The smell of smoking ruins. Fire and noxious fumes combine to make a scent Herzert had never know. It was the smell of war. A world taking up the battle, alongside its inhabitants.
Death. Pain inflicted by invaders from the sky. His home was on the brink of ruin at the hands of the Humans.
The proud buildings floating atop the surface of the marshes lay half submerged. Splintered rot-wood. Displaced citizens clutching to their homes, hoping that the next round would miss them.
Their cities beneath the swamps were safe, for the most part, but soon they too would suffer the same fate. Or, at least, they would, if the Humans won their chance to remain. Herzert and the collective of Triskani warriors would make sure that didn't happen. Spawn from all pools had come together for this fight. Generational grudges were set aside to fight a common enemy. They were alone. Reinforcements from Free Space never arrived. Promises broken.
"All worlds must stand together," that was the announcement upon The Confederations first move. Fleets were mobilized, fighters scrambled, warriors assembled.
Rotchnok; the grand stage of combat. It was a failure. Treacherous bugs, he thought grimly as he passed over the ruins of the above water city.
The Kantera let out a roar. It's wing span could have reached two starships. With each flap, its body bobbed. He held the security straps tight, bracing against the wind, as did the many others hitching a ride. An explosion in the distance lit the fog; the Human base. They refused to enter the city on foot, and instead, they hid in the distance. Their choice was to strike from afar with artillery. Their attempt of beating the Triskani into submission was a slow wound that refused to heal. A Snoc Fly, spitting from above. One swipe was all that was needed to end the disturbance.
The beast rider took the Kantera down. Through thick fog it descended, there was nothing below, or so it seemed. Herzert could hear the chittering or the warriors, preparing themselves for the upcoming battle. The fog broke, revealing them. The force stretched across small islands of mud, many however writhed in the pools that connected the small pockets of land. Their numbers were hidden beneath the surface of murky water.
"Herzert, of the Dead Lake Brood." He heard a familiar voice call.
"T'Bne'dera, I'm glad you're among this party," Herzert said, his voice carrying heavy on the air, held in place by fog.
"Some of us choose the pools, rather than dank caves." T'Bne'dera replied, his eyes fixed but flickering to all those around him. "We take to the water. Arrival concealed. Can you still swim?"
Herzert hissed his approval, and dropped his jacket. It landed heavy and stiff on the mud.
Twenty other Triskani warriors dismounted the Kantera, which took to the air as they did. Each flap of its wings produced a gust that partially cleared the fog in their vicinity. It soon disappeared, leaving behind only a low growl which too was carried away on the wind.
The sounds of close artillery cannons over powered all other sounds, and the distant explosions upon impact muted much noise among them.
"The Kantera will assault their ships when it's time. While they're staring up, we emerge." T'Bne'dera hissed, and soon that hiss turned to a war-cry. "This will be glorious! There are many beast riders awaiting their time to strike!"
Herzert let out a deafening war-cry upon hearing those words. Anyone upon the ground responded in kind and they launched into the water, leaving behind only ripples. Herzert watched as T'Bne'dera dived in, and then he followed, swapping white air for black water.
The battle waged above. Kantera tore through the hulls of their ships like a Brug-Snat feasting on a corpse. Panels, cabling, and shards of steel littered the ground. Debris injured as many Triskani, as it did Humans. That was to be expected though. Any warrior would gladly give their life for the honor of fighting for their world.
The artillery ships, hovering proudly above the swamps, now found themselves eaten by it. The battle was over before he realised. He was still in the heat of combat when he heard the silence. Muffled pain, struggling splashes, gargling death drowning in blood of their own creation.
"Take the unarmored for interrogation, feed the armored to the victors!" Herzert shrieked.
The Human encampment was crude. Walls lay half submerged in places. Platforms sank. Buildings lay in the same fashion. Some on solid ground, some on weak. Some had sank below, their roofs creating walkways. Human buildings were strange. They stood out from their environment, showing themselves to be not apart of it. Strange creatures. Their environment is supposed to bend to their presence and that is why they fail, Herzert reasoned. Trisk bends to no ones will, the Triskani are made strong by such laws. Human worlds must be weak to bend easy to their will, that is how weakness populates.
He threw eyes around the encampment. Triskani warriors played for sport with the survivors. The dying were to be used as entertainment, the living were to be used in other ways. There was no respect of war shown by the Humans, so no mercy was bestowed to them. Trisk was not kind to them, and the people of Trisk would follow their worlds example.
