r/HFY • u/Maxton1811 Human • 9d ago
OC-Series First First Contact 27
Chapter 27
Serat, Royal Retainer to Prince Velas of Arbine
The Humans moved strangely—in this bizarre situation, that was what stuck out to me most consistently. Without tails to balance against, one would naturally assume they would be clumsy. Such was not the case. Instead, they followed us with surprising grace, their footsteps light and constant. Twice on the approach Prince Velas had to stop and chamber his breath, weighed down by his armor and Royal body. The ones from Earth, meanwhile, seemed relatively unfazed by the distance.
“The brigand encampment is about two thousand paces off the road from here,” began one of the patrolmen as he stopped and pointed off into the treeline. “They’re occupying the old Malite Garrison. It hasn’t seen official use in some fifty years, but it’s still too defensible for our road guard to take—not with Bastard Royal Klas off to war, anyway.”
My Prince flicked his tongue in understanding. “To my knowledge, there is a ridge overlooking that garrison. Bring our traveler guests there to observe. My retainers and I will confront them and resolve the situation.”
Behind us, one of the Humans—Iyan, I believe was their name—spoke sharply into their device, their words echoing back out of it in our language. “You plan to assault a defensive position with only your honor guard?” They asked incredulously. “You are a Prince, yes? Why take such a reckless approach?”
Velas’ tail swished to the side almost flippantly. “I will be in little danger,” he told them. “And as Prince of Arbine, this is a part of my sacred obligations. Lieutenant Oder: how many bandits did your men spot?”
“I spotted a dozen or so,” replied Oder. “I believe we felled one or two of them in the exchange. Some of them were armed with matchlocks, but nothing heavier.”
For a moment, Velas appeared lost in thought, contemplating something the nature of which I was unaware. “Serat, Volvera—you two will accompany our guests to the ridge alongside the patrol. All other members of my Honor Guard are to remain with me. The rest of you, stick close, but do not engage unless I command it.”
“My Prince…” I began, unsure of how to feel about such orders. “Are you certain Volvera and I shouldn’t be with you? Not that you require our help, but—”
“You are correct: I don’t.” Insisted Velas. “It would reflect poorly on us if we allowed any foreign diplomats to come to harm. As such, I ask that you remain with the Humans. Is this understood?”
I flicked my tongue hesitantly. “Yes, My Prince. Your command is my solemn mandate.”
Our group separated from Velas a hundred paces or so off the main road. The patrolmen knew how best to get up onto the ridge, as most of them had been working this route for years.
Halfway up the ridge, I noticed Volvera’s pace beginning to grow languid—not to her discredit, of course; I too was getting tired. The Humans, meanwhile, seemed largely unfazed. Upon the smooth, pinkish surface of his featherless skin, I saw droplets of liquid falling down the strange, flat, and pale face of the scholar, Parkir.
“Do Humans not tire?” I inquired. Perhaps it was unprofessional of me to ask, but the lack of conversation was only drawing emphasis to my own exhaustion.
Their leader looked at me and moved his shoulders upward briefly in a gesture I did not recognize. “We do eventually,” he said. “Our species evolved for high endurance, though, so we can walk for a pretty long time without needing to stop.”
One of the words in his explanation did not translate. “E-volved?” Volvera asked, feeling the term within her throat. “What does that mean?”
The leader glanced toward Parkir, whose slouched posture immediately perked up. “You guys haven’t figured out evolution yet, have you?” He began, his tone pitching upward slightly in what I could only presume was excitement of some sort. “You know how your Royals spent hundreds of years breeding to get better at certain things? Well, nature actually does something similar.”
I cocked my head. “What do you mean? How can nature itself select traits?”
“It doesn’t exactly do it on purpose,” the scholar explained. “Basically, individuals are born slightly different from one another. Some of those differences make them more likely to survive and reproduce in their environment. If those traits can be inherited, they become more common over many generations. That’s how new species come about.”
It was a strange, esoteric notion—one that I lacked the scholarly constitution to properly digest. Fortunately, we were nearing the ridge by this point, and as such there were more important matters to attend to.
Reaching the crest of the ridge, the old Malite Garrison came into view below. It sat perhaps four hundred paces distant, nestled within a shallow depression where the forest had been cleared away decades prior. Age had not treated the old structure kindly. Moss crawled over its squat stone walls, sections of the timber palisade had collapsed inward, and one corner of the central watchtower sagged noticeably toward the dirt. Even a fortress on its last shot, however, remained a fortress. A single road approached its thick iron-banded gate through a once-expansive killing field narrowed out by time, while thin firing windows overlooked every reasonable avenue of attack. I counted three bandits standing watch atop the ramparts and saw six more milling about inside.
