[HIATUS] Kahdel; A Rockman's Story
Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2017 5:57 pm
I am undergoing some harsh studying for a writing class I'm taking for the next few months. This should assist me later as I complete the series, but for now there will be no more new updates for the time being. Thank you for understanding, and I promise to get back on this eventually and ride it through.
So, this first chapter is a bit of a prologue and will only contain a little bit of slightly boring backstory. I have wanted to create FTL stories for a long time (Found out about the game in 2013; played it extensively and read a crap-ton of the various roleplays the creative people here make, got into writing last year, and worked on a fairly bad draft for around three hours every few days for the past few weeks to figure out a storyline.) but never really worked the nerve up into doing it. Finally I have, and as I'm biased towards the Rockmen, I have made a post-Federation victory story about them. I'm trying to be unique though, and as such, this story's main character will not start as a cruiser captain, or anything relatively special at all. This will focus more on the rank-and-file of stories, and will serve as a massive predecessor to my (still being planned) Federation captain story.
Update progress will vary, depending on my time spent on these and the reviews I get.
Lastly, my grammar may be unlike that of others. The main reason is because I'm a special breed of computer redneck living in the southern USA and have the equivalent of an Engi and a Lanius translator both speaking at the same time for my thoughts.
So, well, enjoy, and try not to flame me if it's not how you imagined Rock society.
Five human years after the Federation's triumphant last stand over the Rebel fleet.
Jho'lek (Jalek) slammed the crude axe into the bark of yet another dead, Vrachosian conifer tree. Surface-growing trees had a tendency to be much weaker than their subterranean counterparts, much like the Rock species that dominated the planet and it's neighboring system. Jho'lek lived in a small village near Vrachos IV's north pole, inhabited mostly by its hunter-gatherer tribal nomads that refused to swear allegiance to any Rock warlord or Basilisk and the collections of escaped or freed laborers that failed to find a place to live elsewhere, the Rock equivalent of a slave or servant depending on how you view it. He had lived here for several decades (With some average Rock lifespans soaring into the thousands, technically his early childhood) as a social outcast, because, as opposed to the sedimentary-formed Rockmen he shared meals with, he had been born out of the great magma flows in the planet's core, meant to be tougher, made to fight and win. For he was different from your average Rockman. While most were made of andesite, of scattered ores, clay or sandstone, Jho'lek's bodily material was compromised of the finest, rock-solid, iron ore-deposited bedrock possible in a male specimen. He had been pulled into a tribal chief's service as a laborer almost immediately after his "birth", as rocks are born mature, simply without legitimate education on the galaxy and the universe as a whole. That same chief met his unfortunate downfall very quickly thereafter, following a failed raid on a rival's supply cache. Jho'lek had been taken prisoner and left in chains for nearly a full year without barely any sustenance, despite not being of the warrior class and thus not warranting even being captured. When he was finally freed, however, it was suffice to say it hardened him to reality and readied him for the world that lay in store for him on that planet, which began his dreams of becoming a crewman on a space cruiser and traveling the galaxy. He traveled to the village he resides in now, taking a role as a sentry to warn against pirate raids or mantis slavers. He thought about the rest of the more meaningless details of his life as he continued to chop at the rotten, frost-covered wood.
Suddenly, the axehead gave way and snapped off of the shaft, jolting him from his pseudo-philosophical pondering. He bent over to pick it up, noting that there was only a minor dent in the tree.
"That's the last time I trade tools with Mirqbun." He muttered, before turning and walking back home.
The Rocks have been through tough times recently. They base their trade off of jewels and other mined and refined materials, so when scrap prices inflate and mines go dry as they have been, it generally means pirate raids, mantis slaving and infestations, Lanius hordes, and other incursions will increase. Warlords and captains alike will shut themselves in their fortresses or homeworlds, and the common folk will be left to fend for themselves with little to no help. It does not make it any easier that the Federation is trying to consolidate their renewed power by imposing taxes on alien materials, discouraging some human merchants, which are the main source of trade in the rock homeworlds for the time being, from outside Federation trade. The political system is slowly crumbling as well. In the past four months only, three uprisings had taken place and five major battles had been fought, purely for political gain on all sides. After the "heroes of the Federation"'s involvement in the arranged marriage of the dowager maiden Ariadne to the Grand Basilisk of Numa V, a heavily-contested rock colony which would have almost united the rock peoples, they had undergone a violent civil war resulting in thousands on all sides dying almost fruitlessly. The war had ended after a year, with nothing to show for it and a Mantis slaving fleet creeping up their doorstep. He had often heard the tales and wondered what could have possessed that Federal captain to do that. Yes, he had heard the rest of the story, how he had brought his crew (including Ariadne) to the heart of the beast of the Rebel fleet and destroyed their flagship without a hesitation or doubt. His ship had been left in smoking pieces and half his crew had died, but the Rebel fleet were in turn left uncoordinated and demoralized. Their remnants were still holding out in remote sectors, but they had optioned to establish halfway-dependent government systems on the lone worlds in these systems. The rebellion as a whole had been tamed. The Federation simply were picking back up where they left off, albeit with the factors that began the Rebel scourge in mind.
