I tend to not enjoy the way a lot of writers portray Tyranids, to be honest. I hate when they're just Not Xenomorphs that hiss and screech and act fundamentally like chittering animals. I also despise the "personal" route where every Tyranid emanates hatred and maliciousness and is evil. Both of these, to me, rob them of the effective horror that is their unique and unknowable Hive Mind.
The book that captures best what I want out of Tyranids, and is a fairly tense read for it, is Deathworlder by Victoria Hayward. It's a good book in its own right, of course. Catachans and Cadians exploring cultural differences during a secret mission in the final hours of a world doomed by Tyranids. Good stuff. Worth a read. The way the Tyranids are written, though, is superb. They barely make noise. Most of their ambient sound comes from the sheer number of them moving at once, the shifting of carapace, the sounds of biological weaponry compressing to fire. They don't react to pain correctly. They move broken and shattered limbs in ways that are deeply wrong, compelled through a greater consciousness. They let themselves be crushed down into ramps for their fellows to swarm over, without making a sound or resisting it. Tyranids appear randomly to observe or harry people for ends that aren't understood but feel deeply deliberate. Everything is alien but clearly part of an intelligence that vastly outstrips everyone present. It's great. It is what Tyranids should be.
Anyway, if you like Tyranids, Catachans, human suffering, a fascinating glimpse into genestealer cults post-"ascension", a big woman ripping a gargoyle in half with her bare hands, go read Deathworlder.
This morning when I should have still been asleep I was instead reading the end of Victoria Hayward's Deathworlder. Readers, I cried. (Don't take that too seriously; I cry about a lot of things. I have a Condition.) I'd picked it up mostly because I was looking for more female characters in 40k that would push my buttons, and a couple of brawny secular soldiers seemed like a good bet. And then it really caught me? The story follows a small group of guards on a last-chance desperate mission across a world in the process of being overrun by tyranids, with all the fighting and bonding and hard choices that implies. I would recommend it to people who like:
Underdogs persevering against all odds
Competent people relying on each other to be good at their specialties
Butch women getting shit done (both Wulf the hard-bitten cigar-smoking officer and Adair the giant tattooed brawler are v solid)
Catachans taken seriously—with a lot of their own words and perspective on where the stereotypes come from
Developing relationships that are low-key and believable and never make the characters forget the terrible situation they're in
Soldiers trying to push through grief and loss to keep fighting
Lots of battles and cinematic set-piece action
(@gabriel-seths-pr-assistant I know at least one or two of those are relevant to you) Caveat for genestealer cult fans that the one cultist with a speaking role does not come off terribly well—in a way that makes sense with both broader lore and the specific situation here, but heads up anyway.
And this morning, when I got to the end—y'all know I'm generally absurdly partisan about my Warhammer, but even my cranky warp-tainted self could appreciate this moment of earnest belief and desire to protect on the part of people who know there's more danger than they can hope to defeat. idk. It really landed. Major Wulf's a good officer.
Anyway, there it is, my first foray into fully Astra Militarum-centric books.
From the memiors ambassador Gruxalon of the vanai-ashti.
After discussing the particulars of human involvement in our war with the Xinali myself and two envoys joined the Human delegation to return to their homeworld of Terra and continue discussion with Human leadership. The other five members of the delegation were sent home to relay a message that would doubtless fill our people with hope and joy despite the misgivings and warnings from the Alliance: The strongest known military force in the galaxy was giving us direct military aid despite the objections of the council.
As I entered the repurposed destroyer vessel the humans used as a diplomatic vessel, I noticed it was staffed by individuals who all wore the same clean cut uniform with only minor differences to denote ranks and achievements. One of the similarly dressed individuals who was present with the human delegation stood straight and pulled feet together raising his hand to his mouth before bellowing:
“Officer on deck!”
As he did this all the men present stopped their duties and seemed to turn like one, as though controlled by a single central mind, the sound of their boots all hitting the ground at same moment as their arms snapped up, their hands barely touching their foreheads in what i assume was a salute, was deafening. The ambassador raised his arm slightly and bellowed back:
"As you were.” and the men visibly relaxed, released their salutes and returned to their work. Even among our own kind I have never seen such a display of discipline.
The flight to Terra took a few days, even in FTL, and the ambassador and I had a good deal of time to speak about the issues my people faced and how I, and my fellow envoys believed we could best be helped. Our largest issues were the Xinali willingness to use biological warfare and the fact they could survive a good number of shots from our projectile weapons before going down. The ambassador asked a few questions and then sighed resignedly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked
“Nothing is wrong,” Orillion answered. “It’s just… based on your descriptions I have to assume your enemy the Xinali also come from a deathworld, which means they’ll be a bigger pain in the arse to fight.”
"What makes you think they come from a deathworld?” I asked.
“Their biological warfare uses a gas that causes you immune system failure, yet doesn’t seem to affect them, despite no protective gear,” he answered “this combined with the fact they can handle several hits and keep going whilst unprotected means their blood is probably clotting, together that probably means they have an adaptive immune system.”
“An adaptive… I’m sorry I’m not sure I understand.” I answered, an immune was an immune system wasn’t it?
Orillion gave me a tense look “Okay, i’ll share this with you, but don’t go talking about it for now, the consulate gets pretty upset with how open we are about it.”
I bobbed my head up and down in consent and Orillion gave me an odd look before I realized that I had used a cultural gesture he wasn’t aware of.
“Sorry,” I said, “I will bear this information with utmost secrecy until you tell me otherwise.”
