought it was going to kill me.
    Suddenly, it withdrew, clacking loudly. A human wearing an old Ballpoint uniform climbed from one of the craters at the far side of the group, assisted roughly by the scythods, which seemed to spit at him hatefully. He approached at a jog, stumbling whenever the creatures kicked it, and finally came to a halt beside the scythod leader.

    He had close-cut red-brown hair and an unkempt beard, as well as a weak jaw. Though he was shorter than the average human, he was still taller than me. I expected a human language from the man, but instead, he made a clicking, grunting noise, which the scythod responded to in kind, almost impatiently. Redbeard seemed to protest, but finally turned towards me and spoke... in broken elventongue.
    "Hello, master person tree," he said slowly, stuttering, "I... I be good to make meet you. Please do... Please be do not eating me later now." Hesitating, he grimaced; clearly he knew his vocabulary was lacking. If it hadn't been such a tense situation, it would've been amusing, but I took that last phrase as an insult.
    "I speak dwarven, if that's any easier for you..." I muttered crossly.
    "Oh, good," he sighed with relief, almost smiling. "Yes, I do." Beside him, the scythod started chattering roughly.
    "I don't eat people," I berated the man. "That's racist and -"
    But he interrupted me: "The Warmaster Kythraka'l Scylk demands you state your race and allegiance."
    "You clearly already know I'm an elf, so why don't you just tell him that?" I asked in annoyance. "And why aren't they killing me?"
    "I know, I'm sorry," he whispered, glancing fearfully at the scythod on his right. "He won't believe me if you don't say it first. They aren't killing you because -"
    The leader, Scylk, whacked him over the head with a closed claw-hand and started chattering, and the man, cringing, started to relay what I'd said in Scylk's own tongue.
    "...Allegiance? Are you Parasol?" he asked, almost pleading with his eyes.
    I felt no pity for him. "I belong to Spearbreakers," I said quietly.
    "Spearbreakers?" his eyes widened in surprise. "But that's a dwarven -" A stream of clicking chatter interrupted him, and the man began conversing with the scythod, who began waving his leg slowly in my direction... almost curiously. It seemed they smelled with their legs, which was odd, but... after all I'd seen and done, it really didn't seem as otherworldly as it might have.
    Finally, Scylk turned to me, clacking and hissing through his teeth. "His Warship asks if you were enslaved," the man translated.
    I glanced from the man to the creature curiously. "No... no, I... Of course not," I stuttered in surprise. "Everoc dwarves don't keep slaves, and Spearbreakers is acceptant of anyone, no matter the race." I caught my breath - it felt odd to hear myself speaking those last words.
    After some more chattering, some in my direction, the man spoke again. "His Warship says he is intrigued, and asks that you stay with us for a time... as a prisoner." He gave a sort of apologetic smile.
    "Do I have any choice?"
    He shook his head rapidly, whispering, "They'll kill you if you refuse."
    I looked at the claw holding me on my right, then my left, looking slowly up the arm to the scythod's sharp, bloodstained teeth, and looked back at the human. "I will stay," I said in quiet resignation. It was better than going back to Spearbreakers, I thought.
    Scylk clacked his scythe arms together, chattering loudly. A roar erupted from the creatures as everyone did the same, shouting in unison, and they all seemed to relax. The two guards released my arms and left. I watched quietly, standing shell-shocked at the edge of the milling group as they began to eat their fallen enemies... as well as their fallen comrades. I turned away as I saw them ripping at the commander's chest, fearing I was going to be sick.

    A hand lowered itself onto my shoulder. "I'm sorry if I insulted you," Redbeard apologized.
    I shrugged out from under his palm and looked at him accusingly. "Not all elves are like that," I said, irritated. "I've never eaten someone's flesh in my life. The only meat I eat is of animals."
    "Elves don't eat animals," he tried to point out, raising a finger.
    "Well, I do."
    He stood there quietly, motionless, looking me over with his eyes. I sat down on the ground, wishing he would go away, but he didn't. It felt... awkward. After a while, I spoke, largely to break the silence. "Aren't they going to take my weapons? Or could they not tell I was carrying daggers?"