Jho'lek entered the village's working hut, glaring at the local smith. It was enough to automatically move another villager out of the way once he saw his face. Mirqbunajhel'daraisamaktollith, a retired Mantis engineer and ex-pirate, glared back before asking in broken universal, "What happened now?"
"The axe broke after ten strikes, didn't even hurt the wood." Jho'lek attempted to calmly explain, offering the broken handle and axehead.
The Mantis hissed in frustration, the equivalent of a sigh for most species, before taking the pieces and inspecting them in closer detail. Jho'lek left him to it and walked away to calm down. The old bug was good at his job, it was just that he didn't have good materials and his work was not meant to be used by Rockmen for labor. Jho'lek often envied Mirqbun, simply for the fact he had lived most of his life on a ship. While his crew had not been the most ethical, he still had gotten to see the galaxy and make something of himself. All Jho'lek wanted to do was get conscripted into an elite guard for a Basilisk or become a crewman on a ship, it didn't matter what type of ship nor what side he was on. It was something he had often thought himself to sleep on, and he patiently waited for the day he could travel to a port or shipyard on the planet. His ambitious demeanor had made the other rocks avoiding of him at best, and he was commonly left alone to himself. This meant he could not simply share his burdens with someone else, as they wouldn't be listening anyway.
He had made a private stash of food and scrap, and was planning to travel to a subterranean inner-city where he could find a militant troop or something else to join. He had instincts for battle, not for manual labor, and the only way to scratch that proverbial itch was to scrape a blade across it.
He found his chance not that long after that walk.
So, this first chapter is a bit of a prologue and will only contain a little bit of slightly boring backstory. I have wanted to create FTL stories for a long time (Found out about the game in 2013; played it extensively and read a crap-ton of the various roleplays the creative people here make, got into writing last year, and worked on a fairly bad draft for around three hours every few days for the past few weeks to figure out a storyline.) but never really worked the nerve up into doing it. Finally I have, and as I'm biased towards the Rockmen, I have made a post-Federation victory story about them. I'm trying to be unique though, and as such, this story's main character will not start as a cruiser captain, or anything relatively special at all. This will focus more on the rank-and-file of stories, and will serve as a massive predecessor to my (still being planned) Federation captain story.
Update progress will vary, depending on my time spent on these and the reviews I get.
Lastly, my grammar may be unlike that of others. The main reason is because I'm a special breed of computer redneck living in the southern USA and have the equivalent of an Engi and a Lanius translator both speaking at the same time for my thoughts.
So, well, enjoy, and try not to flame me if it's not how you imagined Rock society.
Five human years after the Federation's triumphant last stand over the Rebel fleet.
Jho'lek (Jalek) slammed the crude axe into the bark of yet another dead, Vrachosian conifer tree. Surface-growing trees had a tendency to be much weaker than their subterranean counterparts, much like the Rock species that dominated the planet and it's neighboring system. Jho'lek lived in a small village near Vrachos IV's north pole, inhabited mostly by its hunter-gatherer tribal nomads that refused to swear allegiance to any Rock warlord or Basilisk and the collections of escaped or freed laborers that failed to find a place to live elsewhere, the Rock equivalent of a slave or servant depending on how you view it. He had lived here for several decades (With some average Rock lifespans soaring into the thousands, technically his early childhood) as a social outcast, because, as opposed to the sedimentary-formed Rockmen he shared meals with, he had been born out of the great magma flows in the planet's core, meant to be tougher, made to fight and win. For he was different from your average Rockman. While most were made of andesite, of scattered ores, clay or sandstone, Jho'lek's bodily material was compromised of the finest, rock-solid, iron ore-deposited bedrock possible in a male specimen. He had been pulled into a tribal chief's service as a laborer almost immediately after his "birth", as rocks are born mature, simply without legitimate education on the galaxy and the universe as a whole. That same chief met his unfortunate downfall very quickly thereafter, following a failed raid on a rival's supply cache. Jho'lek had been taken prisoner and left in chains for nearly a full year without barely any sustenance, despite not being of the warrior class and thus not warranting even being captured. When he was finally freed, however, it was suffice to say it hardened him to reality and readied him for the world that lay in store for him on that planet, which began his dreams of becoming a crewman on a space cruiser and traveling the galaxy. He traveled to the village he resides in now, taking a role as a sentry to warn against pirate raids or mantis slavers. He thought about the rest of the more meaningless details of his life as he continued to chop at the rotten, frost-covered wood.