“Okay,” Orillion answered “although if i’m right and you ARE fighting deathworlders then this will all end up being considered ‘necessary tactical information’ anyway.” he continued “An adaptive immune system basically takes in a pathogen and throws everything it can at it, learning how to fight what is accosting it until it has figured out how to eliminate the pathogen efficiently enough to eradicate it from the body.”
“What!?” I asked “It just eradicates any pathogen? You mean to tell me that the xinalli are immune to sickness!?”
“Well no,” Orillion answered “Humans have an adaptive immune system as well, but there are still pathogens that can weaken or kill you faster than your immune system can figure out a solution, or sometimes your body can mutate and the mutated cells can end up draining your body of resources until it quite literally starves to death.”
I blanched “that sounds horrible.” I said.
"It is," Orillion answred "Only a few species have.adaptive immune systems, and all of them are deathworlders. Fortunately for you we are the most advanced ones."
From the memiors of general Vineset hetroix of the Vani-Ashri
My men continued to fight, but the Xinali were like like a flood, like a plague, it was only a matter of time. A lieutenant carrying communications equipment rushed to my command tent on the surface, he begged permission to enter and show me a transmission, i granted it.
The transmission was grainy, but showed the ambassador to the Galactic alliance and two beings quite a bit taller than him with rough, pale skin and tufts of fur on the tops of their head. The ambassador began:
"General i have excellent news, we have secured military aide at long last, our people may have hope now."
One of the aliens stepped forward, he wore a clean and pressed outfit, clearly designed yo impress delegations, not for war.
"I am major Darek Hallsman of the 987th division of the Terran Marines." The alien began with a gesture I assumed to be a salute "I am under the impression you are fighting the enemy as we record this message. I wish to inform you, reinforcements are on there way, and they will arrive soon, within the standard week. Hold the line, don't let those bastards take what isn't theirs." The recording ended here, the lieutenant informed me that the "Terrans" as the aliens had identified themselves had wished to hurry home to rally their troops, and had thus left theur transmission short and to the point.
"What do we know about these Terrans?" I asked my lieutenant.
"They are apparently quite isolationist, and do not generally get involved in the affairs of others, save for interstellar trade. I do not know what the ambassador promised them to change that attitude, but they are one of the largest military forces in the alliance, worst case: we get a ton of cannon fodder."
I sighed, there really was no point in expecting better than the worse case. His people had learned this the hard way during this war, the enemy outnumbered us, out gunned us, even out gene pooled us. But i couldn't say cannon fodder would have been unwelcome, so of course I called the men together to give them the news.
"Gather your courage!" I told them showing them the transmission "Steel yourselves, because in a few days you're gettin' backup!" A loud cheer rippled through the ranks bubbling and bursting "Let's not let our new allies down boys HOLD THE LINE!"
Came the answer: "SIR YES SIR!"
Nearly 5 full days passed, but we held the line, we fought with everything we had, we burned and buried our flak cannon shrapnel rounds into Xinali strikers and brawlers as we pushed with all our might against their battle lines. The Xinali must have sensed something was off, they began to pull back, as though preparing for something.
It was then we received another transmission broadcasting on an open channel
"This is Captain Nethaniel Braddock of the T.C.S. retribution clear that battleline general, you've troop and weapons drop in 2 minutes."
Troop drop? I had wondered at the term, but assumed ships would be landing yo let troops out on the battleline, at the time i could not imagine why the terrans would willingly risk troop transports by forcing them down on the front lines. But two minutes later my questions were answered.
A massive metal monstrosity covered stem to stern in guns and still bleeding fire from re-entry burst through the cloud layer. We looked up in awe at a vessel that made our warships look like children's toys. And then with a vast array of thuds metal containers hit the ground slamming into the dirt and sinking a few inches. Several of these pods burst open and soldiers in metal armor strode out into the battlefield with bellowing weapons that flattened the opposition. One of the men approached us and had us open the smaller containers explaining the weapons within and urging us to these rather than our own flak guns. They bore names we did not know: S&W, H&K, Kalishnikov. As these were explained to us the dropships came, carrying the regular marines, while the orbital drop troops held the line and protected their reinforcements. Terrans in nearly ten Secron tall metal battlesuits, firing weapons with rotating barrels pushed forward while others, near 7 secrons tall in plated and camouflaged body armor marched behind using the metal suits of the drop troopers as cover while they blasted away at Xinali soldiers and flyers.
The terran Concord's soldiers were the most efficient killing machines I had ever seen.
The Terran weapons were vastly superior to our own, some of their marines even carried weapons that fired viscous plamatized bolts. The "bullets" as the Terrans called them quickly overcame the Xinali's thick skin
There is no nice deathworlders! (Right?) [Chapter 7]
AU-masterpost: here
Virgil wasn’t sure why, but Remus would wake up every night after that. Every time Roman slept, Remus would come out and talk away the night with… or, rather to Virgil. And it was calming, really. Having someone treat you like a person after all this time again. Just talking about random stuff, as gruesome and disturbing as some of it may be, and having a conversation.
Patton didn’t leave. Much to Roman’s dismay the sylemn didn’t want to leave his friends. Though Virgil did assume that they had noticed him reacting to them talking some time or another, as they had begun to talk a lot more quietly. But Roman still insisted on Virgil not being able to understand common, which was kind of confusing. About as confusing as Roman slowly becoming less and less aggressive towards Virgil in behavior, yet showing no signs of warming up to the human in the way he talked.
The storm didn’t stop, but it got better. Before you could barely see a foot through the pouring rain and the wind was cold and biting even inside the cover of the cave. Now you could at least see far enough not to be concerned about falling down a cliff you didn’t see. Of cause everything would still be slippery, but if you stepped outside, you didn’t need to worry about being flooded away.