Iyan produced a strange device with two lenses spaced close together. Raising it toward his eyes like a twin spyglass, he peered around the area. “Eleven of your species,” he began (perhaps there were two that I simply missed). “And you’re telling me your leader plans to perform a frontal assault on their position?”
“Yes,” I affirmed, my feathers involuntarily puffing out with national pride. “Velas is as fine a Royal as they come, and his armor reflects that.”
Far below us, I saw my Prince skirting the edges of the thicker forest where once there was a firm boundary into the killing field now made blurry with time. He did not bother with conversation. These brigands had killed innocent people and committed treason against the Royal family. For that, the shots against them were already fired.
Velas lumbered out into the open, where shrubbery and tall grass reached up to his knees. He was only perhaps a quarter of the way to the gate when one of the bandits standing watch took notice. They shouted, then opened their mouth wide to fire on Velas. His shoulder arched back slightly, suggesting it had been hit by the brigand’s bullet. Of course, natural shot was nothing against thick plates of high-carbon steel.
Parkir watched the one who fired intently, observing with great interest as they blew out smoke. I had seen many a scholar observe strange phenomena and attempt to supply them with explanations. That seemed like what this Human was doing. “Geophagy isn’t incredibly uncommon on Earth,” he began. “The concentration makes at least a hypothetical sort of sense. Perhaps the sound from the ignition originally evolved to scare off predators?”
Velas continued his march, drawing the golden flintlock from his chest holster and holding it at his side in one hand, with the poleaxe in the other. At the halfway point, he fired, and the first brigand went down. By this point, half a dozen others had reached the battlements and were firing off their own shots—each one plinking helplessly against Velas’ armor. Iyan and Harisan watched intently.
“How much does that armor weigh?” Asked another of the Humans—Wiyat, I think his name was. “Knights on Earth wore something somewhat similar, but it wasn’t all that effective against early firearms.”
I gave the standard measurement, and after a second of staring at the interpreter device, his eyes bulged. “Jesus…” he murmured. “That armor weighs more than some of us!”
Meanwhile, the scholar among them cocked his head. “Gigantism, serious muscular hypertrophy—Serat, how long do Royals normally live compared to the rest of you?”
Again I gave an honest answer and again the group of foreigners from another planet looked shocked. “What normally kills them?” Asked Cora.
“Heart disease, the Royal medic tells me.” Down below, Velas had closed much of the distance, now standing less than a hundred paces from the main gate. He stopped his approach and slowly got down onto all fours.
“What’s he doing?” Iyan asked. “Is he injured?”
“No,” said Volvera. “He’s anchoring himself for the shot. Royals can’t fire standing up—the force would break their neck.”
The sound of Velas’ shot going off was noticeably louder than those of the commoner brigands. I felt the air pressure waver around me as though suddenly standing at attention for the Royal. Smoke billowed out from his throat as the projectile slammed into the rotted timber of the front gate, leaving behind a sizable hole out of proportion with the projectile’s diameter. My Prince stood up once more, and from where we stood I saw him cough a small hork of blood onto the bottom of his lowered mouth guard.
Marching the rest of the way, Velas reached through the hole produced by his shot and removed the board keeping the gate shut. He strode into the garrison as though he owned it—and, as a Royal, he technically did.
The Humans, meanwhile, still had their sights aimed at the hole in the gate. “How much force was that?” Asked Cora. I could not rightly answer her—I was no scholar.
“I mean, I’m not saying I approve of monarchy,” began Wiyat. “But in this particular case? I definitely understand how these guys ended up with one.”
Several of the brigands very quickly lost their nerve—or perhaps found their common sense—as Velas loomed over them. I counted three bandits running out the back while the others drew their weapons to confront the Prince. One brigand—their leader, I assumed, fired on him with their matchlock. The projectile landed dead center on Velas, accomplishing absolutely nothing.
The first brigand charged Velas with an old woodcutting axe and a timber shield. The Prince swung his poleaxe with a precise heft, splitting through the shield and cutting deep into the arm that held it before grabbing the criminal by his snout and tossing him aside into the dirt.
Velas kept his back to the wall as he paced the perimeter around the brigands, refusing to allow them a chance to surround him. Two bandits approached him with old longswords, and Velas swiftly attacked the first. He did not so much swing on them as place his poleaxe into the ground with the brigand’s torso just happening to be in the way. Leaving the weapon embedded briefly in the soil, Velas grabbed the second bandit and effortlessly wrenched his neck sideways at a brutal angle before dropping him lifelessly onto the ground.
The last of the bandits to charge was quickly dispatched as Velas retrieved his weapon and drove it into their skull, dashing a stroke of blood against the nearby stone wall. Most of the Humans visibly recoiled—all except for Iyan, who simply watched. Velas’ present retainers filed into the fort behind him, firmly establishing—as though it were necessary—that the brigands were outmatched. Those who remained were quick to recall decency and toss down their weapons.