Suddenly, the axehead gave way and snapped off of the shaft, jolting him from his pseudo-philosophical pondering. He bent over to pick it up, noting that there was only a minor dent in the tree.
"That's the last time I trade tools with Mirqbun." He muttered, before turning and walking back home.
The Rocks have been through tough times recently. They base their trade off of jewels and other mined and refined materials, so when scrap prices inflate and mines go dry as they have been, it generally means pirate raids, mantis slaving and infestations, Lanius hordes, and other incursions will increase. Warlords and captains alike will shut themselves in their fortresses or homeworlds, and the common folk will be left to fend for themselves with little to no help. It does not make it any easier that the Federation is trying to consolidate their renewed power by imposing taxes on alien materials, discouraging some human merchants, which are the main source of trade in the rock homeworlds for the time being, from outside Federation trade. The political system is slowly crumbling as well. In the past four months only, three uprisings had taken place and five major battles had been fought, purely for political gain on all sides. After the "heroes of the Federation"'s involvement in the arranged marriage of the dowager maiden Ariadne to the Grand Basilisk of Numa V, a heavily-contested rock colony which would have almost united the rock peoples, they had undergone a violent civil war resulting in thousands on all sides dying almost fruitlessly. The war had ended after a year, with nothing to show for it and a Mantis slaving fleet creeping up their doorstep. He had often heard the tales and wondered what could have possessed that Federal captain to do that. Yes, he had heard the rest of the story, how he had brought his crew (including Ariadne) to the heart of the beast of the Rebel fleet and destroyed their flagship without a hesitation or doubt. His ship had been left in smoking pieces and half his crew had died, but the Rebel fleet were in turn left uncoordinated and demoralized. Their remnants were still holding out in remote sectors, but they had optioned to establish halfway-dependent government systems on the lone worlds in these systems. The rebellion as a whole had been tamed. The Federation simply were picking back up where they left off, albeit with the factors that began the Rebel scourge in mind.
Jho'lek entered the village's working hut, glaring at the local smith. It was enough to automatically move another villager out of the way once he saw his face. Mirqbunajhel'daraisamaktollith, a retired Mantis engineer and ex-pirate, glared back before asking in broken universal, "What happened now?"
"The axe broke after ten strikes, didn't even hurt the wood." Jho'lek attempted to calmly explain, offering the broken handle and axehead.
The Mantis hissed in frustration, the equivalent of a sigh for most species, before taking the pieces and inspecting them in closer detail. Jho'lek left him to it and walked away to calm down. The old bug was good at his job, it was just that he didn't have good materials and his work was not meant to be used by Rockmen for labor. Jho'lek often envied Mirqbun, simply for the fact he had lived most of his life on a ship. While his crew had not been the most ethical, he still had gotten to see the galaxy and make something of himself. All Jho'lek wanted to do was get conscripted into an elite guard for a Basilisk or become a crewman on a ship, it didn't matter what type of ship nor what side he was on. It was something he had often thought himself to sleep on, and he patiently waited for the day he could travel to a port or shipyard on the planet. His ambitious demeanor had made the other rocks avoiding of him at best, and he was commonly left alone to himself. This meant he could not simply share his burdens with someone else, as they wouldn't be listening anyway.
He had made a private stash of food and scrap, and was planning to travel to a subterranean inner-city where he could find a militant troop or something else to join. He had instincts for battle, not for manual labor, and the only way to scratch that proverbial itch was to scrape a blade across it.
He found his chance not that long after that walk.