So Virgil started to leave again. He didn’t search for Janus, of cause. No, that would have been suicidal in that weather. But he went outside to go and find some food. He was really worried about both Roman and Patton, and he himself started to have trouble standing up fast. Even now he was out of breath way too fast and saw black spots dancing around in his vision.
And Virgil also visited his ship. He didn’t want to do so before because whenever he went inside the ship even though he didn’t want to leave yet he… remembered things. Now was hard, too. But he didn’t have much of a choice, Roman, Remus and Patton would die of hypothermia at this rate and he needed a few other supplies and tools because of the weather right now. Fire wasn’t really a possibility with the soaking wood around here, and he refused to die of an allergic reaction to some weird berry or fruit or something. No, he’d rather use up the supplies on the ship for now and worry about reloading later. Still, he would have to skimp out on meals if he didn’t want to starve on the his way to the next market.
Where would that be? HJ-9? Or maybe better YK-21? No, there was a lot of security there. He’d had a few run-ins with them when he and Janus were together and they’d barely made it out of there in one peace working as a team. Though there was a lot of stuff he had yet to find anywhere else, he guessed he shouldn’t risk it.
With a sigh, Virgil left the shiny, black, bubble-shaped space ship again and went back into the rain. On the way back he found a few more of those blackish berries Roman seemed to like, or like enough to eat them at least. Finding the right cave was a lot harder than without the rain, though. He had to try five before he finally found the one the two aliens were whispering in.
“-feel him again, you said! I mean, that’s something, right?”, Patton asked when he entered. He stood there, dripping onto the floor, for a few moments as he watched Roman’s scales flutter softly. “Yes. But I can’t reach him. I’m just worried. What if it stays like that? What if I never get to talk to Remus ever again? I just… I miss him, you know?”, he whispered, just loud enough for the echo of the cave to carry it to Virgil’s ears over the raining noise behind him. Patton, in answer, let out a soft, sad chirp and rubbed against his friend. Roman cuddled him back, his tale wrapping around the smaller alien protectively.
He wondered if Remus would hug him back if he were to try?
What was he thinking?! Remus may be nice to him, but the creath wasn’t his friend. His other half made that more than clear enough for both of them. No, Remus was intrigued by him, maybe they were on neutral terms, but there was no way any alien would ever want to be friends with him, a human, a deathworlder.
With a sour taste in his mouth, Virgil walked over to his side of the cave and let the supplies drop. He could hear the other two stiffen when he did, but ignored the sharp pain in his chest. Virgil made a point of it to set out the things he’d brought back from the ship as carefully as possible, simply because that meant it would take more time. He both wanted to give the two friends a little time to collect themselves and wanted to stall for time before he had to face what he inevitably knew: That they still hated and feared him and always would, because he had no means to communicate his good intentions to them.
When he couldn’t put it off any longer, Virgil took a deep breath and clutched the fabric of the blankets in his hands. It wasn’t like fabric at home. Weirdly thin and sleek almost like liquid, but still as warm as a duvet. The color was weird, too. Something in between maroon and black, but shining in every color of the rainbow when the sun hit the right way. A little bit like oil. Virgil wasn’t too sure what it was made off, only that he didn’t want his thoughts to wander in that direction. But they worked, and they were cheap, so Janus and he had bought a few with the stolen money.
“It’s not really stolen, you know? Think of it more as a… compensation. For the things they did. Besides, they don’t need it anymore. At least we still have a use for this.” Janus’ words echoed inside Virgil’s mind, making him smile fondly. They’d snitched the money and their first disguises from the ship they’d been held on and bought the ship outside with it, together with more elaborate disguises, a few supplies and necessities. They’d used it all up quite fast and since it was kind of hard to get a job without risking to be found out, Janus had quickly become quite the skilled pick-pocket. Sometimes they would just go on missions with little to no risk of being seen. There were only few of those, but somehow Janus and Virgil had been able to make due.
Until he’d lost Janus.
If he was being honest, Virgil had given up on finding him here. Or at all, really. Space was just too big and planets were too big and Virgil was too small. And with storms like these here? Even Janus wouldn’t have been able to survive this for all too long. He would have kicked the bucket by now if this had been where he’d decided to go into hiding after they’d got seperated. And even if he was still out there, if he hadn’t died or been captured by now… There was no way Virgil would find him anymore.
And he really only wanted to go home right now. Go back to the house with too large windows and too clean floors and uncomfortably quiet dinners and suffocatingly tense air. Back to the yelling and fighting with his father and the frustration and the useless therapies and the scandals in the news. He wanted to go back to being the problem child, wanted to go back to earth where he knew what he was supposed to do and what he couldn’t do and where he was just an outsider, not a monster.
Shaking his head to disperse the thoughts and biting his lip to push back the tears, Virgil’s hands clutched the blankets even tighter. Not right now. He’d wait out the storm, find those aliens’ missing crew mate, figure out a way to talk to them, bring them to safety and then he could go back to drowning in self pity until the oxygen in the ship would be used up and he’d suffocate. And now? Right now he had to make sure the two aliens in this cave with him didn’t die of the cold they’d been shivering in for the last few days.
So he took another deep breath, this one shivering more than the last one, went over to where the two watched him, one with caution and one with horror barely concealed by a mask of anger, and threw the blankets at them. Patton caught one in his hands, while the other got stuck on Roman’s horns. Patton, of cause, carefully took the second blanket as well, as Roman was still tied up and couldn’t reach for it himself. Both of them looked at Virgil silently and Virgil only looked at them.