    Redbeard paused for a second before he spoke. "The Warmaster mentioned your weapons had an odd smell... But they don't take weapons from captives."
    "And what if I tried to fight my way out or escape?"
    "They'd kill you," he said simply. "We got off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry," he said, trying to sound friendly. "What's your name?"
    I wanted to tell him to leave, but there didn't seem to be much point to it. After all, there was no telling how long I'd be kept prisoner. There was no reason to hold a grudge. "I'm Vanya," I finally answered. "What's yours?"
    He hesitated for a moment, as if struggling to remember. "I'm, uh... I'm John Smith."
    "'John Smith'," I echoed thoughtfully. "That's an odd name."
    "As odd as 'Vanya'?" he joked, sitting down next to me. "As odd as giant praying mantis creatures, as odd as blood falling from the sky?"
    I couldn't help but smile. "You have a point."
    "That I do," he said with a nod. "Are you from Ballpoint too?"
    Shaking my head, I glanced over at the chattering creatures to my left. "No... This armor I'm wearing isn't Ballpoint-made," I explained.
    John raised an eyebrow, saying, "It looks like it's from Ballpoint..."
    "It's not." I picked up a bloodstained pebble and tossed it away. "Mr Frog made it for me."
    He choked. "Mr... Mr Frog? Are you serious?" Then he stopped, trying to collect himself. "The Mr Frog, the one who was responsible for Ballpoint pushing forwards the Miranda amendment?"
    "The what?" I got the part where Mr Frog was apparently famous at Ballpoint, but he'd lost me after that.
    "The Miranda amendment," John repeated. "It's where..." he stopped and ran his hand through his hair, apparently lost for a way to describe it. "Never mind. I heard they sent him to Spearbreakers, trying to kill him with his own creations."
    I glanced at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
    "He's the one that modified the Spawn and re-released them. He was one of the heads of the project, actually."
    I was stunned. I didn't know what to say, or how to react. His accusation seemed absurd, given what I knew of Mr Frog. "What?"
    "It's true," John said in a nonchalant manner, twiddling his fingers. "Didn't you know?"
    Shaking my head roughly, I exclaimed, "It can't be true! He's a good man! He would never do something so horrible."
    He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. "Well... I guess you could say it's because he's a 'good man' that they kicked him out."
    "I don't believe you," I whispered, sinking my head into my hands. Little pieces in my mind were starting to fall into place: how Mr Frog knew so much about the spawn, how he loathed them, how he was helping Spearbreakers defeat them in any way he could. But I didn't want to believe it.
    John continued explaining. "He saw what Ballpoint was planning to do with the Spawn and he didn't like it, or so people say. He started to drink, started to make his own drugs and self-medicate... and then one day he straight-out told the head of the project that he didn't want to take part in it anymore. So... they sent him to Spearbreakers."
    That sounded a little closer to the Mr Frog I'd come to know, and I couldn't deny it. "Why would they send him to Spearbreakers?"
    "Well, they were going to kill him straight out, but the trial got hung up on moral issues... A number of people revolted, saying Mr Frog was right and that Ballpoint should terminate the project. So... the commander-in-chief passed the Miranda amendment to Ballpoint law. It says..." he stopped and ran his hands through his hair again, thinking. "It says anyone showing signs of dissent should be killed off as in discreet a manner as possible, without trial or warning, to keep from upsetting the rest of the contractors and causing a riot. The official story was that Mr Frog was doing research at Spearbreakers, and that's what he was told, too... but then somebody leaked the truth about Miranda, and everybody knew."
    "You were there?" I asked, refusing to meet his gaze.
    He gave a little crooked smile, and then frowned. "I was one of the people who revolted."
    At this, I raised my head from my hands and looked at him in surprise. "You?"
    "Is that so hard to believe?" he asked quietly, looking off into the distance with a sigh. I didn't respond, only wondering how someone so seemingly spineless could have taken a stand for what he believed.
    And we sat in silence, side by side, while the scythods finished their meal.

    Before an hour had passed, a scythod approached us, talking, and John translated: "Vanya, come on - they're on the march."
