Michael Arck
Anubis Prime Syndicate
980
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Posted - 2013.09.11 00:34:00 -
[1] - Quote
"And what would you have us do"
The sullen man pondered over the question, tossing around ideas and random violent thoughts. He couldn't conceive as quickly as he wanted to. He was a weathered man. His black hair was matted and dirty looking. His nails were black from dirt never washed. He sat on his log, looking upwards at the stars. The fire before him, the young boys who looked upon him, all wanted his answer.
"Our tribe is one that will not tolerate such insolence nor will we bow down to our oppressors as our ancestors did" he spoke in the deepest of baritones.
The young men looked on, at attention now, snapped into his command with the dark heavy tones of the speakers voice. Only one seemed anxious to rebel. And he almost teetered in his position, sitting cross legged. His mouth couldn't stand the silence.
"But they will destroy us and hunt us. Surely the Amarr would want us dead than to be speakers of freedom to those who might choose to go to bondage."
And with a flash of speed, the old man raised up, snatching up his old rusty mass driver and with a flick of the fingers the butt of the weapon came forward. He did a wide swiping arc against the outspoken boy. Blood shot into the air as the young male fell back. He felt no pain but fear as he held up his hand in submission to the old man who now seemed not old at all but young and vigorous, menacing.
"I will not tolerate the likes of confusion in this small tribe we have. You know of your place. Stay in it. For far too long our people has created dissension and uttered words of the faithless that has caused the lives of many of our ancestors. I grow tired of such pestilence. As long as you follow my tribe, you will follow my command."
The old man returned to his seat and calmly sat down, rubbing his hands against the fire. The other young males watched their leader intently, hoping to see some sign that he harbored no grudges. Murtaki was of a bloodline that everyone revered. And when challenged, it was quite known that it took several light days before they would calm down. When they saw no sign, they looked to the one who now plucked his teeth from the snow. His eyes glossy with tears of pain and pain of pride lost. A boy to the left of him handed him his tattered rag. He nodded and placed his teeth within. Then he wiped the blood from his mouth, careful to spit with ease as to not send any sign of further disrespect. To also not disturb his now throbbing jaw.
"It is better that you lose your teeth in a moments foolishness than to lose your life in battle"
The young male looked at him and found strength in the old man's foolishness. All this talk of honor and talks of losing life in battle. He so will it, he would follow the many lines of men and women who took up clone technology to aid them in battle. Those against the idea spoke of the enslavement of the technology. The side effects. Men who uttered "514" while they wait for the next war. That didn't phase the young male. Immortality is a gift. A gift that many cannot handle. In his mind, he was prepared. In the old man's mind, he still clung to some traditions that only he heard passed down from generations. The small talks of the old world, which were forbidden in some tribes.
The Amarr hadn't done a reclaiming in some time but talks were about that it was bound to happen. Some even said that Amarr had secret military forces that were created to enslave them. Their tribe heard of many boogey man stories of them being snatched up in their sleep. Their mothers slain. Their fathers' bodies thrown into piles of heap, for the tribe to see. The children taken, never to see their homes again.
The fighting had increased as of late. They had moved to the most hostile part of their planet, hoping the snow and blizzard like temperatures would keep them away. Yet everyone felt them closer. And now with news received from their perimeter scout of some movement to the east. The fear was reborn and the questions once again asked.
A sharp cry echoed into the air and the old man rose with the same swiftness as before. He responded with a cry of his own. The young males knew what was happening. Troops were approaching. Who they were, was of no concern. No Minmatar ventured this far without notifying through their traditional channels. The old man lifted his mass driver and the young male went for their weapons.
"Sooweeeee akkk!"
The young males knew of the call spat by their leader. It was time. With the nimbleness of a cheetah they all lifted their weapons and headed for the trees. Even the chastised one did not question and quickly followed behind the others. Putting out the small fire, the old man too headed for the trees. War would come someday, but until he had trained his young men properly in the art of combat, he would not face his oncoming oppressors. So they hid in the trees, camouflaged, not making one sound. And watched the troops in their golden armor use their scanners to locate electronic traces. If found, none would not run in fear. None would scream in terror. They would rush them with all the might that they had. And they will die with honor to keep a privilege most precious to them even in their self depreciating states. Their freedom.
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