“There you go”, he couldn’t say, “If you need something else tell me. I want you to stay healthy.”
So instead he turned around, ignoring the way one of them breathed a sigh of relief, and put the berries as well as one of those weird fruits that reminded him of a pineapple in taste and a persimmon in texture on what had essentially become Roman’s plate. He walked back over to them and put it down on the floor, a little away from them so that they wouldn’t tense up as much. He knew Patton would reach it once he was gone, even though Roman couldn’t.
“I hope you like it. I know it’s not much, but we’ll have to make due.”, was stuck in his throat underneath glued lips and a limp tongue. But maybe his eyes conveyed the message just a little bit. At least Patton looked into his eyes, looked back down at the food and hummed happily: “Thank you!”
Virgil blushed, hoping that they wouldn’t see it in the dark. He quickly retreated into his corner of the cave and curled up in his own blanket. He chewed on a piece of alien bread, ignoring the sour taste, and watched as Patton put one blanket around Roman and curled up in his own, sharing the fruit and the berries with his friend.
The delighted chirp Patton let out when he ate the fruit, now, that Virgil did not ignore for once. At least he’d done something right, he thought, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. At least something at all…
___
Logan looked outside suspiciously. Could he get outside now? It was still pouring rain outside, but at least it had let up a little bit. Just a little bit, though. But was it safe? And did it really matter whether it was safe or not? After all, Roman and Remus or Patton could still be out there in that rain. If so, he knew that he had to find them quickly. Patton may be immune to lightning as sylemn didn’t conduct electricity, but Roman and Remus were surely endangered by the lightning he’d seen before. And even if electricity couldn’t harm Patton, a sylemn was very much flammable.
It was day still, but with the clouds and the rain the sun was a lot less bright, which very much worked in Logan’s favor. The rays of sunshine were barely more potent than on his home planet, and due to his cross-species breading it would not harm him as much as it would other photynêsc.
Just as he was about to go out, he saw the deathworlder return to the cave on the opposite side, his arms full of supplies. And he hesitated when he entered the cave, his eyes obviously focused on something inside. Or was it someone?
Logan’s heart sunk further when he realized that his fear from back then might very well be true. It was possible that he had found one of Logan’s friends and taken them prisoner. Probably Patton, because neither Roman nor Remus would have gone down without a huge fight. No matter who had been in charge, that deathworlder may have won but wouldn’t have gotten away as unharmed as he appeared.
Logan closed his eyes to recollect himself. It was alright. If his assumptions were correct, that would mean that the deathworlder had let Patton live. For now. So that meant that Logan still had a chance to help him. Get in while the deathworlder was away or asleep and get him out of there.
But it was likely a trap. There was a high chance that the deathworlder had figured Patton wasn’t the only one stranded here and that others would come looking for him. Deathworlders were smart, after all, cunning and dangerously skilled in drawing conclusions. That was one of the few things known after Virgil Feline and Janus Serpent had escaped back then.
Logan involuntarily shuddered at the thought of those two. He could only hope that this deathworlder would be at least a little less volatile and/or violent.
Careful not to let himself be spotted, Logan left the cave. He shuddered again at the cold water raining down on him. He wasn’t necessarily against being wet. Back home everything was covered by a thick layer of fog at all times, after all. But this cold water, heavy and raining down in almost painful drops, was something he hated about the planets far from his own. Not that he would ever say that out loud. If asked he would only say that it was uncomfortable to him.
Soon he saw the warmth emitting from the cave. The entire cave appeared to be slightly warmer than the outside, but he could see the deathworlder on the right side to the cave even warmer, though a lot less warm than he himself, Patton or Roman and Remus should be. Was that normal for a deathworlder? That cool body temperature? Logan wasn’t sure.
Taking another breath, Logan hid behind a tree. He hoped that that was enough to hide the soft glow of his skin. He couldn’t be sure about the sensitivity of the deathworlder’s eyes, though, so he wasn’t entirely sure. And it wasn’t exactly an ideal position either. He couldn’t see much colors in the darker cave, only temperatures. At least from this far away. And the temperatures were hard to pick up on at this distance as well.
But he did see something, and what he saw made breathing harder than it should be. Not only Patton, but Roman as well were huddled up together opposite from the deathworlder.
So did that…
Was that…
That meant…
If this really was a trap, Logan concluded with bile raising up his throat, it could only be for him. And if he didn’t fall for it, he didn’t want to imagine what would happen to his friends, his family.
From the memoirs of ambassador Gruxalon of the Vani-Ashti
The human homeworld of Terra looked like a massive smooth gemstone of blue and brown and green from the window of the space station that orbited it. I had been told the blue was water and had been disappointed when i learned that the planet's gravity would likely be too much for me to bear very long.
The humans had a massive room aboard the station that through transported sand, dirt, plants and animals, as well as holographic depictions of the sky simulated a terran archipelago at lower gravity for visiting dignitaries. If this was what earth was like, it was breathtaking. I was told many such rooms existed in the station simulating various environments.
But today we sat in a meeting room, also kept at low gravity for our sake. The table and chairs were made from Terran trees and had a slightly reddish hue, I was told it was called mahogany wood. The attending delegates included myself, my two envoys, ambassador Orillion, Primarch Deaton of the Terran Union's high council and Theatre Admiral Johnsonburg of the United Terran Expeditionary Forces. The Primarch wore a blue uniform that had gold trimmings and dangling bits, tge Admiral's uniform was white with gold bordered red trim and a gold bordered red sash across his chest with several medals and bars denoting various battlefield and command accomplishments.