    With escorts on either side of us, we followed... but they let us walk free. They never laid a hand on us to bind us... even though one of them would occasionally kick John in the back, or snap at him loathingly.

~~~

    That night, we rested under a moonlit, lightly clouded sky. Some of the scythods carried crude water skins, and others carried packs of meat; they let us drink as they made camp. Afterwards, a shorter scythod came by and gave John and me each a slab of meat... I didn't want to touch it.

    "It's capybara meat," John tried to assure me, picking pieces off of his. "They don't give their prisoners the flesh of sentient creatures."
    "But it's raw," I protested pertinently. "I can't eat raw meat."
    He only grimaced, gingerly putting a chunk into his mouth.
    A scythod stomped up from behind me, hissing at us. John answered, seeming very disquieted, and the two held a brief conversation. Finally, I turned around and broke in. "This meat is raw," I said as clearly as I could. "I can't eat it." I glanced back at John, who was shaking his head violently and waving his hands for me to stop, and mouthing "don't go there".
    The scythod turned its mouth towards me in surprise, clicking a couple times, and then chattered at John, who clacked and hissed back. Without another word, the scythod stomped away.
    "Why'd you have to do that?!" John whispered in frantic agitation. "They almost killed me when I made that request."
    "I won't eat raw meat," I said quietly, trying to steel myself against my fears, which I was surprised to find weren't there.
    "Just eat it! They'll kill you if you don't," John warned.
    I shook my head, saying, "I don't care."
    And I meant it.

    Two scythods stomped up behind me, and I turned, watching them approach as their spindly forms threw dark shadows on the ground. "It's Warmaster Scylk," John moaned. I shushed him.
    Scylk began chattering sharply, but his tone softened as John spoke. Finally, lifting a leg in my direction, he seemed to sniff me, and then he turned and spoke to his officer, who left. Moments later, the officer returned, clumsily grasping a piece of flint and steel in the tips of its scythes, which opened like some kind of strange, webbed hands. In its claws, it grasped bundles of wood, and in a few moments, John and I had a small fire between us. John could only look on with a comical expression of dumbfounded surprise.
    I laughed at him, holding my dinner close to the fire on a stick, trying to get it to cook.
    Scylk seemed to order his officer to leave, and then, chattering to John, sat down beside us - an odd sight for such a long, stiff-legged creature. I wasn't expecting that... nor was I expecting him to speak to me.
    "Your ways intrigue me, Alaf," John translated, whispering "he means 'elf'" as he did. "What is your name?"
    "Vanya," I replied carefully, wondering why John hadn't told him himself.
    "Spala," Scylk hissed, speaking slowly.
    I shook my head, and then wondered if he could even see the gesture. "No, Vanya."
    "Fana," Scylk said, trying to match my sounds, but then he clicked his claws and tapped me on the shoulder. "Spala."
    I turned towards John for assistance. "What does 'Spala' mean?"
    "It means 'Storm'," he explained quietly. "His Warship is giving you a name that he can pronounce. A scythod's speech is very limited."
    I nodded, thinking. "Storm" wasn't that bad of a name, really. Then, curiously, I asked, "John, what does he call you?"
    He only grimaced and shook his head.
    Scylk began clicking again, and John continued to translate. "Spala, why are you here, if you do not share the blood of Ballpoint, or of Parasol?"
    "I'm fleeing my home."
    This brought an agitated stream of chatter from the warmaster. "Spala, one should never flee their home. One should embrace it for what it is, no matter how cruel."
    "I almost got killed," I tried to explain, though I doubted he could understand. "One of the previous overseers tried to kill me."
    Scylk spoke again: "I will tell you a story." Then, sitting by the firelight, through John's hesitant translating and Scylk's incessant chattering, the old scythod told me the story of his people.

    "For many years, my people lived on the planet of Piscyth - a rocky, violent world with numerous volcanoes that spewed boulders into the air, trying to crush us with their weight. There were beasts larger than we were, and constant warring separated my people. Though the world was cruel... we found it beautiful. We had an entire world all to ourselves, and could do as we pleased, though we often went hungry for want of meat. But we were free... and we did not value that freedom as much as we should have.