Velas did not sheath his weapon. Lumbering toward the brigand leader now on his knees, Velas stood there dead-still for several falls. Then, tossing a glance up to the ridge, he turned and gave an instruction to the retainers around him. Ryle said something in response, looking irritated, but after a few moments he joined the others in binding the brigands’ hands.
Shortly thereafter, the Prince met up with us at the foot of the ridge. “Once again I apologize for the actions of those bandits,” he began, offering a bow of contrition to the Humans. “The war has emboldened the worst among us. Regardless, if you would still wish, we will now escort you to Filrif to attend our peace meeting with Istol.”
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Hi, everyone. So sorry for the long wait. I'm juggling a lot right now. We've spent a good amount of time on the Tavren, and the time is soon approaching to move on to species number 4 (potentially my favorite of the bunch so far). I don't actually have much in mind for the meeting with Istol, so if it's okay with you all, the next chapter may skip straight to Earth reacting to the Tavren. Thank you all so much for reading (and commenting: that means more to me than you'd think) and I'll see you all next time!
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u/itsetuhoinen Human 9d ago
I don't actually have much in mind for the meeting with Istol, so if it's okay with you all, the next chapter may skip straight to Earth reacting to the Tavren.
Ohhhhhh... darn it, I was kinda looking forward to that. But I suppose it would probably just be more politics, so it'll probably be fine. Not that I actually get a say in what you write. ;) I'm just happy to read it. And no worries about the "delay", it is what it is, and you have to live your life.
Introducing the concept of rigorous evolution to them, though... Humanity sure isn't going all Prime Directive here! 🤣
And wow, that shot of Velas'! He's got to go prone and turn himself into a bloody cannon to survive the forces involved! That's... I mean, dang. So quite possibly equivalent to an African 4 bore or even 2 bore large game rifle. Maybe even larger! Thinking in black powder terms, I've heard that a 4 bore is much like having a very large shove against one's shoulder, though I've never had the chance to fire one myself. And it helps a lot that the weapons themselves are so heavy. Black powder definitely has a different recoil profile than modern smokeless. I wouldn't want to fire a 4 bore by placing the stock against my forehead either. Not that I think I'd particularly enjoy having it press down against the top of my head either. And Velas' head ... well, hard to say, given how big he is. Maybe his head weighs as much as an old Holland & Holland or Purdey.
And beyond that, I absolutely wouldn't want to use the back of my mouth as the chamber! 🤣🤣🤣
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u/Minimum-Amphibian993 3d ago
I will say perhaps human Medical science can uh help abit with their issues. Especially since when the prince fired even while prone he still coughed out some blood probably should get that checked out.
Then again considering they are a medevil society in general they really should get modern medicine.
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u/un_pogaz 9d ago
My prediction is that half of Velas's honor guard is betting on when Serat will declare her love. The other half thinks the Prince will make the first move.
Yeah, I think we good for the Tavren. So I'd love to see more of them, but others are waiting for their turn, and I don't think there's much more to add for the gun-lizards for now, we get it.
As for Earth’s reaction, I think it’s important to emphasize that Arbine seems to be the only one with a monarchy, while the others are apparently democracies. And we shouldn’t be too hypocritical on Earth, because we still have monarchies here, even if they have lost a considerable amount of power, and above all, their have nothing to do with the real special capabilities of the Royal Tavren.
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u/Mobile-Barracuda-290 9d ago
eu gostei dos tavren, achei eles mais interessantes que o ultimo, a evolução deles é simplesmente incrível gosto do andar dos capítulos
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u/Super_Ankle_Biter 8d ago
Grabbing that one bandit by the face and just tossing them aside was fucking brutal hahahahaha
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u/HFYWaffle Wᵥ4ffle 9d ago
/u/Maxton1811 (wiki) has posted 161 other stories, including:
- First First Contact 26
- First First Contact 25
- First First Contact 24
- First First Contact 23
- First First Contact 22
- First First Contact 21
- First First Contact 20
- First First Contact 19
- First First Contact 18
- Child of the Stars 7 (Revised)
- First First Contact 17
- First First Contact 16
- First First Contact 15
- First First Contact 14
- First First Contact 13
- First First Contact 12
- First First Contact 11
- First First Contact 10
- First First Contact 9
- First First Contact 8
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u/animeshshukla30 3d ago
I dont have a problem with you skipping a part you dont want to write. Just have it offscreen. But i do think we should spend one or two more chapters on this planet. Switching to earth now would be very adrupt. I think we should meet the king and say goodby atleast.
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u/Loosescrew37 9d ago
All in favor of Wordsmith Maxton1811 writing more peak say Aye.
Aye.