The Ambassador briefly introduced his colleagues then spoke to them in the Terran language for a few minutes, whike i did not know what exactly was said the reception of the two delegates was quite positive. Ambassador Orillion then announced in Galactic common that the remainder of this meeting would be held speaking only common and opened the floor for me to lay out our plea to the Terran Union for aid.
I cleared my throat and spoke: "delegates of the Terran Union i have come with a most pressing request. Approximately two decades ago we encountered a species of Avians called the Xinali. These Avians are zealous followers of a religion with eight natural elements and a god for each. The Xinali worship primarily the god of air. To them all creatures must be of one element and to mix elements is strictly forbidden, any creature of multiple elements is considered an abomination that must be destroyed in the name of order. We, being an amphibious race, are considered a race with a mix of earth and water, and they summarily declared holy war upon us and seek to wipe us from existence in the name of their elemental gods. We are many, and currently hold eight systems, having lost three to the Xinali over the past two decades. We estimate that without outside intervention, the Xinali will accomplish their goal in a little over a century. They are more numerous than us and their weaponry is far more advanced. They are difficult to kill and show no qualms about the use of targeted biological warfare."
The Terran Ambassador stood as I sat "thank you Ambassador Gruxalon", he said "Primarch, Admiral, as you both know we of Terran Union have long sought the opportunity to atone for the vile actions our species partook in upon our first outings beyond our home system. The memory of the Cthir haunts us still, a lingering ghost of our monstrous past. I see with the Vani'Ashti an opportunity to finally exorcise this ghost and forever put the past behind us, that we as a species may move ever forward, with clear conscience, into the great beyond."
The other delegates looked at each other briefly. The Primarch stood "I am confident that the peoples of the State of Brazil will support you, we shall put to vote among our people your plea for aid, and given a positive reception we shall bring our proposal to the high council, the council of judiciary integrity and the council of social protections."
The admiral stood next and tipped his head towards us. "We have heard your plea and we sympathize with you. A temporary expeditionary force has been sent to your battle lines with orders to prioritize defense of current holdings and make every attempt to establish a positive diplomatic intercourse with the Xinali, and attempt to negotiate a ceasefire."
I gurgled my throat in disapproval at this statement. "You will not help us take back our lands?"
Primarch Deaton responded "we personally want to, but our law requires it be put to vote, and the action be reviewed by judiciary and social experts to ensure that it does not infringe upon the rights of the Terran people, or demand an unreasonable amount of resources. Many governments of the past became corrupted and trampled the rights of their peoples, our government is constructed to avoid such corruption to the best of our ability."
I gurgled again in disappointment.
"Bureaucracy always takes time, nobody likes it, but it is better than rule by dictators." Orillion stated.
The Primarch and Admiral stood and promised to try to move this issue forward as quickly as possible.
Ambassador Orillion sighed and turned to me as they left. "I'm sorry i cannot give you more now, this process usually takes several months."
"But why!?" I asked impassioned "our people's very existence is at stake here! You would not spend months debating if it was your people that faced extinction!"
"The council would do exactly that." Orillion said with such certainty that I balked in surprise. "Though to be fair, the citizenry would not be so patient."
"You see!" I shot back angrily
Orillion smiled "our soldiers cannot do more than defend… but I do believe that part of the emergency defensive orders were to share high tech human battle armor and weapons to allied soldiers, who have no such restriction."
I shot Orillion a look for a moment before realizing what he meant. The Vani'Ashti were no longer out gunned, and their worlds were defended by a far superior military force. They could take their worlds back! The war could be won!
There are no nice deathworlders! (Right?) [Chapter 6]
AU-masterpost: here
A heavy storm had trapped Roman, Patton and Virgil inside the cave for the next few days. The clouds were so dark that it got hard to tell how many days it were exactly, but Virgil would have guessed about three. And he really regretted not eating diner the day he’d found Patton by now. Although he did find out a little bit more about the duo during this time:
One, Patton loved puns.
Two, Roman was really good at finding new ways to insult him.
Three, the two of them had one more shipmate, a photynêsc called Logan who neither of them had seen any sign of since their crash.
Four, they were travelers who did any kinds of jobs on their way to finance their journey.
Five, their ship was absolutely smashed.
Six, Roman was terrified of the dark.
Seven, both Roman and Patton were even more terrified of fire.
It wasn’t really as though he’d been listening in on their conversations, but everything was silent apart from the rain and thunder, and neither of them were really helping Virgil to stay calm. With every thunder, he half expected a lightning to make the cave collapse and with every bit of rain he wondered how much longer it would take until the water would flood the cave. So he had to distract himself, just as the other two did. And they were the only thing he could focus his attention on, really.
Another thing he did during the time he waited for the weather to calm down, was mentally preparing himself for talking to them. It didn’t have to be a full conversation just yet, but he did need to talk to them eventually. Even if it was just to tell them not to attack him once he would cut the vines holding them in their place.
Of cause he had noticed that Roman had tried to cut himself free, but for some reason he’d given up. Virgil didn’t really get why, though. Maybe it was hard to reach with just his tail?
And there was something else he wanted to talk to them about. Ever since Patton had mentioned that their ship was absolutely smashed, he’d been thinking about it. If it was really as bad as he said it was, then they wouldn’t have any way of getting away from this planet on their own. The weather would only get worse and worse from here on out, so their chances of surviving until they were rescued were pretty slim. So he should probably offer them a ride.
He didn’t really want three strangers on board and he was fairly certain that they wouldn’t be any more keen on boarding with a human, either. Still, they needed his help. They needed someone to at least bring them to the next harbor and they needed someone to do so before winter hit. Virgil knew he should be this someone.