    "Humans and dwarves came through the air-gates, which you call 'portal'." He pronounced the last word correctly, which surprised me. "The humans and dwarves called themselves the 'Klascoryf' in our tongue, which is to say 'ball-point'. They attempted peaceful talking with my people, but we would not listen, trying to kill them for their meat. There was a war... and in the end, they prevailed, capturing many scythods. Klascoryf said they would pay us in 'money' - little pieces of metal. We had no use for it, so they said they would give us ways to show our worth in battle, as they thought us violent. But that is not why we always fought. We fought for food. There is already much food at Klascoryf. They offered us many things, but none was what we wanted. We wanted to be free; we wanted to go home. Death is honorable among my people, and being eaten more so... but dying alone, with your corpse tossed into the garbage to rot... there is no death more cruel. They learned we saw things this way, and used it. And so, we served Lonne's people for many years."
    I leaned towards John, whispering, "Who is Lonne?"
    He grimaced. "It's the name they gave me. It means 'incest'... they can't pronounce the 'j'." He glanced away in embarrassment.
    Though shocked, I had to stifle a laugh, and failed. Scylk ignored it and went on, pointing upwards with a claw.

    "Spala, look above you at the stars." He waited, and when I had, he continued, looking upwards with his mouth. "I can feel the wind..." he said. "I can feel the pressure of the sky on my body. I can tell you it will not rain tonight, though the air is moist. And yet, I cannot see the stars, for I have no eyes." He paused for a moment, waving his arm about slowly, deliberately. "This world has not the musical, sweet-smelling volcanoes, or the pleasant dust storms of Piscyth. No, it has vistas and oceans, trees and rainbows. The beautiful parts of this world are heard with eyes... and my people have none." Scylk paused, as if hesitant, and looked back at me. "We've missed our home, Spala."

    I actually felt a sort of sympathy for him. He was alien to me, but to his people... my entire world was alien. In a quiet tone, I asked, "Did you ever try to go back?"
    He clacked his scythe-arms together in response. "Yes, we did, and that is why we are here. Several years ago, Klascoryf made us use their air-gates onto this world. They told us to kill Parasol." He had trouble with the word, but pronounced it in Dwarven. "We refused, and left, moving to the mountains. We built a place to live... but we cannot call it 'home'.
    "If we ever returned to Piscyth, the other scythods would try to kill us as they always had, and they might even succeed. ...but that will never stop us from trying."
    He sat there quietly for a moment, and the night was silent but for the crackling of our fire, the sizzling of my meat, and the far-off sound of scythods. I thought over what he said, but nothing seemed suitable as a response.
    With a grunt, Scylk shifted his weight, reaching a claw into the fire. Pulling out my meat, he skewered it with a stick and handed it to me. "Eat your food, young one." Saying this, the old warmaster stood and stomped off into the distance.
    I sat there for a time, chewing slowly and looking up at the starry sky... looking up at the moon, covered by wispy, iridescent clouds... and wondering what it would be like to live your whole life without ever seeing the beauty that was there.

☆

[tomio175]

Nice story!

Too lazy/tired to write up commentary. Get on Tinychat.

[Talvieno]

I can't, I'm afraid. I have somewhere I need to be in about an hour or so, so it'll be a while before I get back on, if I do get back on later today.

[Reudh]

I like the Scythod now.

I'll go on tinychat in the morning, and an update shall come too. Tired, it's 1am.

[Splint]

I find it rather comical what they named that contractor.

Can't pronounce letter J.
Name translator incest.

[Mr Frog]

I don't think you have to worry about scaring anyone away with your little debate, Tal You, unlike me, are at least polite about it.

Excellent update as always. You did a sterling job conveying the scythod's alien nature.

[codyorr]

Ah so I moved out of the background a while ago and started killing things. While in real life I started trapping raccoons and possums and killing them. Nice!

[Hanslanda]

I like the Scythod now.

This. They sounded badass before, but now they sound like legimate sentient beings of wisdom, not just killing machines.