But he couldn’t offer his help without talking to them. Abducting them into the cave to help them with their wounds was one thing. It was bad enough already as it was, but still somewhat manageable. After all, they both had been badly injured and treating their wounds was possible without telling them what he was doing. Bringing them onto his ship and leaving them there until they reached a place they could safely get off again? Now, that was a whole other story. No way that’d work without communication.
And their neither understood human non-verbal communication nor ASL, so common it was.
A low sigh escaped his lips. Talking to someone he didn’t know was hard enough in itself. Talking to someone who he knew hated him? Yeah, no. Didn’t really matter how many times he would practice the words in his head or mouth them out. As frustrating as it was, his mind just wouldn’t let him do that. Not without at least some bond of trust.
Maybe, he thought, he would be better off trying to just talk to Patton. At least the sylemn had defended him from Roman’s worse insults, and he seemed to understand that Virgil was trying to help. He wondered whether that had something to do with the sylemns’ ability to tell intentions? Though he thought Janus had said that they could only do that with words, spoken language. So nothing Virgil had conveyed. Though he could imagine that their general intuition had grown better because of it. So maybe Patton knew intuitively?
Or maybe he was simply not as dense as Roman.
Virgil shook his head. It was no use. Roman was as protective of the smaller alien as they came, and with that hero-complex every creathen had… Well, there was no way Roman would ever let Virgil get even remotely close to Patton. And he wasn’t sleeping that well. Roman actually woke up all the time if Virgil wasn’t careful, was even the tiniest bit too loud. The creath had grown a lot more anxious about his presence ever since he though Patton to be in danger as well.
“Huh?”, a familiar yet strange voice sounded in the silence suddenly. Was that Roman? It sounded higher, more throaty. Virgil looked over to find the creath wide awake, but looking very different from before.
The scales were as green as poison in a Disney movie, his skin was no longer marbled but looked almost like obsidian instead and his horns and nails were silver. His eyes looked around the cave as though he’d never seen it before and there was a huge, deep scar running down from the left side of his nose and crossing his upper lip shortly before the right corner of his mouth. If Vigil didn’t know any better and if the vine wasn’t still binding him to the other side of the wall, Virgil would have thought that it was an entirely different creathen. However, since it could only be the same body this had to be the other creath living in there, Remus.
“Ouch. What happed, Ro-Ro?”, the creath muttered under his breath as he continued to look around. And then their eyes met, Virgil’s startled brown eyes on Remus’ curious black ones. Differently from Roman, Remus didn’t look unpleased with that discovery, though. On the opposite, actually, his face lit up. “Oh~ You are a deathworlder, aren’t you? How fun! I always wanted to meet one.”, he greeted.
Okay, that was not what Virgil had been expecting. He could almost hear Roman cursing at his brother inside their head. Virgil let out an amused breath at that thought. To his surprise, Remus looked at him with even more interest and even tried to get over to him, before he noticed he had been shackled. “Oh, did you do that knot? It’s so strange and… tight.”, he chuckled happily, trying to cut it through as Roman had done in secret.
Remus really didn’t fear him much, did he? He smiled. It felt better than he’d like to admit not to be talked to - or talked about, he supposed - like a monster for once.
Remus didn’t do much to the vines either. He just sighed. “That won’t come undone easily. Too bad, I would have loved to come over there and have a better look at you. I’ve always wanted to see a deathworlder up close…”
Was that a trick? Surely it must be. What alien would want to be close to someone everyone always said would kill them once they got close enough? But Remus didn’t really seem to be bothered by him or the situation. He actually seemed happy. Maybe he was just a good actor?
Virgil decided he should play into Remus’ trap for now. He knew that the wilder creath was usually the stronger one, so maybe Remus could actually free himself and Roman and then Virgil would be screwed. Better he knew what he had to deal with, right?
And he couldn’t deny that he was pretty interested in the creath’s strange behavior as well.
So he stood up, took a pice of wood as a torch with him and put it a safe distance away from the alien before sitting down in front of Remus. Roman would’ve never watched as silently as Remus did. Roman surely would have threatened and cursed him out. But Remus only looked fascinated.
“Oh, I see~ Hehe, so you can understand me?”, he laughed. With a soft, toothless smile, Virgil nodded. This was going better than he’d expected, actually.
“What does that mean?” Ah, right. Human signs and aliens, that didn’t work. But while Virgil hesitated, Remus laughed again. “You’re so strange. Don’t want to talk?” Then he sobered up. “But can you at least tell me what’s up with my brother? Roman doesn’t answer me…” At that, he almost looked deflated.
Virgil took his hands and put them under his head, signaling sleeping. Maybe if he would act out what he was trying to say that was easier to understand?
“Is he dead?!”
Or not. Virgil shook his head strongly. He pointed at Remus’s head and tried the same movement again.
“Oh, sleeping? Roman is sleeping?”, he tried again, receiving another nod from Virgil.
“But that can’t be. He usually answers. Doesn’t trust me. I wonder why…” Virgil thought he answered the question himself as he took a stone and started to hit the part of the vine he could reach with a random stone. Virgil took that away from him before he could hurt himself. Remus looked at him for a moment, before he nodded. “Okay, you can tie me up if you want to. But only if you let Patton free.”
Ah. So there was the similarity between brothers. Both were protective of their friends.
Virgil sighed. He would love to do that, but he couldn’t know whether Patton would be convinced to hurt him by Roman. Then again, with that leg, he probably couldn’t move that well anyways. Still… Virgil shook his head. He couldn’t do that just yet, only when he was absolutely sure that he could trust them.
Then again… Trust went both ways, right?
With another sigh he glanced at Remus again, before nodding once. Remus watched silently as he went over to the sylemn and opened the knot. He was surprised they hadn’t been able to open it, really. It was the kind of knot you would use on a balloon or on a bag of bread. Then again, he doubted that aliens ever had the problem of knotted headphones, so he could imagine they weren’t as skilled in de-tangling and loosening knots.
After that he went back to his own space. He should probably get some sleep, he supposed. But that wasn’t as easy as he thought. Remus was not only a lot more reckless than Roman, but also a lot louder. The entire night he would monologue about random and mostly disturbing things Virgil didn’t really need to know about space. But he was sure he wouldn’t forget them that soon.
It was only when Remus himself got too tired that he shut up for once. The sun must have been rising already by that time. Virgil shook his head in amusement and bewilderment alike. What a strange creath, he thought as he finally fell asleep.
When Virgil woke up the next morning, Remus was gone and Roman was back again. And Roman didn’t seem to have any memory of last night, judging by his surprise about Patton being free.
There are no nice deathworlders! (Right?) [Chapter 5]
AU-masterpost: here
Patton, on the other hand, was too shocked to move. A deathworlder! A real deathworlder! Right in front of him. And it just looked as though the deathworlder had been crying. At least that was what Logan had said deathworlder’s crying looked like. Apparently Logan cried similarly, but Patton had to admit that he had never seen Logan cry. He was shy about his emotions.
But more importantly, the deathworlder in front of Patton was looking at him right now. He should probably run, hide in the remains of their space ship as he had done for the last day, since his leg was healed enough to move again. But running was pretty much out of the question. Not to mention that the very thought of outrunning a deathworlder was ludicrous, especially for a sylemn. Logan read once that they could run about 28 miles in an hour! Patton highly doubted Logan’s book could be far enough off for him to have a single change to flee, especially in his current state.
Maybe, if he would just stand here, looking vulnerable and cute, the deathworlder would take pity on him and leave him alone? Hopefully?
Patton watched as the deathworlder looked him up and down. What did they see, he wondered? Of cause the deathworlder didn’t tell him, though, so he couldn’t be sure. But the way they pulled up their lip and hissed couldn’t have been very good. Was that a threat? A demand? If so, what did the deathworlder demand from the sylemn?
And then his hearts skipped a beat one after the other, when the deathworlder took a step towards him. Oh, stars, no! Maybe running was the better option after all? He could at least try.
But then the deathworlder stilled and raised their hands slowly. Could a deathworlder attack from this far? Patton was sure that those arms, though pretty long, were too far away from him to reach. Did deathworlders have some other way of attacking with their hands? No one had lived long enough to confirm something like that, at least not to Patton’s knowledge. However, before Patton could think of any possibility, the deathworlder hid their hands behind their head.
…
Huh? Okay, that surely wasn’t a predatory position. And when the deathworlder even bent their legs to appear smaller, Patton started to get excited. Could it be that the deathworlder tried to communicate peaceful intentions?!
No, surely not. He could basically hear Logan telling him to calm down and think more logically. No way a deathworlder would do this for no reason. But they didn’t attack Patton either, so maybe they wanted to strike a deal? But what could Patton possibly give them, a strong and fearsome predator like that?
The deathworlder started to move towards Patton again. This time, he didn’t dare jump or flinch again. If the deathworlder really did want a truce or a deal with him, he should do his best to avoid aggravating them. No matter what Logan and Roman said, Patton was not so clueless or naive as to think that a literal deathworlder would show him any mercy if he were to go against them.
A few agonizing moments later, the deathworlder stopped. If they wanted to, they would have been able to crush Patton in an instant from this distance. But they didn’t, they just continued to look at him strangely. He wondered whether eyes like that were normal for deathworlders. Such warm brown surrounding a black circle Patton believed to be the pupil. And were those hairs on their eyelids? Kind of similar to Logan’s actually. What had he called that mutation of his again? Right, eyelashes.
There was a pause in which neither of them moved. But then the deathworlder slowly moved their hands. The way they held it against their head almost looked like horns? What were they trying to communicate here? Patton was convinced that they wanted to tell him something, but he just didn’t know what it was.
“Are you… Are those… horns?”, Patton guessed out loud. The deathworlder pulled up the corner of his mouth and moved the head up and down. Then they moved one hand in front of them and drew a line across their chest. Were they… motioning slicing themselves open? No, it didn’t look malicious.
Patton really wished they would talk right now. Even if they wouldn’t speak common or any language he would be able to understand, he would at least have the intention to go on. But this way? Nothing. The sylemn whistled softly in frustration - before he covered his mouth, spikes raised in alarm. That wasn’t a deathworlder threat display, right?
The deathworlder raised the corner of their mouth again. Wait, didn’t they say that that was the motion that one famous deathworlder always did? The empty threat? No one really knew what it meant, but at least Patton thought remembered that the deathworlder wouldn’t attack. Or, at least not outright. Pictures from the iperile emnyama, trashed and blown up, with unrecognizable alien strewn about filled his mind for a moment. But at least the deathworlder wouldn’t attack right away, right? So he had a chance still. At least he hoped so.
The deathworlder seemed to keep calm for now. But they repeated the motion again and again, faster and more urgent with every time. What could that mean? Horns and a slash across their chest…
Patton gasped. “A creathen? Roman and Remus? Do you mean Roman and Remus?!”
Again with the up and down motion of their head. Was that some sort of confirmation? A deathworlder nod, maybe? Patton strongly hoped that he was right, because that would mean that he would get so know what happened to his friend before whatever the deathworlder had planned with him at least. And then the deathworlder pointed in the direction they had come from. Did they mean that they saw Roman and Rems there? Was that it?
Or maybe he was hoping too much and only saw what he wanted to see. Still, if there was any chance he’d find Roman and Remus in that direction, especially if the deathworlder knew where they were, Patton just had to go there. So, when the deathworlder took a deep breath and grabbed Patton with their scarily strong claws, he didn’t resist. It was one of the actions Logan would scold him for eons for, but he just swallowed his fear and went along with it.
He always half expected the deathworlder to change their mind and kill him after all, eat him or something like that. Instead, they continued to walk. At first they crossed the beach, then they started to run incredibly fast - fast enough that Patton was absolutely sure he wouldn’t have been able to outrun them before - through tall bushes and trees, along a river and finally to a cliff towering above them. Would the deathworlder climb that? With Patton still clutched in their arms like a newborn? It was already getting dark and Patton could barely see anything. He knew deathworlders had better eyes than him, but he was still afraid of them overlooking something and falling. Maybe the deathworlder would survive that, but Patton would surely not.
Fortunately, they did not decide to climb. Instead they walked into a cave almost next to the cliff. Patton let out a soft purr of relief. Being in a cave with a deathworlder surely wasn’t his first choice when it came to how he would spent the night, but it was better than being crushed like a hayepra nut.
The cave was dark and moist. Patton could see the remains of a small fire, next to some wood. Had the deathworlder started a fire on purpose? Was that a thing? What good would that do, though, playing with something that dangerous? The sylemn felt confused by this, but didn’t dare question the deathworlder.
They brought him deeper into the cave, where he could barely see anything anymore. Patton wasn’t sure what to expect, but then they put Patton down next to a pile of large leafs and, after short hesitation, took a vine and knotted it around his leg. Were they shackling him? For what reason? Patton guessed that the deathworlder must be pretty paranoid if they were able to survive on their planet, so maybe it was for their own safety? Patton wondered…
They took a stone from close by and cut down another vine, with which they bound a stick around his leg slowly, almost carefully. Then they did that thing where they raised the corner of their mouth again. Was that… Did the deathworlder just provide medical help? What a strange deathworlder. But still, it helped, so Patton looked up to them and whispered softly: “Thank you.” The deathworlder repeated their up and down motion with the head, before walking over to where the fire had been before.
Patton watched in astonishment as they took one stick and twirled it around until a new fire lit up. The deathworlder took a deep breath and raised their hands towards the flames, almost like Logan did with the heating component when he was cold, and started watching the flames. Apparently Patton was uninteresting to them now. He sighed. Hopefully he did get them right earlier and they actually would lead him to his creathen friends. He really missed them…
Pulling his wings around himself, Patton tried to pretend what he felt was the warmth of his friends’ body. They loved cuddles just as much as him, very differently from Logan.
Suddenly, the pile of leafs next to Patton started to rustle and a single, red horn poked out of it. Then the rest of a head. A very familiar head. Roman’s head. Patton chirped in delight when he realized just who had been hiding in the pile of leaves without his knowledge, rubbing his head against his friend’s stomach. “Roman! Thank the stars you’re okay.”, he breathed relieved, half afraid that Roman was only an illusion that would vanish any second now.
But instead strong, cold claws caressed his head. “Pat? Oh, I’m so glad to see you…” However, as soon the tension started to fall from Roman it returned and he turned to where the deathworlder sat quietly by their fire. “Oh no!”
“Roman, it’s okay.”, Patton tried to calm him down. It did little to help, but Roman’s attention shifted back to Patton, a soft look in his eyes. “They didn’t hurt me. I think they tried to tell me about you and, look, they helped me with my leg!” Roman looked down towards the makeshift cast and scoffed: “Patton, padre, you truly are the only one I know who would think a deathworlder would try and help him.”
“But they did! What else do you think this could be?”, Patton defended. Roman only looked at him unimpressed, though, repeating urgently: “Deathworlder, Patton. A deathworlder literally tied up in a cave. I don’t call that very helpful.”
A few feet away, Virgil rolled his eyes. Of cause that stuck up, arrogant creath thought so. But he was glad that his intentions hadn’t passed by the sylemn at least. Patton was his name? And Remus’ twin was called Roman, right?
He continued to watch the two of them. Not because he was lonely ever since he lost Janus somewhere in this never ending odyssey of cause. No, his interest was purely to make sure they wouldn’t device some plan to kill him in his sleep and run away with their injured, movement-restricted states. That was everything, it didn’t have anything to do with a small part of himself wishing that it was him and Janus who would be reunited after all this uncertainty.
And lying was still Janus’ forte, wasn’t it?
Virgil leaned back, blending out the conversation the two aliens had with each other. After a little while he went out to get more berries for them, a larger portion this time. He also realized that the bush he’d gathered them from was almost empty now. He would have to find another eatable plant for them soon. Another sigh left his lips. Alright then.
When he returned, both aliens shut up immediately. Okay, then. Not suspicious at all. He just ignored it as he brought them their food, though. He himself didn’t feel like eating, so he just went back to his little space by the fire and warmed up again. The wind here was starting to get colder by the day. It was probably close to this planet’s winter. Great. He should really wrap this up soon.
He didn’t sleep that night. Instead he continued to silently watch the fire and his two guests. The only time he made himself known was when Patton tried to stand up on his injured leg, and he let out a soft growl as a warning. It did its job, even though Roman didn’t seem to like it. When the two of them went to sleep, Roman curled around the smaller sylemn protectively.
